Liana

 

 

 

His hands are resting on my naked thighs, patiently waiting as he fixates his unyielding gaze on me. Instinct tells me to protest his command and not expose my body to him like he asked, but I’m afraid of the consequences if I don’t.

“Drop the towel, Pet,” he repeats. “You have to trust me.”

Trust him? He is about to rape me, and he tells me to trust him? What the hell is going on inside his head? Are there two wires touching that shouldn’t be?

“How can I trust you after what you have done to me?” I ask him.

He chuckles.

“Done to you?” he asks. “I just let you take a very long, hot shower. You’re not very grateful.”

I frown at him. It’s like speaking to a wall.

“You kidnapped me,” I remind him.

An angry flicker darts through his eyes, and his lips move as if he wants to say something. But he stops himself and inhales a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second before he continues speaking.

“Okay, if this is how you want to do it,” he says in a low voice. “Let me phrase it this way. You either drop this towel now and let me enjoy your beautiful body, or I will lock you up in that attic again, naked.”

His words feel like a dagger stabbing my heart.

“And I won’t come back for you, no matter how much you cry and bang against that door,” he adds. “Remember how cold it was in there? Do you really want to find out what it’s like to spend an entire day and night in that room without anything to keep you warm?”

I bite my lower lip.

“You’re a fucking monster,” I hiss at him.

He smiles, suggesting a subtle nod. “Maybe, but you’re mine now.”

I’m lost. I believe him when he says that he will lock me back in that room, and that’s the last thing I want to happen.

I close my eyes in defeat, slowly relaxing my clenched-up arms as I lower the towel and let it drop onto the bed sheets. There are people who say they go to their ‘safe space’ in their mind when they are faced with something unpleasant, like a dental procedure or a blood draw, or when other people do something horrible to them. Like rape.

I don’t know where my safe space is, though. I don’t know where to go when he gently pushes me back, telling me to lie down, my core bared to him. His hands trail from my shoulders down to my breasts—only cupping them for a moment, accompanied by an approving growl—before he wanders further, tracing along the sides of my upper body. It tickles and I cannot help but let out a giggle that feels entirely out of place.

“Ticklish, huh,” he comments. “Good to know.”

I don’t respond, but just stare at the white canopy above me. The thin curtains are draped around the dark bed frame in an elegant fashion, seemingly random but with a deliberate grace. I try to focus on the elegantly swung fabric that spreads out above my head like a cloud formation, as his hands lazily travel further along my body.

His touch is surprisingly gentle, but I refuse to enjoy this. Only a sick person would find pleasure in what he’s doing to me.

I suppress a moan when he places his hands on the inner side of my upper thighs and spreads my legs farther apart. His face is so close to my exposed core that I can feel his breath on my lips.

I close my eyes, preparing myself for an assault that doesn’t come. He caresses the inside of my thighs, moving ever closer to my center, so close that his fingertips almost touch my soft labia, but before they do, he retreats and moves in the opposite direction toward my knee. His warm touch explores every inch of my body, going all the way down to my feet and toes, massaging my ankles and my thighs before he moves back to my knees. Then he’s stroking along the outside of my upper thighs before he reaches my hips and traces along the bones that poke out as I lay on my back. I try to hold it together, but cannot help flinching and giggling as he finds the ticklish point on the side of my waist again.

He greets my sensitivity with a chuckle before he lifts his hands, only using one finger as he follows the outline of my pelvis back to my core.

But this time he doesn’t stop before reaching my most sensitive area. I gasp when the tips of his fingers fondle the soft skin of my lips.

I refuse to enjoy this. My mind is set.

My body, however, turns out to be a traitor.

“Look at that,” I can hear his arrogant voice as he moves farther to the inside, approaching my wet entrance. “You’re practically drooling, you little slut.”

Heat rushes up to my face, and I close my eyes, as if that could make any of this go away. Of course, I’m wet as hell after all this teasing. Isn’t this my body’s way of protecting me? I’ve heard that rape victims do get wet as the deed is happening because our body creates fluids no matter what. It’s a mechanism of protection.

But he hasn’t done anything. He’s barely touching me, especially not there, and he has not been inside me. Yet.

A slick sound confirms my body’s betrayal when he finally slips a finger inside my channel. I moan, still in denial that this feels good. It can’t feel good. He’s evil. This whole situation is fucked up.

He moves slowly, testing, waiting for my reaction. A hum of approval vibrates through the air when he sees me arching my back and moving my hips closer to him.

I give up. This is insane, it’s sick, and it’s scary. But if I have to endure it, I might as well make it as easy as possible on myself.

So what if my safe space is right here? In this room. With him.

“Good girl,” he coos, sending another spark of pleasure through my body. “Very good girl. Just stay like this and let go.”

There’s no protest. Even my mind has surrendered to my horny body. I don’t even care that I let out another moan when he leans forward and I can feel his tongue circling around my wet clit. The sensation is electric, better than any man has ever made me feel. He’s so gentle, so careful.

Too careful.

I want more, and I can’t keep myself from verbalizing that wish.

“More,” I breathe, thankful that I cannot see him right now. I would hate to see his condescending smile as he realizes my defeat.

He closes his mouth around my clit, alternating between sucking on it and drawing circles around it with his skilled tongue, while he adds another finger to spread me wider. A little bend of those fingers is all it takes for me to feel the first harbinger of an impending climax.

Why am I even surprised? He said he was going to make me come, and that’s exactly what he’s doing.