The Palpable ProsecutorChapter 17
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Lacey woke first, and her movement woke Bob instantly. She had slept like the dead all night long, and this was the first time she’d moved.
He realized this could be very awkward. He should have left once she was asleep.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I fell asleep. I meant to leave, once you got warm.”
Lacey said nothing. At that moment a whole new rush of thoughts was making her mind whirl. Her recognition of where she was, who was in bed with her, and the fact they were both naked, brought back memories of how that had come to be. She had just spent her first night in bed with a man. But, again, her expectations about that had not been fulfilled. His arms were still around her. Their chests were pressed together. She should be alarmed ... horrified ... aghast! But she wasn’t. It just felt good.
Except for the fact that she had to pee. That was annoying.
She moved her arm, which had somehow gotten across his waist. Had she hugged him? Her hand hit cloth and her attention was drawn there. Her natural urge to explore that, to determine what it was, made her fingers move on the cloth before she could stop them.
His boxers. He was wearing his underwear. He wasn’t completely naked.
Again her mind was assailed by doubt. Men didn’t do this. They didn’t act this way. He hadn’t raped her. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she did. They had not had sex. How could this be? Her mother had been so forceful in explaining that men couldn’t control their urges, that the beast in them could not be tamed. That’s why it was so important never to get into a situation like she had gotten in last night.
Except that there had been nothing about Bob that was even remotely forceful, beastlike, or untamed. The wall she’d built to keep men out cracked ... leaned, its foundations undermined.
“I’m really sorry,” he said, intruding on her thoughts. “I’ll pack my stuff and leave.”
“No.” she said. Just one word. It was all she could manage at the moment.
“I’ll get up,” he said, relieved that she wasn’t screaming at him. He could just imagine one of the marshals rushing through the door, gun drawn, to find Bob in bed with the protectee. That wouldn’t go well at all, whether he was fired or not. “My clothes are just over there. You need to stay in bed and rest. I think you were suffering from hypothermia when I found you. I had to do something to warm you back up. But you’re fine now. Just stay there. I’ll go fix you something for breakfast. Do you want me to have one of the marshals do that?”
He was babbling, in his relief, and when he realized that he stopped talking completely. He slid out of bed and got back into his clothes as quickly as he could. He had morning wood, but was able to hide that from her by turning his back while he put his clothes on. When he was clothed again, he turned, to find her eyes peering at him. The covers were pulled up to her nose.
“Do you want something to eat?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Okay.” He started to move.
“You,” she said.
He stopped.
“Me?”
“You bring my breakfast.”
“Okay. Got it. Thank you for being so understanding about this.”
He left, closing the door firmly behind him. She turned her head to look at it. She needed to pee badly. If he hadn’t moved it, her nightgown was still in the bathroom, and both her robes were in the closet. He was busy preparing breakfast.
She slid out from under the covers and tried to dart to the bathroom. She staggered on the way, veering off course, but then corrected as her muscles responded. She hadn’t felt that weak while she was lying there. She gave a long sigh of relief as she sat on the commode and let her bladder loose. The cool air around her reminded her of how cold she’d felt the night before. And that made her think about how warm he’d felt against her. Her nightgown was hanging on a hook where she’d left it.
She’d seen those boxers when he got up. He could have removed them and slept with her naked. He could have done anything he wanted to, for that matter. She’d been completely helpless. But he hadn’t done anything other than warm her up. It was shocking. It turned everything she knew about men on its head.
She looked at the nightgown. She could put it on and get back in bed. Something, though, something she didn’t understand, made her want to leave it right where it was and go back to bed naked. Without thinking on it further, she got up and hurried back to bed. She felt a little stronger now, and slid under the covers, grateful to feel the residual warmth her body had left.
Their bodies had left.
She felt like she was in a dream. Or some new world she’d been transported to through some science fiction machine. She had no idea what to do. He would be coming back with her breakfast soon. What could she say to him? She had no idea how to talk to a man she’d slept with. The very concept of talking to a man she’d slept with was insane.
But she had slept with a man. That much was simple fact, as amazing as it might be. She didn’t have to imagine that. She could remember some of the details of that experience. She remembered his hands ... moving ... all over her.
With sudden stark realization she remembered pulling her hand from around him. Her hand must have been on his back, too. Where those scars were ... the scars she had imagined touching. She had touched them last night. She must have. But she couldn’t remember that part. She’d had the chance to feel those terrible scars, but couldn’t remember doing so. She felt a sense of loss.
There was a tap at the door. He didn’t just come in this time. She realized he was waiting for permission, so she called out for him to come in.
He had a plate in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. Suddenly she was ravenous. She sat up without thinking and the covers fell, baring her breasts. Feeling panic she lay back down and pulled the covers up to recover her modesty. Then she felt the world twist in her mind again as she realized he’d seen them the night before. He’d rubbed them dry with a towel. And then he’d pressed his chest against them.
“It’s okay,” he said, as if he could hear her thoughts in his head. “I’ll just put this down and leave. Where’s your robe? I’ll get it for you.”
Thinking more clearly, now, she knew what to say. That didn’t mean it was any easier to speak to him, though.
“Closet.”
He went there, set the plate and glass down on top of the dresser, nearby, and opened the bi-fold closet doors. He pulled out the blue robe and looked over his shoulder.
“Do you want anything else?”
“No. I’ll get dressed later.”
He brought her the robe and laid it on the covers beside her hip.
