Chapter 15 Arouse
LEITANA
I couldn’t help it. As I sat in his fancy car, my fingers kept brushing over my lips. They still tingled, sensitive, alive like they remembered him. I had never been kissed like that before. Even the first time, at the altar, when our lips touched, it hadn’t been like this. That had felt like duty. This one… this felt like fire. Like he didn’t want me to breathe, didn’t want to leave any air between us.
And shamefully, I liked it.
The thought alone made my face burn. I quickly looked down at my thighs, pressed tight together, trying to hide whatever heat had crept up my body.
“If you keep touching your lips like that,” his voice came low from where he sat a few feet away, “I’ll take it as an invitation to come kiss you again.”
My head snapped up. My heart jumped—no, it slammed—against my chest, like it was trying to run away.
What kind of man says such things like it’s nothing?
His words stirred something deep inside me, something confusing and frightening. I didn’t want it. But… maybe I did? My thoughts tangled up, fighting each other. I shouldn’t be feeling this way. Not after everything. Not after all my prayers.
No, I told myself. Maybe I misunderstood the feeling. Maybe it was just fear. Or shock. I wasn’t enjoying his kiss. That couldn’t be it.
I was still the same girl who had once wanted to give herself fully to the Lord — a virgin promised to His service. That part of me hadn’t died, even if it felt far away now. I was still that person. Only now… I was married.
And the Bible didn’t condemn the union of a husband and wife. Even if this marriage was forced, even if it began with deceit… it was still a marriage, wasn’t it?
But Papa God, does it still count when the heart didn’t choose it?
My chest grew heavy. The Lord hadn’t spoken to me in so long, and without His voice, I didn’t know what to feel anymore. Was I sinning by allowing his touch? Or sinning by pushing him away? A wife should love her husband, be submissive, open. But before Papa God’s eyes… was I truly a wife or just a sinner?
Sadness pressed into my ribs. I missed Marita. I missed the sisters, the girls at the orphanage, their laughter, their hymns. If only Mother Superior could tell me what to do now.
“Does the thought of my lips on yours really make you wither like a flower without sun?”
His voice cut through my thoughts—smooth but edged, like velvet hiding a blade. I looked up quickly. In the dim glow of the car, with that black blindfold covering his eyes, he looked… dangerous. My heart started racing again. Maybe he had read my silence wrong. I wanted to say something, anything, to fix whatever he thought I meant.
“No… no… it’s not… your lips,” I stammered, my ears burning hot. “I… I not think like that.” My words came out soft, nervous, too quick.
He leaned back, calm, watching me through that blindfold like he could still see right through my skin. His body looked relaxed, but something about his stillness reminded me of a predator, waiting.
“What is it then, my little lamb?” he asked, his tone dipping lower, teasing. “Why do those lips of yours pout so sweetly? You make me want to kiss you until they’re bruised and swollen.”
The way he spoke, too confident, too knowing, sent a shiver straight down my spine. Was this how men like him were trained to talk? Every word was a spell, every tone a temptation.
I pressed my hand against my hot cheeks, flustered. “Yu no shame?” I asked before catching myself, quickly adding, “Yu… yu no feel shame when talk like dat?”
His hand moved then, slow and sure, toward my face. I froze. My breath caught in my throat as his fingers brushed my ear, rough skin grazing my softer one. It made my lips part in a quiet gasp.
“No, my little lamb,” he murmured, amusement curling through his tone. “I do not feel shame for what I say or for what I want to do with my wife.”
His face stayed unreadable, calm like he wasn’t the same man who’d just said something so bold. His fingers kept trailing lightly behind my ear, and I caught myself thinking, How can someone so wicked touch so gently?
My chest rose and fell too quickly. I wanted to move, to breathe, to pray but my thoughts tangled like vines.
Maybe that’s how some people had power not with shouting or force, but with quiet hands and soft words that could make you forget yourself, even for just a single heartbeat.
“B… but speaking like that… it’s not right,” I stammered, my face burning, the words dying on my tongue when his hand slid down to my neck.
“Continue, little lamb,” he murmured, his voice smooth and dangerous, and I instinctively grabbed the fabric of my dress, twisting it tightly in my fists.
“Yu can stop, plis, Ravial?” I asked softly, my voice trembling just as much as my hands.
“And why is that, my little lamb?” he asked, leaning closer. “Does it… arouse you?”
The word hit me like a slap. My eyes went wide, my breath caught. He said it so casually, like it wasn’t something sinful.
“Does it go against everything you were taught?” he added, his tone amused.
I swallowed hard and tightened my grip on my dress. “No, no… hem no… it jus tickle.” I said quickly. It wasn’t a lie, it did tickle but there was something else too, something I didn’t understand.
I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by “arouse.” I knew the definition, but I didn’t know how my body was supposed to react. Did I even get aroused? I didn’t really understand.
In Vanuatu, nobody taught us much about our bodies. Education stopped at the surface. We learned to be modest, to be quiet. Girls were often made to feel ashamed for simple things like menstruation, whispered about as if it were a sin. But the nuns at the orphanage had a different approach. They taught us that bleeding was natural, nothing to be ashamed of, and that our bodies were gifts, to be treated with respect.
I remembered Marita, oh Lord running out of the bathroom screaming, “The devil got me in my private place!” Blood trickling down her leg, crying and naked, the rest of us wailing like it was the end of days. We really thought Satan had come for her. We didn’t understand, not really, until the nuns calmly explained what had happened and helped her clean up.
That week was chaos. And the next week, when the teacher tried explaining menstruation, Marita argued back, saying, “But the sisters say no such thing!” The whole class burst into laughter, but I never forgot that moment. Aside from that, our education on the deeper aspects of our bodies was almost nonexistent. Most girls in the orphanage would eventually join the convent, so many didn’t care about the wider world. But my mind was curious, I wanted to know everything I could.
After that, my curiosity grew. I’d sneak into the sisters’ study at night, flipping through dusty books, trying to learn what no one would teach us. I found that word arouse written again and again, always tied to the body, never truly explained.
And now… hearing it from him, feeling his hand so close, it made my head spin. Was the flutter in my chest that same thing? Was the trembling in my stomach that? Oh, Papa God, help me.
“So, you’re saying it only tickles?” he asked, voice low, teasing.
I looked at him, my throat dry. He leaned closer, close enough that his breath brushed my ear. I nodded quickly and pressed myself deeper into the seat, trying to make myself small.
Then, with a voice that made my heart skip, he said, “Open your legs, little lamb.”
My eyes flew wide. Wait..what?
The corner of his lips twitched like he was fighting a smile, but before anything could happen, his body went rigid. The car slowed, then stopped.
Outside, flashes of light burst across the windows. Cameras. People. Noise. My heart pounded so loudly I could hear it in my ears.
He straightened, his calm composure snapping back into place, and then turned to me with a look that silenced every word in my throat.
“Follow my every move, little lamb,” he said quietly. “Do not speak to anyone unless I tell you. Do I make myself clear?”
His tone was firm, commanding, a voice meant to be obeyed. I nodded so fast it almost hurt.
“Good girl,” he murmured. Then he opened
the door, and the roar of the outside world crashed in.
I had no idea what I was walking into.