Chapter One Hundred and Five

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He brings the tip of the square to his mouth, clamping perfect, billboard-worthy teeth down on its foil edge. I grit my own teeth hard as I watch him tear the foil open, trying desperately not to let myself panic even as I feel my breathing become more and more erratic.

I feel my mouth go dry as a desert when he holds the rubber circle between his thumb and index finger, rubbing it slightly between his fingers. And, although I understand the implications of a man—and a seemingly very sexual one at that—essentially displaying an unused condom in such a manner, I can't seem to look away from the action.

Weirdly enough, in spite of my obvious anxiety, a small but considerable part of me is also...I don't know...intrigued? Maybe even curious?

I'm all too aware that it might be a bit of an anomaly for a twenty-four-year-old woman living in the twenty-first century, but this is the first time I'm seeing a bare condom, face to face in real life.

He looks at the condom thoughtfully, as if he's fascinated by the sight of it. I arch my brow warily, confused and freaked out by his strange actions.

"Did you know," he begins, flipping the latex ring between his long fingers, "in 1978, a group of botanical and anthropological scientists went on an exploratory excursion to the Amazon." His eyes move away from the condom and settle on mine once again. "As most scientific departments were severely underfunded at the time, you can imagine how challenging transporting sufficient amounts of water for their journey was going to be. Large plastic bottles and containers weighed considerably more back then than they do now.

The botanists and anthropologists didn't really get along as they had completely different views on science and life, but despite all their differences they knew they had to combine their resources if they were going to make the excursion happen. So, they did."

He tugs slightly at the tip of the condom. "The average adult human being needs roughly sixty four ounces of water a day for optimal health. There were a total of fourteen botanical and anthropological scientists, and the excursion would last twenty-five days and nights. That's sixty four ounces times fourteen people times twenty-five days; twenty-two thousand and four hundred ounces of water. That's roughly a hundred and seventy-five gallons of water—a substantial weight to carry when you're travelling anywhere, but especially to a relatively uncharted region like the Amazon. While they were trying to think of a way around this, one of the graduate students in the botanical department was eating a banana. Just as he was about to throw the peel away, an ingenious idea occurred to him; they could hold their water in latex.

"You see, banana peelings contain latex. Latex is rubbery...stretchy...highly elastic...water-proof, so it wouldn't leak. But most importantly, it's lightweight. So he voiced his idea and said they could hold their water in condoms. Of course everyone, botanists and anthropologists alike, scoffed at the thought and tried to demean him for suggesting something so ridiculous. But he was insistent and asked them to just give it a try. What did they have to lose but a few condoms, after all? He went out, bought a cheap pack of rubbers, came back to the lab, and then began his experiment in front of his peers and supervisors. He put the head over a faucet and turned the water on. Much to their surprise, the condom kept expanding and expanding, holding copious amounts of water even when they were sure it would break. At some point it did, naturally, but a single condom held more water than any of them imagined a small, thin piece of rubber could. So, long story short, the scientists carried all their water in condoms and it lasted them their entire trip and they even had some left over that they decided to preserve as a keepsake."

I have absolutely no idea where he's going with this, but all this talk of water is making me queasy. And he seems to notice, his eyes slightly narrowing at me again, shadows of a grin toying at the corner of his lips. Abruptly, he reaches for the lone pitcher of water on the table. I suck in a breath as I watch him maneuver the contrasting items, the small, pale yellow ring of rubber in one hand and the large glass container in the other.

"Here are the rules of the game," he begins. "Every ten minutes, I'm going to give you a chance to guess how much water this particular condom can hold," he says, bringing it up to my face so I can get a closer look at it. He grins, almost apathetically, as he moves closer to me. I exhale harshly, my chest heaving as his proximity increases. As the pitcher of water comes into my full line of vision, I realize that it's calibrated, with little, horizontal lines going across its side, each one depicting an ounce.

"If you guess right," Frost continues, "I'll uncuff you and show you to a bathroom so you can take your much needed piss." He says the word 'piss' in a mocking tone, teasing me, "but if you guess wrong...well, two things will happen. One: I'll pour water from the pitcher into the condom while you watch, and two: I'll work the hell out of both your nipples, this time."

My skin immediately buzzes all over as a swarm of goosebumps scatter across my back and shoulders at his proclamation, raising my anxiety all over again.

More nipple pinching? Are you fucking kidding me?

My treacherous pussy, on the other hand, seems to delight in the news, throbbing enthusiastically in response.

And forcing me to watch as he pours water into the condom?

Oh, God.

How could I not see this coming?

I. Am. Phenomenally. Fucked.

"So, let's begin," he says. "How much water can this hold?"

My expression turns incredulous, my brows furrowing at the utter bizarreness of the question as my mind silently spins into panic.

How the fuck should I know? Since when did I become the expert on all things concerning condoms and all their unconventional uses?

I try to think, but the pressure in my groin and the heat from his stripping gaze is proving too much for my poor brain to handle all at once.

I try to stall, but he seems to see right through the attempt.

"Time's ticking away, Ramona," he warns, his voice lowering with unspoken threat. "Answer the question. Now."

I take a deep, shuddery breath and blurt out, "Th-Th-Thirty-two ounces?"

He frowns. "Are you asking me or answering the question I asked you?"

I shake my head in slight panic, duly noting the sharp inflection in his voice. "No, no. I'm answering. Thirty-two ounces," I say with a little bit more conviction, even though I have absolutely no idea if I'm even remotely correct.

The intensity in his eyes softens slightly at my answer, and he looks at me thoughtfully for a moment. A small wave of relief sweeps over me at his change in demeanor, and for a split second, I truly believe I got the answer right. But then, a wicked, impossibly sinister grin spreads across his gorgeous lips and his icy blue eyes turn soulless.

"Wrong."

***

💕Author's Note: Can you guess the answer to Frost's question? Comment below with any water emoji of your choice! 💦💧🚿🌊🥤

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