The v Girl (19 page)

“NO!” I scream at the top of my lungs and fight against his hold. In earnest, unlike before.

He comes back to life and looks down to me before covering my mouth his hand.

“Shh! Don’t be difficult,” he whispers.

His blue eyes bring a painful flashback of that day. The soldiers, my mom. Almost the same blue eyes.

And exactly the same malice.

Chapter
29

I try to push him
off of me with all my strength. The mirror doesn’t reflect my endeavors to get Aleksey’s body off of me. Instead, I see three people who shouldn’t be here.

Rey’s mom died during childbirth. Angie Weaver and Mom died while serving the troops. Seeing those women means that either I’ve lost my mind or I’m near death now.

“Come with us. You prefer death over rape,” says my mom.

“And he raped you.” says Cecilia Diaz.

I scream silently against Aleksey’s hand. I need to wake up.

A different voice echoes in my ear. “V-girl, wake up.” I order my mind to obey the voice. Little by little, I gain control of my eyelids and open them slowly.

Divine leans over me concerned, probably because I’m gasping and shivering violently. I look down, and I’m relieved to see I’m wearing my hospital gown. The sheets are moist. That’s undeniable evidence that my arousal was real, but I can’t find any blood.

I need air to speed up this slow awakening. Fighting to control my irresponsive body, I get up and search for the door desperately. I open it, making sure nobody sees me. The grogginess subsides a little as a cold breeze brushes my face. “Where’s Aleksey?”

Divine points
to a colossal chair next to my bed. “Prince Aleksey? He was sitting next to your bed, but as soon as I arrived he left.”

“Was he dressed?”

She places her palm on my forehead. “What? Of course he was dressed.”

I close the door and stride toward the chair. “Divine, this will sound weird but did he look … different? Strange?”

She blinks in confusion. “Well, he was … somehow … flustered like I’d caught him doing something—Hey! What are you doing? You wanna move this chair? I’ll do it. Where do you want it?”

“Next to the mirror. I think I might’ve been raped.” I ignore her shocked expression. “Please turn around, I need to check whether I still have—” She lifts a hand to interrupt me and turns her back to me.

Sitting in front of the mirror I part my lips and take a look. Dad’s anatomy lessons pay off. The damn hymen is still there.

The whole thing was a dream. So vivid that I’m surprised when I look at the rest of my body and find no marks, except some bruises in the back of my thigh where the drugs entered my body. Because my skin still tingles in particular places. The spots where Aleksey’s lips tortured and pleasured my body.

I put my head between my knees as I struggle to organize my thoughts.

Why did I have such a dream? In my dream, I didn’t feel raped. I was enjoying the thrill of it and internally gave my consent. I’m not scared of losing my V, of expressing my sexuality. I’m willing. More than willing, as long as I want the guy. And I want Aleksey more than I’ve ever wanted Rey.

What turns—what otherwise could have been a blissful dream—into a nightmare is the idea that Aleksey acted like a rapist. He would’ve taken me whether I’d given him permission or not. I always tell myself that if he were a rapist, he wouldn’t have stopped when I rejected him at the river. He has even protected me from rapists. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t do it, does it? What if Gary’s right?

This dream has reminded me how little I know about Aleksey. How much we still have to walk on the path toward trust.

But the worst is how much I … enjoyed it. I cover my burning face with my palms. I feel guilty and ashamed. Does this mean I subconsciously want to … want to …?
No!

I rock back and forth on the chair. I can’t control my dreams, especially not after the effects of so many medications and drugs. I hate how turned on I was.

Divine’s hand on my shoulder interrupts my thoughts. “V-girl? You want me to call Dr. Velez?”

I shake my head. “I’ll take a bath.” Dad has said baths are allowed, but she insists in acting like a nurse and enters Aleksey’s bathroom with me. After the bath, I finally feel awake.

Divine and I share complementary kinks, but we’re not friends. Sisters in arms … maybe. She’s a freak in bed and a rape survivor so, perhaps, she might understand what’s going on. I explain to her my deflowering problems and my guilt-inducing dream. Normally, I wouldn’t discuss my intimate secrets, but the medications are messing with me.

