Entrapment
Mateo
[THURSDAY]
“Did you have to fucking hurt her?”
Mia’s breath hitches as she draws in an unsteady breath beneath me, her body moving in tandem with mine. Her face is turned away from me. She stares hard at the bedside table. Not because my gun’s there this time—it’s not. She just doesn’t want to look up at me. A flash of displeasure hits me. I hope it’s displeasure. It feels uncomfortably close to guilt.
Not guilt over performing the action itself, guilt because Adrian was right when he stormed into my study earlier and threw a pile of soiled bed sheets on the floor in front of my desk. The act itself is a necessary part of my plan, but I probably don’t have to make it physically hurt her. Not that much. Not anymore, at least. I’ve already checked that off the list. Her hatred for me won’t evaporate into thin air if I ease back a little—I’m already the bad guy here. That needs no further clarification.
As a result, however, this is taking longer than it needs to. Judging from the bed sheets Adrian left in my study like an asshole this afternoon, and the micro-bursts of pain that flash across her face from time to time as I move inside her (even though I’m being much gentler), I’m still hurting her.
In the interest of speeding things up, I lean down and kiss her. She doesn’t kiss me back. Irrational aggravation shoots through me before I can process and dismiss it. Of course she doesn’t want to kiss me, but fuck it, she’s going to anyway.
Her gaze darts to my face, the most absurd flash of betrayal in her pretty blue eyes. I don’t know why. I’ve made her kiss me all three times; it shouldn’t be a surprise at this point.
Her continued surprise leads me to the ridiculous supposition that she somehow keeps waiting for me to be better, to stop what I’m doing, but it’s too absurd to consider. She can’t still think for a moment that I have a conscience; I’ve given her loads of evidence otherwise.
“Kiss me back,” I order, measuring out just enough meanness that she obeys.
Her kiss is tentative at first. She forces herself to do as I’ve commanded, but there’s no heart in it—not to mention the tears still clinging to her eyelashes and dampening her cheek—so it doesn’t help me out much. I bring a hand to her face, cupping it so I have more control as I deepen the kiss, turning it from a pitiful performance to… something. A gasp of surprise escapes her. Her hand moves to my chest like she’s going to try to push me away, but her muscles seem to give up halfway through and she just leaves it there.
That’s better.
With a little help, I finally reach my climax, emptying myself inside her body.
As soon as I move off her she tries to withdraw physically, curling up on her side away from me.
I don’t even give her a minute to recover. I reach over and drag her back against me. She huffs in protest, but she already knew it was coming.
“Do you post-rape snuggle all your victims?” she asks, her tone biting.
I smile, even though she can’t see me. Her back is to me and she’s angry already, but I can’t resist lightly mocking her. “Of course not; you’re special.”
She utters a sound of sheer disgust even as she pouts at me—somewhat ridiculous, given my cum is still inside her and my arms are wrapped securely around her tiny waist. Here she is, completely at my mercy, and she pouts. It’s kind of adorable, actually. At least until she tentatively asks, “So, you have done this before?”
I should lie. I should tell her I have. I’ve already chopped down the tree; if the point is to convince her I’m the worst person she can imagine—not even a falsehood, frankly—I should add every single log to the fire.
“No,” I murmur, instead. For whatever reason, it doesn’t sit well with me to tell her that lie. I don’t know why. I tell myself it’s overkill. She already gets the message, there’s probably no need to bang her over the head with it.
Another minute or so passes in silence. It’s pleasant silence though, at least for me. It’s been ages since I’ve brought a woman into this bed. I don’t bring strangers home, so Beth was the last woman who stepped foot in this bedroom to do anything but clean it. Mia’s presence here reminds me how nice it can be—even though this one in particular hates my guts. I guess the last one did, too. At least this one lets me hold her. Not that she has much of a choice, but it doesn’t matter. It still feels nice.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she finally asks.
I nibble on her ear, just to be a dick. “Because I can.”
She doesn’t even try to wiggle away—or rear back and butt me in the face, which is what I deserve for that. This girl chooses her battles like she can only ever pick one. She doesn’t waste her energy on fights she stands no chance of winning. Adrian thought she was dumb at first, but that’s not it. It’s something else, something I can’t quite touch or identify. I want to dive inside her brain until I understand why she does the things she does.
I can’t, so I settle for cupping her perfect breast, massaging the soft globe in my hand. I squeeze her nipple, waiting for a response she doesn’t want to give me.
