Just like now. Hearing Trace talk to me dirty and unfiltered like this—recalling exactly what was going through my mind when I fucked myself to a goddamn slasher scene—even now arousal greets me and I hate that my body reacts this way. I’m humiliated by the admission and simultaneously it turns me on. He’s holding me hostage and pressing a fucking gun to my body and I can’t do anything butneed more.
But I’m also embarrassed he saw me like that. Or at least l think I am until he presses his lips against my ear and whispers, “You look so fucking pretty when you come, you know that, Olivia?”
A moan slips free and I berate myself for it immediately.
Trace brings the gun back down and this time, he rests the barrel between my breasts and it’s so wrong of me to want the cold tip of his weapon back on my nipples but I can’t deny the craving.
I shake my head, giving him the truth. I wasn’t thinking about that moment. But the call back of the memory causes me to fully register the fact that he’s been watching me for a lot longer than I can fathom and I think he senses that realization in me.
“You think I just left town and simply moved on from my sister’s death? Oh no, Olivia. I might have stayed in the shadows all this time but I was hunting down my fucking prey. Watching everyone I needed eyes on and lurking; learning their secrets and what makes them tick. And I learned something very special about you.” The cynical tone in his voice makes my veins turn to ice. My distorted vision and dizzy head work together to cause me to want to panic.
Trace lowers the gun, letting the muzzle trace a messy and crooked line down the front of my sternum and over my belly button, but he doesn’t stop there.
I start to struggle against him, not wanting him to continue further but it only causes his hand to drop a little quicker and I gasp. This time, I’m not sure if I’m scared or turned on. I feel concerned for my well being but I keep finding myself wanting to chase pleasure. I know that this can’t be normal and I don’t want to find out how my body is willing to betray me if he does decide to continue.
“I learned that my little reckless likes a little thrill, don’t you?” Trace’s words wreak havoc in me, my body going haywire when he says exactly what I’ve known about myself. What Ihateabout myself.
I groan in pleasure, or whimper in fear. I can’t tell which one. I try to use my feet to stomp on him, anything to get him to stop, but my attempt does nothing to prevent him from continuing the descent of the weapon he’s pressing against my skin, near seconds away from sliding into my pussy.
“Terror turns you on doesn’t it, Olivia? You suffer from a paradox of pleasurable fear. That’s why you were practically soaking my fingers as I held you against that tree earlier? Am I right?”
I don’t answer. I refuse to let him know that he’s figured out something about me that I can’t even understand myself. But he goes lower and something wicked stirs in me. I push my head back further into his chest, his hand not giving up its power against me and another tear escapes when I realize just how fucking weak I am.
But then I remember that my hands have been free this whole time, I’ve just been paralyzed for fear of making the wrong move and causing the gun to go off. Would he really let that happen? Shoot the gun? For some reason, I think he might. But I have to believe that there is something inside of him, a small light still lit with the protection that he once provided for me, that would prevent him from allowing his darkness to disperse and dismantle me.
But I can’t risk it. I don’t think I want to find out what would happen if I tested him, or worse . . . what if provoking him entices him more? Enticesme.
“I need a fucking answer, Reckless.”
That stupid nickname.Why the fuck does he keep calling me that?
Trace’s tone is threatening, but the way my body reacts to him and his assault on me is even more concerning.
The gun starts to press into my pussy, sliding between my folds and gliding down slowly. The heat from the pressure is consuming even as my body quakes with a chill from the freezing cold water still spraying at my lower half.
“Why are you doing this?” I breathe behind the enclosure of his hand, shaking my head.
But he continues and I have to remain completely still; the gun could go off. How could he do this to me?Whyis he doing this?
“Answer the question, Olivia. Did you find yourself aching in agony over the pleasure that I gave you earlier? Pleasure caused by fear. Maybe even a little hint of masochism taints your blood. Did you find yourself wet even as I nearly choked you into oblivion?” Histone is creating chaos in the neurons that pass between my body and my mind. He is a drug personified. You know it might be bad for you. But you just want more.
The barrel of the gun is now rubbing against my core, pressing lightly over my clit, and though my brain is doing everything it can to decline the way this feels, my body is proving to be a fucking glutton for his wrath. I need it.
Trace’s hands once provided me safety. They cherished me and made me feel like my place in life was firmly in his arms. But now, they’re wringing out desire in the most sinister way. Causing me fear and provoking fantasies I only ever dreamed of and I hate him for it.
He left me. He ripped my heart to shreds. How can I just give in to him like this?
But I do give in, knowing that there is no winning this game. This was just a fucked up way for him to get inside my mind and confirm the fact that he has control over me after, even after all this time. Even as this monster he’s become. Fine. He can have this. But he has another thing coming if he thinks he will come out the victor in whatever the fuck he’s doing.
I relax, believing that he is only out to taunt me; threaten me with a twisted desire that he now knows I have, but not intending to cause actual physical harm. A muffled moan escapes my lips as he presses the gun into me a little harder and Trace’s dick twitches against me.
“That’s what I thought. What a reckless little flower you’ve become.”
His words disseminate further arousal, the gun slips up and down my pussy. I practically crumble when the steel tip of it whispers against my clit again and I can’t do anything but accept the fact that I’m-
“Such a little fearslut, aren’t you, Olivia? Does the idea that this gun could go off at any moment make your pussy drip for me? Do you like that I intend to tear you apart while I obliterate your sweet resolve?”
His tone is crafted with sweet danger and dark lust, and he’s rubbing me the right way; creating the perfect amount of friction with his gun while his cock presses against my ass.