“Kiddo, it’s not as if … you wanna get raped. No woman wants that. You just enjoy rough sex fantasies. I have those fantasies, too.” She looks flushed. “In those, my man doesn’t ask, he just takes forcefully … and uses … and discards. My Joey turns them into a reality whenever he can. That, ironically, makes me feel in control. Rats! I’m horny just thinking about it.”

She changes the wet sheets. “I didn’t have any control when the soldiers … I was scared, and it was painful as hell. I hated every minute of it.”
She inhales deeply and shakes her head as though trying to erase the memories.
“I hate to think about it.”

I don’t know what to say. I softly put my hand on her shoulder as if to say:
I’m sorry they raped you.

“For two years, I bathed ten times a day. Couldn’t get rid of the soldiers’ smell. It was on my mind all the time. Joey’s love helped me a lot, but I’m still trying to recover the part of me that died when they—”
Divine pats my hand in her shoulder. “So … when my man takes me roughly, I always feel in control.
I have the power to stop him and he would … but I never ask him.”

She theatrically fans herself. “Rough sex is awesome when doing it with the right person. The rougher the better. Hmm!”

“Well, not for me. I prefer loving, sweet, delicate sex. Slow and with plenty of kisses.”

She blushes. “What do you know if you’re still intact?”

It’s funny how even though she’s completely shameless when it comes to showing her body to strangers, she blushes when discussing sex.

“I may be inexperienced, but I know that I need a partner who cares for me, even if it’s a little. Nothing of that
use and discard
nonsense. And the boundaries should be well drawn beforehand. What is acceptable and what is not.”

“Then draw the lines! Set your limits.”

“How, if I hardly know the guy?” That’s why I went for Rey first. I feel a pang of frustration thinking about my unfulfilled plans with the only man I trust one hundred percent.

“Then keep those hormones in check until you find someone trustworthy. I trust my Joey with my life. Heck! You’ve seen us. He’s very harsh at times. How much sex do you think we would have if he were constantly like,
May I touch you there, please?
May I fill your mouth with my cum?
Or,
may this finger enter your—”

“Stop! I got it,” I say, suppressing a cringe. “The difference is that Joey knows he has your eternal permission. In my dream, the guy didn’t know or care if I were willing or not.”

She shows me the moist sheets. “You were willing.”

“How would he know that? He assumed. The fact that he continued even after I said ‘Get out of me’ is what scares me.” I raise my hand to stop her when she’s about to argue. “I know it’s just a dream, but for all we know, that could be his style.” He’s said so before.
I’m too into perversions that might be too advanced, kinky, and rough for you
.

“I don’t know. In real life, the guy could’ve done harm long ago and—”

“Exactly. Maybe he’s taking his time and he’ll eventually … snap out of his mask.” My knees shake, so I sit on the cot. “Can you tell me that it’s one hundred percent impossible that he prefers rough sex in real life?” She shakes her head. “If rough is what he’s into, I’d rather not have sex with him.”

Divine looks at Aleksey’s bed thoughtfully. “He looks like the rough-sex type, but I think he’d never hurt you. You should’ve seen him when he found you and thought you were dead. He looked as though the world had ended for him. I haven’t seen that kind of agony in a man before. Heck! It broke my heart to see him so sad. He’s in love with you.”

“Please! That’s impossible. Horny for me? Yes. In love? Hell no! The guy barely knows me and at times barely stands me. I don’t know him either. How can I trust him with my body and be sure he’ll stop when … if … I say so?

Divine sits next to me. “There’s always a risk with any man, V-girl. I knew my first husband since forever, and he raped me whenever he was drunk.”

Her words make me wince. “Any other man … I’d fight him … and get a good chance to overpower him … if it came to
that
. Not Aleksey. Not the man that even the soldiers fear.”

I lay down on the cot, and she half covers me with a sheet. “If the guy scares you, don’t have sex with him. But if it turns out he’s an honest man, you’ll regret you missed your chance. You won’t find a better man for pleasure. A manly man who can do all sort of tricks with his strength. And he’ll make you feel full and stretched. Hmm, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

I remember how he played with my body, manipulating it in different positions. He had sex with me aloft for a long time, and he never got tired. In real life, a stud like him wouldn’t tire so easily, and now I understand why he said he doesn’t need a bed for sex. The mental picture makes blood run hot through that area in a warm, delicious ache.

