Who says?

I gaze at the ceiling, my heart beating like a drum. My body felt battered, and my core ached. I slowly looked down at the man resting gently on my stomach. His arm was draped over my right breast, measuring it like a molded cup. I let out a sigh and mindlessly played with his hair, dumbfounded. His words replayed in my head like an overused, familiar lyric. What he said was clear, yet I couldn't acknowledge it. I had my reasons. A victim and an executioner don't belong together. Even though he had set me free and chosen to let me live, that didn't suddenly mean something was developing between us. I had so many questions. Why me? Why now? Was he serious? Was a cold-hearted murderer like him capable of this? I didn't want to judge, as I didn't know his story, but he was hard to read. I sensed he had many secrets, and that was something I couldn't trust. This entire situation felt surreal and odd. I knew we'd had sex many times, even just now. Why was I letting him rule, take, a