He’s so peaceful with that just fucked hair that I had in fistfuls most of the night. I had a sense he’d be good in bed, but he exceeded my imagination. Even his demanding talk spurred arousal out of me. I move across the room thief-style, snatching my clothes from the floor. Once I reach the door, I allow myself one last glimpse of him. My heart constricts thinking of the horror he’s experienced. Inching the door open, I peer down the hall and scurry to my room. Relieved that I snuck out of his room without being seen, I plop down on my bed, reliving the flashback scenes of Rob and I last night. Never in my wildest dreams would I think he’d be so attentive and caring. The sweet kisses and the gentle caressing. None of it jives with his outlandish personality of evil. It’s like he’s an angel trapped in Satan’s body. For some reason I’ve been the chosen one to heal him. I have to admit; I’m slowly becoming addicted to freeing the angelic creature from the depths of the dark tunnel.
