by Ashley Logan
CHAPTER TWELVE
I stiffened and his arm tightened around me, pulling me harder against him. He mumbled something I couldn't quite make out and sighed heavily.
As I lay perfectly still in his grasp, I began to breathe again when he let out a soft snore.
He was still asleep.
Calming myself down, I closed my eyes again. There was no point in fighting him. He wasn't hurting me and there was a very real chance that he might if I woke him suddenly.
It took a while for my nerves to settle after the shock, and while I waited for sleep to return, I had to admit that lying in Pachenko's arms was not at all unpleasant. He was warm, and secure, and he smelled pretty damn good. Clean, with that nice deodorant of his mixing with a hint of vodka. He smelled better that most of the guys I'd shared a bed with in the past. Maybe better than any of them.
And he was better looking.
Rolling my eyes at myself, I huffed a little sigh and snuggled into him a little.
"Mm," he mumbled nuzzling the back of my head as his hand slid down my chest and slipped under my top to cup one of my breasts. One startling brush of my nipple later, his hand stilled. His breathing remained restful, leaving me to regret snuggling closer.
Sort of regret.
Not really regret.
It felt pretty good to have his big hand there actually. My nipples certainly weren't complaining as they stood up in a rush, striving for more attention.
For a moment, I let my imagination run wild before I was cut down by a horrendous wave of guilt.
Held on a hostage ship, I was fantasizing about my captor fondling my nipples. And more.
Girls around me had no choice, and I wanted it.
I was sick. Very sick.
I knew this. But if I was completely honest with myself, I still wanted to feel good.
That was the worst thing.
I knew I shouldn't, but I shifted so that his fingers brushed my needy nipple again. It felt so terrible and so good at the same time.
Craving to be touched so badly, I was taking advantage of a sleeping man.
I argued with myself that the sleeping man had taken advantage of me first - that was how his hand had got there in the first place, but I knew I was the responsible one. I was the only one with intent.
Trying to shoulder the blame by telling myself that he probably wouldn't mind touching my breasts didn't work either. He was quite clearly uncomfortable around me in that regard. I could tell that he didn't like me to be naked with him, and he'd even gone so far as to run away when Saskia had rubbed herself against his erection.
It was highly unlikely that he would appreciate my actions.
I doubted he would've touched me in this way at all, had he not done so in sleep. That was maybe why I felt it was my only opportunity to feel a pleasant touch. Why I reached up and lightly brushed my fingers over the hairs on his arm, hoping he'd move his hand again.
His hand twitched and a shiver ran through me.
He murmured in response and inhaled deeply, nestling into me again. His hand stroked my breast and rested again as he returned to a deeper sleep, while I was left tingling all over.
I told myself to stop.
That he would wake soon and I would regret it. I was toying with a dangerous boundary and I couldn't know how he'd respond.
The firm rod now poking me in the butt was a solid reminder of what one response might be. As much as I thought about that, I doubted it would end exactly the way that I was fantasizing.
Sighing, I settled in for the long haul, vowing not to tempt a sleeping Pachenko into something I couldn't handle. Eventually, I fell asleep.
I dreamed I was in his arms. His touch was gentle and he gave it willingly. I felt every graze of his skin with a heightened sense; felt his warm breath in my hair, his lips as they pressed to my ear. His fingers teased my nipples and then joyfully cupped my full breasts.
I moaned and he stiffened behind me.
His hand disappeared and the weight of his arm lifted, leaving me cold. Mumbling my disapproval, I reached for it as it left me and pulled it back down, snuggling into it.
"Natascha," he whispered.
My eyes opened at the sound of his distress and I saw that I wasn't dreaming. I let go of his arm and he rushed away as I rolled to face him.
"I'm sorry," he said as he backed away, adjusting his crotch. "I think I was touching you in my sleep."
"Mm," I agreed, rolling back over and closing my eyes to recall the all too brief moments. "You were."
"I'm so sorry. It won't happen again. I'll sleep in the chair from now on."
Frowning, I rolled back to face him. "I do not want you to."
His eyes widened and he watched me closely. "You're not upset?"
Rubbing my furrowed brow and my eyes, I blinked at him a while. "No. I would not mind if it happened again. Humans like to be touched, you know?"
"Yes, I know, but..." His voice trailed off. "I shouldn't. I'm..." he gestured around him. "And you're..." he gestured at me.
"I am not understanding you."
"You're vulnerable. I'm in a position of power. And I'm not...I cannot be doing that to you." He shook his head and ran both hands through his hair before resting them on his head and groaning. He turned away and I watched his hands turn to fists in his hair.
"I think you are being over... over-something. You were asleep. You did not ask, but I did not ask either when I... bumped you in the night. So is all even."
"You what?"
Feeling my face warming, I confessed. "You touched me earlier and it felt good, so I... moved close to you, made you do it again. You were asleep. Vulnerable. I did not ask. It was wrong, I know."
He shook his head. "I didn't bump into you, Natascha. The way I was touching you, was..."
"Yes. I know." He seemed very upset and I nodded to show him I understood. "Is strange to think too hard about it. Maybe stop. You are probably still tired. Come back to bed."
