Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 89228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
She stroked her fingers down her mound and between her folds as her thoughts filled with silver eyes, a thick cock, and seductive lips. The deep, reverberating voice in her head commanded she fuck herself. So she did, with urgent, wanton thrusts of her fingers. When his voice told her to come, she shouted his name to the ceiling.
There was a good chance she'd never find him, that she'd never be able to show him how far she'd come. But as the next two weeks passed, she protected her new self-esteem, nurturing it with every little progressive step. She refused to even consider puking. She made trips to the mailbox, reconnected with Dr. Michaels, and reinstated her leathercraft business, adding leather dolls to her list of merchandise.
She hadn't worked up to leaving the yard yet, but as the weeks passed, conquering the agoraphobia became more about self-reliance and less about finding Van.
Still, night after night, she sat on the bench and waited for him.
She'd always thought it would take a tragic event to rip down the walls of her phobia: her house catching fire, terminal cancer, abduction and rape. Yet, on day seventy-six, something unexpected finally propelled her over the property line and onto Liv's porch.
Love guided her shaky legs beneath the luminance of the moon. She loved herself enough to raise a sweat-soaked fist and knock on the door. And she loved him enough to smooth her breathing when a gorgeous brunette poked her head through the crack.
A pink scar, just like Van's, twitched on Liv's cheek as she tilted her head. “Yes?”
She curled her fingers in the fabric of her shorts, relaxed them at her sides, and lifted her eyes. “I...I...uh...” Her voice quivered, and the air thinned. “I live next door. I'm—” She wheezed with burning lungs, and Liv's emotionless expression didn't help her nerves. “Sorry. I'm a bit panicky.”
A car motored down the street behind her, and she jumped. Jesus, get a grip. “I'm...I was Van Quiso's...” What was she? Slave? Girlfriend? Lover?
Those dark eyes turned to stone. “What the fuck did he do?” Liv opened the door all the way and stepped toward her.
Her muscles heated, and her own eyes hardened. And she didn’t step back. “He loved me enough to shove me out the door.” Oh fuck. Awkward. She glanced over her shoulder, cringing at the open space of the shadowed street. “Can I come in?”
Ten minutes later, she sat in a brown leather armchair with a mug of coffee in her trembling hands. Liv and Joshua perched on the couch across from her, Joshua's arm wrapped around Liv's shoulders. No doubt they assumed the worst about Van, and her need to rectify that spilled the words from her mouth.
They listened without comment or expression as she told them her story. The agoraphobia and OCD, the reason Van was on her porch, the abduction and rape, the dolls and the restaurant, his forceful attempts to overpower her disorders, his longing to have a relationship with his daughter, and his final unselfish act. The how and why he shoved her out the door. On the surface, the events were horrific and unsavory, but she spoke of them with a passion that made her eyes burn, her chest swell, and her lips curve upward. “I love him.”
“I see that.” Liv reclined against the couch back, her denim-clad legs crossed at the knee and hands folded in her lap. “Stockholm Syndrome is an intense—”
“I have an addictive personality, Miss Reed.” She set down the mug and faced the woman head on. “If you want to psychoanalyze me, please consider all of my syndromes. As well as your own capture-bonding relationship.” She flicked her eyes at a grinning Joshua.
A smile bent Liv's otherwise unreadable expression. “Touché.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “He healed me in a way none of my therapists had been able to do. He freed me.”
Liv hummed, and the soft, reverberating note sent an exquisite chill through the air. “And you want me to allow him contact with Livana?”
She nodded. “I also want you to help me find him. The restaurant you named only limits my search to...oh, the greater Austin area.”
“He'll find you. He's nothing if not dedicated to his stalk—” Liv smiled. “Pursuits.”
She left Liv's house with a yearning to believe her. Hell, he wouldn't have to look far.
For the next two months, she waited right on that bench. She'd trimmed the bushes so he wouldn't miss her if he drove by. So she wouldn't miss him.
Often, she lie down on the wood slats and fell asleep under the canopy of stars. During the day, she expanded her business and paid her bills. She kept a routine, but it was flexible. One time, she even took a cab to the grocery store. A panic attack cut her shopping trip short, but she'd managed to get herself home without assistance.