"That's my last name." She punched the button for her floor, and put out her hand. "Rachel Jordan." They shook hands. Rachel had always hated the limp...fish "handshake" some women give, and had cultivated a firm grip. His hand was likewise firm, but there was no attempt to crush or intimidate (or limp-fish). He simply shook it and then let go. She led the way out of the elevator, and he followed. She wondered if he was surveying her from behind, but he moved up next to her and they walked down. She rarely saw Aaron, who was always out partying with his friends. He frequently brought scantily clad women home to have loud sex, but made no attempt to touch or even speak to Heather since that first day. She learned to mimic what he’d done to her and masturbated frequently. It felt good, but never like he felt, and she never managed to bring herself to the brinks of an orgasm as he’d done. She played with her puppy, whom she’d named Annie, taught her tricks, and earned good grades. Her. More

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