“I don’t,” he says. “When I finally get my cock in that tight pussy, it will not be out of desperation. Clean up and get some rest.” He stops outside of the bathroom and looks at me over his shoulder. His dark hair is still wound up in a bun, but several strands have fallen out and hang stringy and bloody along his face. He is a sight. A bold, bloody, gorgeous sight. “Be a good girl,” he tells me, “and do as I say.”