But Divine’s next words make me come back abruptly to my reality. “I have an idea. The Priest likes you, and it’s obvious you adore him. Why don’t you two hook up? Uh? What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

I turn my back to her. “No, I’m not.” Rey’s an uncomfortable, borderline painful topic. I force my mind to not think about him.

“Thanks for your help, Divine. I’ll doze a little.”

Chapter 3
0

When I wake up, I’m not
surprised to see that Divine is gone. My family is here, about to have a medicine lesson. Dad makes Azzy and Olmo check my blood pressure, temperature, respiration rate and compare their charts.

Olmo is gauging my blood pressure when a sound makes me turn my head. How could I not noticed him sitting in a corner, lazily stroking Poncho’s head?

“Aah!” My skin heats up, and I’m blushing fiercely. It makes me incredibly self-conscious to see him here after my orgasmic hallucination. My heart rhythm and breath speed up. The twins discuss the contrast in their charts aloud, but Dad says Olmo must have made a mistake. I hope Aleksey, being such a skilled doctor and stud, doesn’t associate my symptoms to sexual arousal.

I try to not think about it, but a dream that gives a V-girl her first orgasm is bound to leave a mark. Maybe parts of the dream were real. I better ask him now that my father is present. I don’t think he’ll answer testily in front of him.

Aleksey dismisses my shy attempt to thank him and acts as though he didn’t do it for me, earning an incredulous look from Azzy.

“Were you here when I woke up last time?” I ask him as casually as I can.

He nods without looking at me, scratching Poncho’s ears.

“Did you—call me a
brat
?”

Aleksey’s eyes meet mine for a second with a malicious glint before he returns to look at his stroking hand. “I did. You were acting like one.”

“Yes!” exclaims my sister enthusiastically, putting her fist in the air. “She
is
super stubborn.” Azzy turns to look at Aleksey, who nods at her with a hint of amusement in his otherwise humorless face. “I‘d call her a brat myself, but you saved me the trouble.”

I scowl. Look at her talking so carefree to this pervert! I envy her so much. Aleksey doesn’t intimidate her at all.

“Don’t call Lily a brat!” says Olmo defensively. “She isn’t a brat! She’s just as unreasonably pigheaded as a mule.”

“Um, thanks?” I say, shuffling under the bedspread.

Olmo smiles proudly. “You’re welcome, Lily. I’ll always defend you.” He sticks out his tongue at Azalea.

Azzy laughs while adjusting my cot. “Keep defending her, bro!” I’m not much of a smiler, but the twins’ joking exchanges never fail in making me smile broadly.

I look at Aleksey again and catch him staring at me before quickly looking away.

My attention turns to Poncho. I haven’t seen him since that night, and now I love him more than ever because he saved me and the others. I blow him a kiss. Poncho seems at ease in Aleksey’s room, placidly accepting his petting. I force my dad to promise me that he’ll spoil Poncho with extra food. Poncho’s the reason I don’t drown in my nervousness when my family retires, leaving me alone with the brooding General. He won’t let Aleksey get too passionate without my consent.

I thought we were past the awkward stage, but now silence extends between us. He looks angry and doesn’t make any attempt at conversation. I wish he’d play the bass and end this uncomfortable silence, but with so many injured soldiers in the clinic, he won’t. I wish he were at least writing in his journal and not just sitting there, trying to avoid looking at me. Maybe we can only bond through voyeurism and alcohol.

He wanted me to sleep here; it was part of his deal to save my brother, but I feel like an intruder as time to go to bed approaches.

“Sleep in my bed,” he says curtly.

I shiver. I was ready, even eager for that before the dream but now it feels wrong. For all I know, being rough and pushing consent could be the way he likes best. He notices my discomfort, and he quickly adds, “I mean that you’ll be more comfortable there. I can sleep somewhere else … for tonight.”

What does he mean “somewhere else?” I shouldn’t care, but I do.

