NIKE -Blue Lock-

Interview

"You mean me being auctioned off?" I asked cautiously and disinterestedly, letting the corner of my lips rise in an emotionless smile.

I sensed his breath on the nape of my neck, and his large, manly fingers grazing my skin with anything but masculine delicacy as he moved my long hair over one shoulder.

"I mean losing your trust." he corrected me, letting his fingertips run from the nape of my neck to the center of my shoulder blades.

"Losing you." and from the center of my shoulder blades down my spine.

I closed my eyes, savoring the painful effect that his touch had on my used and destroyed body.

Hating the painful knowledge that no passion would be burning enough to counteract the burning left by that cruel man's poisonous hands.

"You sound like a man convinced he's won my trust..." I whispered with my eyelids still closed, memorizing the perception of his muscular chest against my back as if I could alter the foggy memories of that night with this new one.

"Yet, I'm certain that no man has ever been worthy of me giving him the benefit of the doubt." I stated in a hushed tone, squinting and pointing my pupils at my reflected image and his, crossing the carnelian eyes of the male figure that were already staring at me from above.

The eye contact never broke from then on, not even when his hands moved to my waist, not even when his breath became warmer against my already hot skin, not even when his fingers went up along my ribs, not daring to brush the sides of my breasts and stopping at my shoulders.

Instead I fell into those two oil lamps inside his eyes, so bright and warm, in total contrast to the dark and cold pools in my gaze.

And as his warm, attentive adult hands caressed my biceps, slowly descending to my elbow, I wondered if this was how a man's touch was supposed to feel like.

I had always wondered.
I had always wondered if a man touched a woman gently rather than roughly, welcoming rather than aloof, protective rather than threatening.

I had always wanted someone to touch me the way he was touching me, with the purpose of making me feel protected and welcomed, arousing me and igniting my passion, and making me let go of myself in his masculine energy.

I had always longed for a mentally and physically mature man to allow me for a few moments to lose myself, to let my guard down, and to be carried away by his experienced and caring hands.

I had always wanted that...

"The water is freezing..." he whispered in a warm, deep tone into my bare ear, his breath quiet and too loud at the same time.

...and yet at that moment it gave me revulsion.

"You're trembling..." the vibration of his voice must have been music to me as his large fingers caressed my now almost sleeping wrists and trembling forearms.

"Are you cold, Nicole?"

No, no I'm not cold.
Your touch is making me burn even more.
You are causing me pain.
You are hurting me.

Because you touch me with so much care, with so much thoughtfulness, with so much suppressed passion but I can't help but think how different it is from how that man touches me, who instead tugs at me with disinterest and carelessness, with the purpose of violating me, with so much unfiltered passion manifesting itself in ferocity and torture.

And I swear I want to let myself go, I want that burning sensation that sends me on fire to be a consequence of your body so mighty and protective next to mine.