“Blood,” I recall, almost sorry to mention it. “You need to clean those.”
“Do I?” That surprisingly deeper voice, I heard oncebefore, grinds out. This time, I connect it with his sadistic side coming to the fore because he crashes his lips onto mine, growling while he presses my head into the wall. He devours my mouth until I’m moaning, panting, my mouth bruised. When he drags on my hair, I have to rise onto my tiptoes.
“Clean myself? Fuck this.” He’s staring at the floor between us, like an answer is there. “Okay.”
“Okay?” He doesn’t sound…rational.
“Come.” He twists me off the wall, wrestles me to the floor and onto my stomach, kneels on my back. My pants and shoes are thrown somewhere. He overpowers me effortlessly. I may as well resist a tidal wave. My hands and feet are zip tied then connected, hogtied together, and he stands then rocks me with the boot he plants on my ass. “Stay.”
Bewildered, I crane my neck to watch as he stalks toward the stairs.
“This isn’t what I agreed to!”
He stops, slowly turns. “You are sure of this?” He runs up the stairs and vanishes into a room. The bathroom, I think, for I hear water running.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
I hope I am safe. Should I scream? Even if Ron and Molly come running, what could they do? I don’t want them hurt, but I also don’t know where he is going with this. Unease has largely replaced arousal, and this position is beginning to hurt.
He returns down the stairs, naked, carrying his clothes. His erection sways as he walks, and so do his hips. He’s wearing a pair of black disposable gloves, and the dissonance between nakedness and those black gloves is alarming. The crisscrossing sutures snake on his skin as his muscles shift.
The floor creaks.
This could be a scene in a horror movie.
He stares at me, lying where he left me, bound at wrist and ankle.
“This is a problem,” he says to himself, quietly.
My eyes lock wide as he ambles closer, then circles me. The clothes slide from his fist to the floor.
I can’t run. I won’t scream. And Kail seems to have gone strange. Or insane, and since his origins are practically supernatural, I’m worried. His feet stop near my stomach. He closes his eyes, squeezes his expression into an ugly scrunch, then goes to his knees beside me with a thump.
“I’m sorry. Sorry. I went too far.”
With little effort he snaps the tie that connects my wrists to my feet, and my hands drop to the small of my back. I lower my feet to the floor then eye him, my head turned to the side.
Cautiously, I speak. “What…was that?”
He hasn’t fully released me and now repositions himself so he sits cross-legged beside me. Meticulously, he rests one gloved hand on my hip, pushing the loose corner of my shirt away so he can cup my bared hip.
“I will tell you something.” He frowns, unfocussed, looking as though he’s calculating the price of something. “That before was the bad me. I’ll make the scares less scary, more pleasurable. I’m new to this.”
“So am I.” I swallow. “Are you going to be the…good you, now?”
“Mmm.Such a pretty girl.” Not an answer. But then he moves more of my shirt up my back and the light touch makes me shiver, my nipples peak. I’m so close to naked. His eyes are warm, and I can tell he’s assessing my body. His hand roves, he rolls down my panties to the crease of my thighs, then walks those black-gloved fingers over my ass cheek and across my back, slowly, until he reaches my tied hands. “I’m good. Yourfingers are cute, especially like this.” I can feel him handling each of them. “I may need Bad Me, sometimes. For fun.”
I swallow. “Oh.”
He slides his knife from its sheath and lays it between us on the floor. His smile is small, tight, and something disturbing shows in his eyes. I want to shrink into the floor.
“I won’t cut you. Don’t be afraid. I’m simply readjusting to the idea of really, really fucking about with your body…and your mind.”
He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, picks up that shiny, sharp knife.
Crap.
What is Bad Me? And why did I hear it in capitals?
