Concealed Force

Chapter 13

The next day she asked for a hug again. And the next. These were days of waiting. For a chance to get out, for Reid's position in the club to improve, and more and more on Laura's mind: waiting for him to relax his resistance.

They went to the gym because he wanted her to keep up her running, make sure she was ready. They visited the bar, but only for half an hour, just to remind people who they were. Alyssa dropped by and asked Laura to pair socks and fold t-shirts and Laura nearly hugged her with gratitude. It was nice to have something useful to do.

By the third day of hugs Reid seemed to have decided that what she was asking for was reassurance, and only that. And perhaps because of this, he'd begun to let himself touch her when they were alone, the way you might touch a frightened pet. A little pat to her arm, a light stroke of her hair, a squeeze of her hand.

Only when they were in bed did he become tense at the feel of her skin. It emboldened her to roll closer whenever she could, it encouraged her to pretend to be asleep while she squirmed closer still, seeking out his heat.

One morning she stretched, eyes shut, and found his body nearer than expected, almost as if he'd been reaching out to her too. She wriggled a little, tucking herself beside him, her back firm against his chest, and then she lay still for a long time, staring at the light as it changed, feeling Reid's dick getting harder as he surfaced from sleep, his lower body rocking slightly, pushing at the place where her thighs were pressed together.

She knew when he woke fully because he pulled in a soft gasp and all his muscles went rigid. His breathing changed and there was a wet sound as he swallowed. Then he relaxed for a split second and pressed forward, with a quiet groan, rubbing his erection against her once, allowing himself a single moment of dishonorable relief before he got his mind and body back under that strict control.

He swore softly as he pulled away and she'd shut her eyes, but struggled to maintain her pretense of sleep when she felt cool air on her back, his presence no longer warming her. She felt dirty and excited, and wondered if she should have opened her thighs, or turned and kissed him while he was still vulnerable from sleep.

But she didn't know if she could have found the courage to do either of those things.

He went into the bathroom and she waited a few minutes before turning on the TV. The Weather Channel. There was a hurricane headed for Texas. She flicked through a few more stations and almost kept going when she saw her name on screen. It had hardly registered when the reporter read it out.

"Laura Kalberg has been missing for two weeks after disappearing from a car in the Fort Lauderdale area. The British girl is nineteen years old and due to start college in the city of War-wick, in England, in September."

A picture of her was shown. A close up of Laura on stage, dressed as Titania from A Midsummer Night's Dream. Her hair pulled back from her face, sparkling blue eye shadow sweeping up to her temples, her mouth softly open, about to deliver a line.

They'd performed that play in April, just before exam season had started. She recognized the Laura in the photo, but she didn't feel like the same girl. Shakespeare—all those plots and lines, the humor and tragedy—seemed like something she'd dreamt. (And how arrogant was that? As if she could have come up with The Tempest or Twelfth Night in her sleep.)

Two weeks. It'd been two weeks of this compound, of scary bikers and a scathing Alyssa, of minuscule clothes and being groped in public, of sitting and waiting. Of Reid and his kind, rough, exciting, maddening presence. And Laura didn't know how much longer it would go on.

"Her family describes her as a lovely, vibrant girl, good-natured and kind, who would do anything to help others. Here is a clip from the press conference on Monday."