“I’ll go outside while you get your robe on, and then, once you’re back in bed I’ll come back in and bring you your food,” he suggested.
“Wait,” she said. She wondered why she’d said it. She had no idea why she wanted him to wait. It just felt right to say it.
He did, standing patiently.
The thought that flowed into her mind was like honey, pure and golden, moving slowly. She wondered where on Earth it had come from.
“Help me with my robe,” she said, softly.
This was crazy! She was going to get out of bed... naked ... and let this man put her robe on for her! She didn’t need any help. But she could already imagine it, feeling the sleeves of the robe sliding up her arms and over her shoulders. The front would close, cutting off his view of her nudity.
But before that he would see.
Why did she want him to see? She had never wanted a man to see her like that before. If anything she had gone to extraordinary lengths to ensure her modesty at all times. Especially her breasts.
But he’d already seen them. And everything else as well. He had touched her everywhere. Lightning had not struck. Brimstone hadn’t fallen from the sky to bury her in burning coals. Her skin had not erupted in boils. Leprosy had not covered her body.
Nothing had happened at all. Except that he gave her his warmth, and made her feel safe.
“Are you sure?” he asked, sounding puzzled.
“I’m sure,” she said.
“Okay,” he replied, accepting the situation.
She wondered what he was thinking as she slid back out of bed. She felt like that bolt of lightning might arrive any second as she watched his eyes rake over her body. With complete astonishment, she saw what her mother was talking about in his eyes, that wild, animal, hungry ... lustful look. But he didn’t do anything, except to reach for the robe. He let it fall, lengthwise and held it out for her. Somehow she was able to turn her back to him.
Then, just as she had imagined it, she felt the slick cloth travel up her arms and over her shoulders to cover her breasts. He moved his hands clear around her, to fold the robe, covering her securely. It wasn’t a hug, but it felt something like it. Her hands went to find the belt and bring it up to cinch the robe closed.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Oh, you’re more than welcome. Believe me.”
The innuendo in his voice was clear, even to an inexperienced woman like Lacey. But it wasn’t scary. It didn’t generate the kind of fear that things associated with men had in the past.
“I’m starving,” she said.
He went to get her food off the dresser. She sat on the edge of the bed.
“You can eat sitting up, but as soon as I leave, you have to go back to bed,” he said.
“All right,” she said.
He stood, holding the orange juice while she forked eggs into her mouth. She picked up a piece of bacon and bit it with repeated tiny bites until the whole piece was in her mouth. She chewed industriously. Putting the fork on her plate, she reached for the orange juice, taking a sip and then handing it back to him as if he were a servant.
Within a minute her plate was clean and she’d polished off the orange juice. She handed the plate and glass back to Bob.
“Thank you,” she said. “It was delicious.”
“Back to bed with you,” he said.
“Don’t be so bossy,” she groused.
“After last night, you need your rest,” he said.
“About last night,” she said, looking up at him.
“It was the only thing I could think of to warm you up. We can talk about that when you’re fully rested. Right now -”
“I know, I know, I need to get back into bed.”
She stood up. Something inside her had to do it again. She didn’t understand why she had this urge, but she did.
“Help me with my robe, please,” she said. “I don’t want to sleep in it.”
That look came into his eyes again, but only in a quick flash, and then it was gone. Why did that thrill her so much?
She turned her back to him and untied the robe. The act was similar to, but the reverse of, before, as the soft cloth slid off her shoulders and down her arms. The panic was back, but it was manageable and she was able to turn to face him, her arms at her sides.
“Thank you,” she said, trying to just sound polite.
“You’re welcome,” he said, drinking her in through those hot eyes.
Then she had to dive under the covers, to seek their safety, as a child sometimes hides from monsters under the covers. She didn’t conceal her head, though.
“I tried to find a blanket last night,” he said.
“They’re downstairs in my storage locker,” she said.
“I couldn’t find the key last night.”
“It should be in the top right drawer, under my ... panties.” The last word was delivered faintly.
Without embarrassment he went to look and found the key where she said it would be. It was small and in a corner. He’d missed it in his haste the night before.
“There’s a green plastic tote,” she said. “The blankets are in it.”
He left the room, and she finally had time to think. She knew her mother had exaggerated things. But she hadn’t thought it had been just plain propaganda. Now, she wondered. Bob seemed like a normal man in every way she could think of. Perhaps his skill set and experience set him apart from other men, in one sense, but in his every day comportment he seemed like an average guy. What confused her was that she was well aware that men did, in fact, operate on a level of lust from time to time. She’d seen it in college. She went to the movies too. She’d even been to a few Broadway plays in which the male libido had been discussed.
That is where Bob seemed to differ from the norm. That said, she was beginning to think she didn’t know much about the norm. And that included her own norm as well as that of the outside world. She had flaunted her naked body ... twice! It had been an impulse she could have controlled, but didn’t want to. She didn’t understand that. And all he had done was enjoy looking at her. That was crystal clear. She had seen admiration in his eyes. She’d seen the lust too, but somehow that was just a small part of the admiration. It was like looking at a fresh-baked loaf of bread. The eyes were involved, and the nose was involved, and the taste buds anticipating a bite were involved. None of them were in complete control of the senses.
His desire, a desire that was nothing like what her mother had described, was as plain as day. And what made that so amazingly important was that she had been helpless, and he had not acted on those impulses to take advantage of her.
Becky
- 28.11.2021
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