He eyed the bed warily, still shaking his head.
"I can't."
"What is big deal? We are just people. We have bodies. They do things; they like things. Is all natural. What are you worried about?"
"Touching you when you don't want to be touched. Touching you when I shouldn't."
"What if I asked you to? Would you do it then?"
He stared at me, incredulous. "What?"
"Would you want to?"
Swallowing hard, he looked away. "What the hell kind of question is that?"
"It is one I am wondering. I am thinking that you might like to be touched too. If I asked you to touch me, would you do this?"
His jaw tightened and his nostrils flared as he kept his eyes on the door. "Are you asking?"
He did not want me to say yes. I could tell because of the disappointment I felt at his response. Exhaling slowly, I shook my head.
"No. I am just curious. Sorry. I have been to too many sauna parties for bodies to bother me much, but this is not true for everyone. I will not ask about it anymore."
"That would be best," he said as he escaped to the bathroom.
When he re-emerged, I could tell he was trying to ignore me and it did not feel particularly pleasant. He refused to look at me as he readied for his day as Pachenko. I tried to be fine with it; tried not to be hurt. I told myself to change the subject and be civil.
"Thank you for getting a... stock of food. I will not worry so much if you are late again."
He grunted and kept his eyes on his gun as he checked it for the hundredth time.
"I might still worry some. I do not like that you were hurt."
Snapping his gun back together, he looked at me for the first time since our earlier awkward discussion. His eyebrow twitched slightly and he looked away again as he tucked his gun behind him.
"That because you won't be able to escape without me?"
Frowning I shrank away from his accusation.
"You are being unpleasant," I said,
turning to face the wall so I wouldn't have to look at him. "I did not mean it this way. I will be quiet now, Pachenko. I only make you angry and I do not like to. It is bad enough for me to not know time, and not feel kind touch, or breathe fresh air, watch rain fall or feel warm sun on my face. I do not need to feel your anger as well. Good day."
"Natascha," he began, but I shook my head.
He lingered a moment and I felt his eyes on me, but I would not turn to face him. He left and the door locked twice behind him as always.
I WAS INTENSELY AWARE of him upon his return, but I refused to acknowledge him in any way.
To be rejected by a sex trafficker was damning, but overall a good thing. To be accused of deceitful behavior by a criminal was enraging. I happened to be dependent on that frustrating and inconsistent criminal for the necessities of life and needing to keep him placated was a delicate balance. One I was tired of keeping.
I wanted to believe there was hope - that there was a chance of escape, but it was all tied up with him. Needing to believe in his overall goodness was beginning to stretch my belief system.
And I was an expert daydreamer.
"You are still upset with me," he said eventually, when he had run through his routines and I remained impassive. Lying on the bed, I continued to write in my notebook.
The pages had been largely blank when I'd packed it in my suitcase. It had held maybe three songs. Now it held many things. Songs, thoughts, feelings. Sometimes all three on one line. Keeping my emotions in one place saved me from being a repulsive, blubbering mess every day. It was good to keep them outside of myself.
"What are you writing?" he tried again.
I ignored him.
Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair.
"I'm sorry Natascha. I was... testing. I shouldn't have taken my frustration out on you."
When I acted as if he had not even spoken, he slumped into his complaining chair. I wondered where he would sit if it broke one of these days. I wrote in the notebook that I hoped it would happen and that he would land on the floor with a thump; perhaps his gun would even go off and put a hole in his beautiful buttocks.
"You are smiling now, but it is not from anything I have said. You are writing about me. Mean things. This is what makes you smile."
I had no idea how he did that, but when I realized I had tensed up at his prediction, I knew that I had given him confirmation. Mentally kicking myself, I added another sentence about how good it would be if his magical mind-reading talents were kept in that same bullet-filled ass, then I closed the book.
Climbing off the bed, I pulled my suitcase out and put my notebook away. I chose a new outfit. A fun one. The kind that would make it appear as if I was not a prisoner on a ship, but a young woman going for a stroll on a summer's day. That is what I felt like dancing about and the floral skirt and translucent blouse were the perfect costume.
I changed clothes right where I was to purposely annoy him, smiling at the sound of his gasp and subsequent warning rumble as I skipped to the bathroom to dance in private.
In the bathroom, my 'stroll in the park' dance promptly turned angry and when I finally stopped, I was breathing hard. I was also very hot and no less moody. Wiping perspiration from my forehead, I continued to dance until there was a knock on the door.
It was more of a low thumping really. The door was too thick to reply through and I didn't plan on talking to him anyway. Ignoring the thumps, I finished the steps until I felt the dance was complete and then I stretched.
The door cracked open.
"You've been in here a long time," he said quietly, poking his head around the door.
I didn't respond, just continued to stretch as my heart rate came down. Wiping at my face again, I walked past him and turned on the shower.
"You were dancing," he concluded. "Hard."
Several awkward moments passed as I tested the water and he stumbled to find words I would react to.
"It's good exercise."
