Sexcapades
Chapter 4 BECOMING HIS

Pulling up to the wrought-iron gate, I stare in confusion. Of all the things I expected to replace, the heavily guarded fortress in front of me was not one of them. I check my phone again to make sure I have the right address, flipping back and forth between my text messages and my Maps app. It's the right address, but this has to be a mistake... maybe he texted it wrong or something. My already frazzled nerves scream for me to turn around and go back home. It was stupid of me to agree to this, there's no other word for it. But I was lonely and feeling brave for once, lulled by a sense of familiarity.

I'm still thinking there's been a mistake when two men step out of the guardhouse just to the left of the gate and approach my car. Now I don't know much about guns, but even I can tell the ones holstered on their belts are not standard issue. Not to mention, they're both carrying deadly looking rifles across the front of their bodies. These guys are armed for an attack, not just to scare lost idiots like me.

"Shit. What have I gotten myself into?" I mumble as I put my car into park and prepare to talk my way out of this.

The larger of the two men approaches my side of the car and I roll down my window. I try my best to look non-threatening. His partner meanwhile is using his flashlight to look into my backseat as he makes his way around my car.

"I'm so sorry," I say to the guard at my window, my voice shaking from nervousness. "I think I must have the wrong address."

"Name?" he says, in a slightly accented voice. I hesitate, not wanting to give this man my name but not feeling like I have much of a choice. One glance in my rearview mirror tells me his partner has positioned himself behind my car, so as to block me in.

"Lillian Reyes, but I think there's been a mistake. Please, if you'll just let me turn around, I'll be on my way without bothering you again."

"Ms. Reyes, Mr. Michelson has been expecting you. Please pull through the gate and up to the main house." Almost like magic, the gate opens with his words and before I can argue he's waiving me through. I seriously consider backing out anyway, but the other guard is still positioned behind my car, trapping me. So with warning bells screaming inside my head, telling me I'm about to enter a horror story or something, I accept that I don't have a choice and pull through to the brick drive in front of me.

The pen-pal program my church started with the state prison was intended to help motivate inmates. It was the brainchild of our minister, who thought we would get as much out of it as the inmates. The prison chosen was a minimum-security facility and participants allowed into the program are heavily screened before being paired with members of our church. We were assured that there'd be no risk to us. Only those sentenced for non-violent crimes, who were first offenders and had good records both in prison and out, and who were screened by their counselors and Pastor John, were chosen as participants.

Still, this isn't something I'd typically be brave enough to do. At twenty-four I'm still a virgin. I've never had a boyfriend and don't have any male friends. In fact, outside of my church, I don't really have any friends at all. Talking to people I don't know gives me too much anxiety. I feel awkward and never know what to say. Outside of my job as a librarian and my interactions at church, I rarely have the courage to talk to anyone. So when Pastor John approached me to encourage me to try the pen pal program I was hesitant, but in the end, he convinced me it could be good practice for me and I was paired with an inmate. And as I pull up to what could only be described as a mansion at the end of the drive, and park next to a fleet of black Mercedes SUVs, I wonder what the heck I've gotten myself into.

Gabriel Michelson was serving time for tax evasion when I got paired with him. Twenty-nine to my twenty-four years, everything I know about him comes from letters and emails, and eventually phone calls done in sixteen-minute increments. I've never seen a picture of him, had refused to do a video call with him and never sent him a picture of myself. In some ways, I feel like I know him intimately, spending Nine months getting to know him through letters before agreeing to finally talk to him on the phone. But in other ways, he's a complete stranger to me. And certainly, I never expected to meet him. And yet, here I am about to walk into his lair.

The panic I feel as I approach the large wooden doors in front of me starts deep down in my stomach and screams its way up through to my brain. This is a terrible idea. I would've turned around a thousand times already if I thought for one second the guards at the front gate would let me back through. But I instinctively know forward is my only way out of here.

One of the doors opens before I have the chance to knock, and a man well over 6' stands in front of me. He has broad shoulders, a trim waist, dark hair, and tan complexion. He has the lightest grey eyes I've ever seen, beautiful but cold as they assess me. And somehow I know this is Gabriel without having to be told. A chill runs down my spine and I want to turn and run, to put as much distance between me and this man who radiates controlled danger as I can. I want to get far away and never look back.

"Lillian," he says, his voice the low. The husky timber I've become familiar with over the past few months sends shivers down my spine.

It's too much. My legs freeze and I stop walking. Going any further would be beyond stupid, but I can't step back either. As much as I've talked to this man over letters and phone calls, nothing has prepared me for the dark predator standing before me. Nothing's prepared me for his chiseled good looks or the intense scrutiny of his gaze. And in the seconds I stand there, locked in front of him like some kind of helpless deer, I've become his prey, and I know it.

"I, umm..." I squeak out on a helpless whisper.

"Come, pet," he says, reaching for me. His large hand drawfs mine, while his other comes up to stroke my cheek. Finally I unfreeze, trying to take a step back, out of his space, but it's too late. He holds me firmly in his grip and the tightness of his hand as it wraps around mine tells me I'm not going anywhere. I'm his for as long as he wants it so.

We enter a large foyer, done in floor to ceiling marble. Two more guard stand at attention on either side of the door, and I bite my lower lip in fear and confusion. Nothing about this man feels safe, and yet the men selected for our church's pen pal program had been screened! Pastor John met with every single candidate and helped pair them with us. He should be safe! A first offender with no violent background and nothing to indicate he was anything but some guy who got caught trying not to pay his taxes. And yet I know that I'm in more trouble than I've ever been, that I've stepped into the devil's den without so much as a protest. In trying to be brave, I have offered myself up like the lamb to the lion.

With a nod to the guard, the front doors close and lock behind us. Gabriel leads me down a hallway, his grip firm but gentle. "We have so much to discuss," he says, his voice quiet in a way that I think is meant to soothe me but which ramps up the fear radiating deep within my chest. He's talking to me like I'm a wild animal he has to break.

What was I thinking coming here? Why have I been so stupid, meeting him at his house instead of a public place for the first time? A year's worth of correspondence lulled me into feeling safe, feeling comfortable. My whole life has been lived with caution, never taking the risky path, never stepping out of my comfort zone... and yet the one time I take a leap of faith it's led me here, with a man who has armed men stationed throughout his property, and who effortlessly trapped me in his den. So stupid!