“No, don’t go. This cot is fine,” I say patting the mattress. “I’ll sleep here.”

“No. Your bed is unacceptable. Sleep in mine. I’ll go if you want,” he says brusquely.

I scowl. I think there’s another reason behind his insistence. “You really want to sleep somewhere else, don’t you? If I weren’t here, you’d go anyway. Guess what? Whether you’re here or not, I’ll sleep on this cot.”

He steps angrily toward my cot. “I’ll put it like this, Lila. You’ll sleep on my bed. You can go to bed meekly, or I’ll drag you to it.” His voice is so authoritative that before I know it, I’m under his bedspread. In spite of the bed’s humongous size, this is the equivalent of a soldier’s single. There’ll be barely space for the two of us.

He sits on the opposite side of the bed with his back turned to me. “Now that you’re on the bed, the question is: Will you be more comfortable if I stay or if I sleep elsewhere?”

“What do you prefer?”

“I asked you first,” he says impatiently.

“That depends on—” I begin, blushing. He looks at me insistently, as if patiently waiting for me to elaborate. “—where would you go to sleep? The canteen?”

“No. I have a bed at the Accord headquarters.” He turns to look at me questioningly. “Why?”

My lips remain sealed while I look down. How can I tell him that I don’t want him to go to a place full of eager visitants? I don’t want to sound like I’m jealous. Because I’m not even sure I am.

He seems to find the answer in my long silence. “You don’t want me to go to the canteen, do you?” My reddening face becomes an affirmative answer.

Something flickers in his blue eyes and his face loses a microscopic bit of its customary hardness. It seems like the thought of me being jealous has somehow moved him.

“I wouldn’t go to the canteen,” he says in a less harsh tone. “Unless my men caused any problem there, I’d stay at the Accord headquarters.” He gathers some things here and there, as if packing to stay the night out. Perhaps he prefers the Accord headquarters to my company, after all. “You’re healing. It’s better if you get the whole bed to yourself.”

I realize at this moment that Gary lied about Aleksey. He can’t be a rapist if he’s so willing to give me space. My initial reluctance to us sharing a bed has disappeared.

He’s almost at the door, his back to me when my longing tone of voice deceives me. “Stay.”

Aleksey stops dead in his tracks at the door. He doesn’t turn or say a thing. Damn! I beat myself for asking. He’ll probably leave anyway, but by now he knows I want to spend the night with him more than I should. A bridal sheet that said
Horny for Aleksey
in V-blood letters would have been more subtle.

I fiddle with the sheets, looking down. “Never mind, you—–you need to go somewhere to sleep comfortably … call it a night … wake up early. Just forget it.”

But Aleksey closes the door and enters the room again. He starts to get ready for bed.

I’m going to spend a night in a man’s bed for the first time in my life. For some reason, this feels even more intimate and nerve-wracking than the dream.

Aleksey’s lack of modesty when he undresses borders on indecent. He doesn’t ask me to turn around. He doesn’t even turn off the lights. I try not to watch, but from the corner of my eyes I see him taking off his armor and every piece of clothes underneath it. His movements are as feline, masculine, and gracefully rough as usual. I read somewhere that soldiers never undress completely to sleep, but Aleksey doesn’t seem to care. When he is shirtless, a new wave of arousal courses through my veins, and comes to rest in a particular spot between my legs.

Aleksey is only in short-legged undergarments that leave nothing to the imagination. The moment is so intimate that butterflies attack my stomach. He turns off the light, and the only illumination comes from the dim light of a digital torch on the wall. As he lies down under the bedspread, he puts a gun under the bed.

The bare skin of his legs briefly brushes my calf. The contact feels deliciously electric, but I pull away as much as the bed allows me. I force my mind to not think about his warm skin. I think about training instead. “When will we start training?”

He tries to give me as much space as he can by lying on his side. “When I say so.”

“When will you say so?”

“When you promise you’ll do everything I ask during training, no questioning. If you still want me to train you, I’ll be aggressively strict. Harsh. Downright severe.”

“I’ll take everything, I promise. Just make me a good fighter.”

He remains quiet for so long that I think he has fallen asleep.