Undressing, I stepped into the shower, keeping my back to him; hoping he would leave at my nudity as he usually did.
He hesitated. "I know what you are doing."
I turned in the water, baring myself to him fully.
Swearing, he averted his eyes and shut the bathroom door behind him.
Easy.
Returning to the cabin, I found him agitated. He got up and shut the bathroom door that I'd left open before stalking back to his distressed chair.
I dropped my towel and pulled on fresh underpants and my sleeping shirt.
"You shouldn't tease me, Natascha."
"Who is teasing? Being naked is the fastest way to get rid of you."
Sighing, I flopped onto the bed and stared at the wall. My hamstrings were still tight because he'd intruded on my warm down. Folding in half, I pressed myself to the wall and stretched them out.
"I must offend you very much. I know that some Americans are not comfortable with nudity, but I was believing fewer Russians to be upset by it."
"I'm not upset by nudity. And I'm one hundred percent Russian. I am also glad you're talking to me again."
Frowning, I sat up and faced him.
"My nudity upsets you, so you are lying. When you lie, I cannot believe the other things you might say. This is distressing to me for many reasons. I cannot trust lies."
"I'm not lying," he said flatly.
I shook my head. "I am not so good as you at knowing the difference, but I am not stupid. You find me... uncomfortable."
"Yes."
Surprised by the speed of his direct response, I shifted back a little. "Why?"
"Many reasons," he replied, reaching for his flask and taking a swig.
"Give me one."
Groaning, he tapped his fingers on the flask a moment, then drank deeply. Wiping his mouth, he gave me a leveling look.
"I care what happens to you. Is that enough? Or do you want me to tell you the things in my head that I am trying not to do to you. I am two people, Natascha. I don't know which one is stronger when you're naked. You said there was just the two of us now, but for me, there is still three. There will always be three on this ship and you will never get off it unless we work together and respect the boundaries."
His eyes were too intense to bear and I looked away.
"Which one are you now?"
"You know which one."
Nodding, I climbed under the blankets. "Then you should come to bed."
"I'll stay in the chair," he said with authority before he softened. "I can't trust myself in sleep."
I told myself it was a good thing for him to practice such restraint. He clearly had more than I did, because I still wanted to be held - even if only by a confused criminal while he slept.
"If you think that is best," I conceded. Snuggling down, I pretended I had someone else's arms curled around me instead of my own.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I woke when his chair groaned. He stretched and cricked his neck. Painfully. Unraveling, he winced slowly, and carefully stretched the other way. Still rubbing his neck as he silently bent to grab his bag, he froze when his eyes met mine over the edge of the bed.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
Ignoring his apology, I sat up as he stood there with his clean clothes.
"Your neck is bad today."
"It's fine."
"That is another lie. I do not like it when you lie so often. I want to trust that I have hope. You are not allowed to lie."
"Fine. My neck hurts. I admit it, but I'm not about to bitch and moan about it. It makes no difference to my day." He kicked his bag back into place and left for the bathroom.
"If you do not come back too late, I will rub it for you," I offered, when he returned freshly showered.
"I don't want you to rub it."
"Yes, you do. It feels bad," I stated plainly. "I will make it feel better and then you could hug me to say thank you so I will feel better. Is good. You see?"
"Not too tight, just... nice hug. I would like a nice hug. I have been having a bad time lately," I explained with a small smile. "I was kidnapped and am being held prisoner. A hug would help me to feel better. I have not had a good hug since Lisandra left and that was a long time ago now."
The sadness hit me suddenly. A great tightness in my chest that made it hard to breathe.
I lay back down. Pulled the blanket up.
"I have changed mind Pachenko," I whispered through the ache in my throat. "A hug will not help me feel better."
"What's wrong now?" he asked, lowering the gun he was checking.
"Everything."
"Oh. Well that's helpful." Gun still in hand, he rubbed at his wrinkling brow.
I watched the gun as it shifted back and forth and wondered how Lisandra had killed herself. I also wondered why I had not thought to steal the gun before that moment.
Frowning, I rolled over to face the wall as I wondered why I would think about Lisandra dying one moment and then stealing a gun the next. Was I thinking about killing myself? Could I not even trust my own thoughts anymore?
"Natascha?"
"Yes."
"Who is Lisandra?" he asks softly.
"Was."
"Who was Lisandra?"
Swiping at the tear that had managed to sneak from my eye, I took a breath.
"Lisandra was my sister. She died sad and alone. I doubt she was even herself when she died. Does that matter do you think?" I asked him without bothering to wait for a response. "Maybe that is a good thing. Dying as someone else might let Lisandra be free forever."
"Natascha, you're worrying me with how you're talking."
"I am worrying myself some."
The chair creaked as he sat down. "I'm thinking maybe I should stay with you today."
"You can do that?" I asked, wondering if he'd only been avoiding me all these weeks. "There is nobody to kill today?"
"They can wait another day," he said fiercely, as if I had said the wrong thing. It was a good thing I was looking at the wall and not him
"Sorry Pachenko. You should go and do your job. I will be okay. You will see. I will talk to Lisandra if she is still here."