A crashing course of pain and pleasure.
I feel a tear escape my eye but I steel myself, his cock still pressed firmly into my ass as I attempt to relax against him. Part of me is hopeful that he won’t actually bring me severe harm, that he still cares about me just enough to let me go. But if it’s not for that, then I can only survive this because of me, so my only choice is to cooperate.
“As I was saying, I’m going to keep my hand here.” He tightens his grip on my mouth and the pain starts to fuck with my vision, but I do my best to keep the steady breathing I’ve been able to manage through my nose as he continues.
“And I’m going to ask you what it was that caused you to want to touch yourself. Your job is to simply shake your head yes or no.”
I hate that Trace’s voice brings me a modicum of comfort, even though I can hear the apparent darkness that coats his timbre; something that wasn’t as present all those years ago. But knowing that Trace has a ruthless side is not something new, though right now, he’s not being ruthless. He’s being predatory. Cold-blooded. Savage.
What the fuck kind of game is this?I try to wiggle against him, needing to try and free myself even though I know he holds a gun to my skin, but he only chuckles again—an alarming sound given the circumstance—and I know it’s because my efforts only act as friction for him; my body moving against his cock.
And boy, can I fucking feel it.
Trace moves the muzzle of the gun up my body, letting the steel object graze my skin lightly as he goes and I am such a sicko for the way my body allows the sensual caress of goosebumps to form in its wake; betraying me as the tip of it reaches my pert nipples.
I try everything in my power to not show him what that fleeting touch does to me, regardless of the fact that the object providing me the slightest bit of arousal is a loaded gun with the fucking safety off, as he’s proven.
“Oh, my love,” Trace whispers nefariously into my ear. “Do you see the way your body is already reacting to me? And we haven’t even fucking started.” He leans in further and swipes his tongue up the side of my neck and I have the fucking audacity to let a moan slippast the barrier of his iron grip. He crows in satisfaction.
“I’m going to enjoy making a mess out of you, Olivia Winters.”
13
OLIVIA
“What’s your favorite scary movie?” — Ghostface, Scream (1996)
“Please,” I murmur against Trace’s hand, hoping he can hear me but not really sure what the hell I’m begging for.
“Please, what, Olivia?” I can feel him tilt his head as he leans over me. I wonder if he can see how hard I’m breathing, but then I realize that would mean he’d have to be looking at my naked chest which is also displaying the evidence of how my body betrays me.
I shake my head. Why am I like this? I refuse to let him do this to me; to bring out this version of me.
I know he feels it, because I have to believe that he would stop if he knew I was really fighting to flee him. But he notices the way my body is going against all common sense.Fight. Run. Be afraid.And maybe I am afraid. But that’s the problem. Iamafraid.
“Now,” he starts as he moves the gun a little, letting it skate across one breast to the other, resting the muzzle over my other nipple. “What were you thinking about to cause your need to touch your pretty little cunt, huh Olivia? Were you thinking about our first time together? How I took my time with you. Howmuch pain you were experiencing from how tight you were but you begged me not to stop.”
I tense up. My first time was perfect. Not many girls get to experience it like that. I don’t think I could have imagined it better than what Trace gave to me. And he did; he took care of me. He went slow and eased up when it felt too painful. But then he made it feel so good. He kissed my body and held my hand. He moved my hair out of my face and made me look at him as we came together. He was soft and gentle and protective and intentional. It was the best night of my life. But it was also the worst night of my life.
I bring myself back to the present. I’m not really sure what the point of this game is or how I can get out of it. Despite how my body might be reacting, I know I need to get the hell away from him. How does he win and how do I lose? What happensifI lose?
“I don’t see you answering me, Liv. It’s eitheryesorno.” His tone is menacing, a harsh punishment to something I’m not even sure I deserve, and the grip he has on me hasn’t loosened a bit. I don’t know how he intends to play this out but I can at least be honest. If that’s all I can do to hopefully survive this, then I’ll do it.
I shake my headnoand he lets out a curious sigh.
“Hmm.” He lifts the gun and moves it behind me. I can’t make out what he’s doing but the motion Icanfeel causes me to think he’s scratching at his temple with it while he thinks of another question.
“Shame. Those were beautiful times weren’t they? But no, that’s not what my little flower was thinking of. Maybe it was the time you were sitting on the couchwith your ex-boyfriend watching that slasher movie together. Do you remember that night, Olivia?”
I freeze.How the hell…
“That’s right.Iremember. I remember watching how he fell asleep mere minutes into the movie and left a beautiful little toy like you to go to waste. I remember how annoyed you looked, frustrated that he couldn’t stay awake for you.” I close my eyes at the memory, recalling it exactly as he’s retelling it while he whispers against my neck. “But while he was snoozing away, you continued to watch didn’t you? And you were getting restless. I believe it was the scene where the helpless female was getting chased around naked by a killer, wielding a bloodied butcher knife. And the moment the killer caught up to her and well . . . let’s just say you had to sneak out to the privacy of your bedroom.” His tone is taunting, of course. But he speaks with an intense understanding of my actions. A justification for why I did what I did and…
He’s not judging me?
“Do tell me, Reckless. Were you thinking about how that pink vibrator of yours did the job your boyfriend couldn’t? Were you thinking about how fucking hard you came that night just from feeling the adrenaline alone of watching your favorite scary movie?”
I’m ashamed. What the hell is wrong with me? How could I allow myself that kind of release? I wasn’t lying when I said fear sometimes has a different affect on me. Pleasure of fear, fear-driven arousal. I don’t know what the fuck to call it, but whatever it is creeps inside of me like a hungry beast, eager to pounce and I can’t control it.
