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I never thought Indian men would ever have something like that. I was wrong. My mouth started watering.I stood up and went to my knees and moved my face towards his penis with my mouth opened. He stopped, pulled my hair, and lifted me.“What do you think you are doing?” he asked.“This universe will curse me if I don’t take this beautiful cock in my mouth,” I said while placing my hand around his dick and hold it tightly.“It seems to me that you are in control,” he said.“I always am.”“Not today, bitch. I am not Faisal. I take the women the way I want,” he said in a very rough tone. I loved it when he called me bitch and I always hated to be in control. I smiled. “How do you want to take it?” I askedHe lifted me and carried me to the small door behind the secret door. The room was not well lit up but it was not so dark either. It looks like a storage room, there were some condoms on the dustbins and some panties and bras on the floor.“It seems I am not the first one here,” I said.“Yes. I also wondered why she would choose a name given to her by the would be assassin. Nevertheless I called her Paloma from then on. Three days later I took her home to Texas and to my small coastal town. We were playing husband and wife. We moved into our safe house and she began her new life. So did I. I finally got the chance to get her another white cane. I had been assigned as the commander of a new small Coast Guard station in town. It was not a stretch as I had been the commander of a Coast Guard station when I was recruited by the intelligence agency. I was fired and given a meritorious service medal on the same day. Getting into a shootout on foreign soil is frowned upon even though all agreed it was justified. My new station also gave me command of the most sophisticated electronic equipment on the coast. Paloma and I intended to keep a low profile but on our first Saturday afternoon a lot of women came over to welcome us and immediately befriended Paloma, then their husbands.
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No one knew how to snap her out of it. She treated each day as if in a silent, cold daze. Even the teachers had contacted her father, requesting him to talk some sense in her. They had tried to get her into counseling, but spending a day with someone paid to act like they cared wasn’t something Naomi could agree with. Like everything else, things became worse before they got better. Naomi’s father took comfort in drowning his sorrows in alcohol. He never touched Naomi of course. Even when he lost his temper with her, he would never hit her. Her father would have rather killed himself, because even though he had lost his wife he still loved Naomi no matter what. But that didn’t mean he took it well. They had rarely spoken through the years, the occasional ‘Good morning’ and ‘How was your day’ being their usual greeting. Even now, 9 years later, they still didn’t speak to each other much. They had regained some of their lost closeness, but Naomi was still as distant as ever. She was.

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