His chest rises and falls evenly.
He’sfuckingasleep.
I’m not sure why, but that makes me angry.
Cleaning myself up, I walk back to my bedroom and shut the bedroom door a little too loudly. I don’t bother locking it—what he was afraid of already happened.
And the worst part?
I liked it.
I climb back into bed and pull the duvet over myself, staring at the wall until the room begins to lighten with the early morning sun. My mind is surprisingly blank considering what just happened, and it freaks me out that I’m not more freaked out.
Should I be?
Should I call the cops and report him? A small, rational part of me thinks I should. No job is worththis.
Then again, maybe he’s planning on apologizing. It’s not like he was conscious. He wasasleep.And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it in some sick, sadistic way. Perhaps it’s because I’d been through one of the worst things a person can go through, and this feels negligible compared to that.
Should he have woken me up? Maybe.
But I probably shouldn’t have pretended to be asleep.
He’s a decent person—adoctor.He’s going to say something, and when he does, I’m sure he’ll be nothing but supportive about how I want to move forward. He might be a grump, but he’s not a sexual predator.
Dr. Kincaid shuffles around out in the living room, and I hear him take a quick shower before the door to the hotel room snicks shut.
“I think we’re born with darkness. And I think certain things cause that darkness to seep into our bloodstreams. Like a chemical being activated and turned on. My colleagues are having some harmless fun, sure, but what about the rest of the population who think about the most depraved thingsimaginable? What stops a person like them from raping or assaulting the women they fuck? Just food for thought.”
“That’s the second time you’ve no-so-subtly told me to stay away from you.
“And you should listen.”
He was warning me with the locked door.
He didn’t want to hurt me.
But this obviously isn’t the first time he’s done this, and he’s probably wondering every single day what kind of monster he becomes at night.
We just need to talk about it. Maybe this isn’t a big deal—maybe we can work through it, and I can continue being his perfect, little employee and pretend this never happened.
Unable to sleep anymore, I take a long shower and change into a more serious outfit: wide-leg plaid pants and a plain, black t-shirt. Grabbing my black blazer, I don’t even bother drying my hair. Instead, I pull it into a wet, sleek low bun.
Taking several deep breaths, I slip into my loafers and go in search of Dr. Kincaid to sort everything out.
The Devil Incarnate
Frankie
When I exit the elevator,my breath hitches when I see him speaking to a colleague in the lobby. He’s holding two to-go Philz Coffee cups, and once I get closer, his eyes flick over to me briefly. I stop walking as he tips his head and holds out one of the cups to me—as if the brown cardboard cup is a peace offering. And there’snoindication that he’s sorry or remembers what happened. I take a deep breath and gird my loins, walking toward him again.
Each step sends a heavy, aching pulse of pain to the space between my legs. After all, it’s been years since I’ve had sex, and he wasn’t exactly gentle last night.
I have to keep my mind from defaulting to the memories from last night—most importantly, the noises he made when he was fucking me, the way his hands gripped me like he never wanted or intended to let go. The desperate way he drove into me—like he knew he was dreaming and he didn’t want it to end.
“Good morning, Francesca,” he says, handing the coffee to me.
My eyes find his, and I take the cup from him as I study his face. But there’snothingin his expression—no hardness of his jaw from guilt, no narrowed eyes, daring me to speak of it. Hishand brings his cup to his lips and he takes a deep sip of his coffee, and if I’m not mistaken, his eyes are sparkling and bright this morning.