“I can’t believe I was this wrong about you,” she finally says. I can’t hear fear in her voice, but I feel it in the shaky way she exhales. It shouldn’t be so goddamn intoxicating. I bury my face in her hair, breathing in the faintest scent of coconut. I should have Maria bring her shampoo to my bathroom so she has it. I like it.
“People are wrong all the time,” I tell her.
Her breath comes out with even less steadiness as I brush my lips across the nape of her neck. “But you…” She trails off, drawing a shuddering breath.
Maybe I should’ve done this before I fucked her. I just finished, and to be honest, I’m starting to want to fuck her again. I can’t do that. I mean, I could, but it would be excessively dickish, all things considered. I’ll wait until morning, but it’s going to be a long night.
“But I….?” I’m interested in hearing whatever else she wants to say, but my fondling has thoroughly distracted her.
She swallows, her chest rising and falling with more effort than breathing should require. Her voice is unsteady as she says, “Nothing.”
I let my hand drop to the curve of her magnificent ass. I give it a squeeze and she jerks, surprised.
“Stop it,” she snaps, swatting at my hand. “Stop touching me.”
“I like touching you.” I say it lightly enough that it sounds like I’m being an asshole, but it’s not even a lie. I’ve kept my desires mostly in check, but having her here in my bed is testing my control. Up until now I’ve been trying sample cups; now I have a Mia buffet laid out before me, just begging me to eat my fill.
“You’ve ruined my life,” she states, rather dramatically. “You’re the last person I want to touch me.”
I trail a finger up over her hip anyway, considering her words. “I could’ve killed you already. Still can, if it’s your preference.”
That silences her little ass. I smile faintly, splaying my hand over her stomach and tugging her body snugly against mine. Consequently, she can feel my cock pressing against her ass now.
“Seriously?” she asks.
“I have a short refractory period when I’m fucking someone new,” I explain.
“Yay me,” she mutters back.
“I mean, it could be, but in this case probably not.”
She shakes her head at me, faintly disbelieving. “You’re something else.”
“So you’ve said. Is that as specific as you’d like to get? Go ahead; I’ll give you a free shot. Lay into me.”
“I don’t want to lay into you,” she mutters.
“Oh, come on,” I say, giving her a little squeeze. “Tell me what an evil, manipulating bastard I am. I want to know your meanest thoughts.”
“I don’t want to be mean.” She settles right into my embrace, even though her tone remains sullen. “I want you to stop ruining everything.” Apparently finding her gumption, she pries my arm off her so she can roll over and glare at me. “You create your own problems, you know? I tried to be your friend and you did this. If you don’t like your life empty and lonely, let people in. Don’t treat them like this.”
Absently running my index finger down her arm, I inform her, “I can treat people however I want to treat them, Mia. Loyalty to me isn’t something you give because I deserve it; it’s something you give if you want to continue breathing.”
Mia shakes her head at me, like I just don’t get it. “There’s an enormous gulf between loyalty and love, Mateo. There’s a difference between trusting people not to kill you and letting them into your heart.”
I smile so condescendingly that she can’t help flushing and looking away from me. She’s reminding me so much of that night in the library right now, seeking out the damaged part of me, trying to lead me toward a better path. It was adorable that night, and it’s adorable now. Even now, this ridiculous girl looks at me and imagines it’s a front, that surely beneath the asshole who hurts her there’s a lonely man who needs healing.
“You’re showing your age,” I inform her.
I must have pissed her off by embarrassing her because now even despite our circumstances, she delivers a solid glare. “Everyone needs love. Everyone. I’m not showing my age, you’re just showing your cynicism. I think you’re more afraid than I am.”
She’s just flinging angry words now, trying to see if she can get a rise out of me. All it does is drag an amused smile out of me. “I’m not afraid. What would I have to be afraid of?”
“You’re afraid of letting people close,” she states. “I tried to be your friend and it spooked you, so you hurt me to push me away.”
“Don’t do that,” I tell her, losing my smile. “Don’t try to make this something it’s not.”
I don’t know why I even say that. It doesn’t benefit me to warn her; let her make what she will of the experience. It doesn’t matter. But for whatever reason, it does make me uncomfortable and I don’t want her doing it. I didn’t feel the need to control her reaction before, but in this moment, it bugs me.
“Then tell me what it is,” she implores, faintly shrugging her shoulders. My gaze drops straight to her distracting breasts that jiggle slightly with the movement. She grabs the blanket, yanking it up to cover herself, but she waits like she still wants to hear my answer.
“I already did,” I enunciate carefully. “I already told you exactly why I’m doing this—because I want to. It’s really that simple.”
