Broken
Page 9
Yet, here she was, with the man who took her life away. She lay bound to the bed like his pet, stroking his cock like his whore. She shook her head—she didn’t want his water.
Justice must’ve sensed her attitude. He clanked the glass on the mahogany nightstand. He motioned for the cell—she forgotten it was there. Her left hand fumbled for it. The phone had snuggled behind her left ear. Pressed against her head, she asked whom was she speaking with. Justice made another swipe for the cell, but Abigail heard St. John’s voice on the other end.
Her eyes pleaded for another chance to hold this conversation. St. John had treated her with dignity—to keep Justice at bay, she reached over to smash her fingers around his semi-erect cock again. She pumped it until he arose with a renewed hard on. He vaulted his back and allowed her time to talk, but not allowed privacy.
“Hi, Abigail, how’re they treating you?” he asked.
She hesitated to bask in the sincerity of his question. He sounded like her favorite teachers back in high school. They’d ask her each morning and she felt special—like they really cared.
“I’m fine James. Why the call?”
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