And it wasn’t that she was thinking with her pussy instead of her brain. Well, it wasn’t just that. Because to be perfectly honest, what exactly, was she going back to? To be at Mikey’s beck and call? To hang out with a group of people who disapproved of her and then go home to her lonely bed? The pack didn’t much want her, and she sure as shit didn’t want someone who wasn’t pack, someone who was fragile—who would break if she really let loose.

Dick fit the bill admirably, and he approved of her—to the hilt! He thought everything she did and said was swell. She could have farted on him, and he would have rhapsodized about it. In fact, she did…after a particularly strenuous sexual marathon and when she was relaxing in his embrace. Relaxing a little too well, in fact—she really cut one. Quick as thought, she pulled the blankets over Dick’s head, trapping him with the noxious odor. Cursing, he finally freed himself and then they both laughed until they cried.

She rolled over on her back and stared at the ceiling. It was getting rapidly dark in the bedroom; the sun would be down in a few more minutes. She’d adjusted nicely to his schedule and now slept her days away. Frankly, she preferred his schedule—she’d never been much of an early riser.

He’d be here any minute. Any minute. She felt a tightening in her stomach and was disgusted with herself. Just thinking about him—about his long fingers and his mouth and his tongue and his cock—was making her wet. Some prisoner. Now she had Stockholm Syndrome. Except it was more like Bimbo Hypnotized by Bad Guy’s Huge Cock Syndrome.

And then later he would bring amazing food, and they’d talk about everything and anything. And he’d read to her—they were halfway through Salem’s Lot, which he seemed to think was a comedy—while she paced. She liked books but couldn’t stand to sit still for the hours and hours required to read one. Or they’d wrestle, and once she’d thrown the leftover apple pie at him and they’d had a food fight that ruined the drapes.

Jane sighed. If it was just his dick, it wouldn’t be so bad. She could always buy a vibrator. No, it was Dick. She really, really liked him, more than any guy she’d ever known, and she knew a lot of fellas. And she was having a helluva time remembering she was a prisoner. In fact, she didn’t think Dick remembered much, either.

Her vision doubled, trebled…and then her knees buckled. Luckily, she was bent over the footboard, so she had some support.