She’s as dissatisfied with my reasoning now as she was the first time I said it. I can practically feel her needing to be right.
“Why is it so important to you I have a reason?” I ask, watching her. “Would a good reason make it feel better? Would that make it hurt less? Would it undo any of the damage I’ve already done? That I’ll continue to do?” Indicating my bedroom door, I ask, “When you see me walk through that door each night, will you feel less dread? When I push my cock inside you, will believing I have a good reason make it more tolerable? Why does it matter?”
“It’s not about—” Shaking her head, annoyed, she says, “I don’t want to be right for me. I want it for you. I want this to be a mistake you’re making. You already said you haven’t done it before, so it’s not like… maybe you’re not this person. Maybe this is just—”
Jesus Christ. I almost want to leave the bed, she’s being so ridiculous. “No. Stop.” It’s almost infuriating that she remains unconvinced. For Christ’s sake, what does a person have to do to convince this girl they’re bad, murder a litter of puppies in front of her? How are multiple rapes and threats of murder insufficient proof? “You are dangerously optimistic,” I inform her.
“I just don’t buy it. I’m not saying you’re not all dangerous and intimidating, but you’re allowed to be human, too. You’re allowed to be lonely. If you were just an asshole who took what you wanted on sight, why wait until now to do this? Why not grab me out of Vince’s room the first night you found me sexually attractive? You didn’t do that. You waited until literally the first night I tried to get closer to you. You waited until the night I insisted you had good in you and told you I’d be your friend to start demolishing my life—and even then you didn’t barge in boldly and announce yourself; you were sneaky. You made this confusing and you didn’t have to. If you wanted to hurt me, why not that first day in your study? You already had me on my knees with a gun to my head; you were halfway there.”
“I’m not some misguided hero, Mia. I’m not.” I shake my head, as astounded by her refusal to accept reality as I am attracted to it. From a young age, I’ve had to accept the ugliness of reality—far younger than most people. When I was half this girl’s age, I was twenty times more realistic. It’s mind-boggling. She hasn’t had an easy, sheltered life, so how is she like this?
I watch her continue to reject the already-proven assertion. “My explanation makes more sense than yours,” she states.
“Your explanation?” I let the corners of my mouth curve up, showcasing my amusement. “Your hypothesis is, what, that I like you? That this is how I show it? You know I’m still planning to kill you after all this, right?”
Her gaze lowers. At least I understand her not wanting to believe that one. Particularly with her impossible streak of believing in goodness that doesn’t exist, she won’t be able to see her death coming. She won’t be able to accept the finality, even in her last moments. This girl will expect to be saved; she will expect her executioner to have a change of heart, and the only fleeting moment of real betrayal and disillusionment she will ever know will be the fraction of a second between hearing the gun fire and then nothingness. Eternal blackness.
Maybe it’s not an unpleasant way to live. Foolish, but probably not unpleasant. I view the world through exactly the opposite lens; always expecting the attempt even if no one is holding a gun.
Absently reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, I tell her, “You have a good heart. I don’t. Let’s leave it at that, hm?”
I could inflict further pain and embarrassment, but I don’t feel like it. Since she seems to be out of words now, I gather her close and wrap my arms around her waist, tucking her head beneath my chin. She doesn’t struggle—one of the battles she opts not to fight. This one is harmless enough. Knowing her warped way of looking at things, she probably thinks I need the affection.
I mean, I do enjoy it, but I don’t need it. I did spend more of today than I care to admit thinking about it, looking forward to the moment I could come back to this bed and bury myself inside her body, then curl up with her afterward. It should matter that she doesn’t want to be here, but it doesn’t.
That’s not need though. It’s merely desire. Yes, I desire her, but that’s nothing.
Mia's warm breath against my skin pulls me from my thoughts. “I don’t want to die.”
I lean back and reach a hooked finger beneath her chin, tilting her face up so she has to look at me. Her blue eyes are swimming with so much uncertainty now, glinting with flecks of fear. There’s still a stubborn tinge of absurd hope in their depths though, and as much as I want to, as much as I need to in order to make her desperate enough to sell me out, I can’t bring myself to completely extinguish it.
My dark gaze holds steady on hers, unapologetically predatory. “Then I suggest you keep me entertained.”
She swallows, looking no less uncertain.
Just in case there are any doubts as to how she might accomplish such an end, I lean in and brush my lips against hers. She draws in a hasty, hitching breath, but she doesn’t struggle. Regardless of how she feels or what she wants, regardless of the awful things I’ve done and will continue to do to her, her mouth softens and she kisses me back—without prompting, this time.