“When will we start training?” he asks in a hoarse tone that implies he’s talking about the sexual training he offered not long ago.

“When I say so. Perhaps after you answer my questions. What’s your kink? Do you love someone? Your parents? A girlfriend?”

He turns his back to me. “Girlfriend? That’s a ludicrous idea.”

“Why is it ludicrous?”

“I’m not into girlfriends, courtship, or fiancées.” His scornful voice reflects how much he hates those concepts. Tristan said once that Aleksey has never devoted time to women.

“Mr. Fürst, obviously you don’t have time for a girlfriend, but all of your men are married. Are you telling me that you have commitment issues?”

“No, it’s atonement. I don’t deserve to be loved,” he says unemotionally. As though he’s explaining to me a scientifically proven fact. My eyebrows rise in disbelief. There’s always a hint of arrogance in his severe stance that screams
I deserve
everything
and always get it.
Maybe he's being pragmatic. Love in the time of war is not a wise emotion to feel.

“Why?”

As usual, he answers my question with a shake of his head.

“Okay you think you don’t deserve love, but I’m convinced you believe you deserve to be admired.” Aleksey’s eyes shine with humor. I’m learning to read him. He’s just made revelations in spite of himself. “Is that why when I tried to hold your hand you …?”

He nods. “I don’t want you to get false expectations about me. My offer is exclusively for pleasure. I’ll make you feel so good that you won’t feel like you’ll ever need love in your life.” It sounds tempting. Especially after almost falling for Rey, only to have him offer me a chaste arrangement that will leave me a V-girl for the Recruitment. No love means no pain.

I turn, uncomfortable under his bedspread. “I’m not exactly expecting romance. What I want is a mix of the human touch …with … a more kinky kind of contact?” Too bad what Rey offers me is limited to human touch, whereas Aleksey offer is limited to the sexual touch. Why is it so difficult to get both?

“I said I won’t give you romance, but I can give you human touch.” He stays quiet for a while and then inhales deeply. “Tell me. According to you, what is the human touch?”

I try to remember Olmo’s words. “Mm … if it were a dictionary definition, it’d go like this: Physical affection of non-sexual nature that provides comfort, warmth, support, and humanity.” I say, imitating my Dad’s preachy tone of voice during homeschooling.

He turns to look at me. “And kindness. And recognition. That is exactly what you need, Lila, and what I need from you. Only from you.”

I don’t know why his words bring a warm, delicious, electrical, feeling.
Only from me.
“Why me?”

He shakes his head, and I know that topic, like many others around him, is closed. I try a different question. “What does the human touch has anything to do with us?

“That day at the river you talked about a connection between sex and love. I’m so denied to love that I won’t even pretend I’m not. If you accept my training, I won’t give you love,” he looks down at his superb body, “but I can offer you the rest of myself and plenty of human touch.”

I like his offer. We don’t care for each other as much as Rey and I care for each other, but if we had sex there would be more than just two people using each other. There would be
something
.

“Besides, I won’t stay here for long. We won’t have any contact after recruitment.”

I pout, but he doesn’t see it. “You can always send me a letter or a messenger dove.”

“That’d be as much as to hand a written confession that I’m fraternizing with Nats to the Patriot authorities. They’d kill you.”

I knew all along that whatever we have together would be short-lived but hearing that he’ll completely disappear from my life makes my heart constrict a little.

“I’ll show you the basics only if a temporary arrangement works for you. If you want to.”

I can’t find my voice. Our silence extends uncomfortably for what seems like hours. I try to not talk about sexual training anymore.

“Why don’t you want me to sleep on the cot?”

“It’s partially moist.”

My head snaps toward him. “How do you know?” I search for answers in his silence. If the brat calling was real, perhaps other parts of my dream
did
happen. “Did you … touch me right after you called me a brat?” He shakes his head. “Why not?”

“You were too intoxicated to give your consent.”

“And?”

He frowns. “And? If, while you were drugged, I had touched you like I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to call myself a real man.”

That’s true. He’d be a rapist, but that’s not what I wanted to imply. “What I meant is … I have … vivid dreams and I had one that … I don’t know what was real and not. I won’t call you a liar, but I think we had some … physical contact.”