Ain't Your Bitch (Interracial Urban Erotica) by Asia Marquis

Author:Asia Marquis [Marquis, Asia]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Midnight Climax
Published: 2016-08-05T05:00:00+00:00

The Victim

Interracial Urban Erotica

Asia Marquis

A quick, loud click jars me out of my slumber, a sharp stab of sound in the dead silence of the night. For a few moments, the fog of my tiredness causes me to wonder if it's my husband. No, it can't be. He's away on a business trip, a few states away and I know he can't come back early. He shouldn't be back for a week, so it couldn't possibly be him.

For a split second, I try to find any rational explanations, even though I can't really think of any. There's no reason for anyone to be coming into my house so late at night. When I hear the sound of the front door opening, I know exactly what's happening. My house has just been broken into, and I have no one here to protect me.

I stay still against my bed, listening, horrified and cowering in fear as the intruder's feet shuffle against my living room floor downstairs. He sounds heavy, or like he's wearing heavy boots. The pounding of his feet against the floor is barely louder than the beating of my heart. I want to get up and hide, but I feel like I can't. Aside from the sound of the intruder's feet, everything is silent.

CRASH!

The loud sound of one of my vases falling is what I needed to propel my body forward, to my closet. I pushing myself up off my bed and, as quietly as I can, run to my closet. I sit below my dresses and winter jackets, watching my room through the diagonal slits through the door. After the ringing of the crash fades away, the house is quiet again. I can hear the chirp of a cricket outside.

My wooden stairs creak as the man's feet step onto the first step. Quietly, the man comes up the stairs, his shoes only barely thumping against the wood. I try to keep my breathing quiet, though I'm nearly hyperventilating. The closet is too warm, and that coupled with my fear is beginning to make me feel light headed.

Through fluttering, heavy eyelids, I watch as the man finally steps into my bedroom. Dressed all in black, he pulls back my blanket and touches the bed for a moment. I pray that it's not still warm. I hear his steady breathing as he stands there for a moment.

He looks to the closet, and then to the window. I left it open to bring in the cool night air. Maybe he thinks I escaped through there. I watch him, silently as I can, my heart thumping in my chest. The intruder looks around the room one last time before exiting.

I feel my shoulders slump as he opens the door to my office. I sit for a few moments, listening to him shuffle in that room. He rifles through my papers, and I hear him click my mouse to turn on my computer. Another crash tells me that he knocked over one of my table lamps, but it doesn't sound broken.

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