Trent rests his forehead against the bump at the top of my spine. His breath is warm, playful against my back. The heat spreads across my skin. “Anything for you, my love. I promise.”
The relief is immediate. My body sags until it’s only the ties that hold my torso semi-upright.
“You can say that he did it…” I offer, my gratitude wanting something more than simple words of thanks. “Whatever you do to me… you can blame it on Andy. Say we were having sex, and he interrupted us, that’ll explain your DNA.”
Trent chuckles, his hand moving over the flat of my stomach, reaching up to caress the underside of my breasts, taking one into his hand and gently squeezing. “No one’s ever going to find Andy.”
The claim should add to his menace, but they take another burden from my shoulders.
Those aren’t the words from an innocent, getting his first taste of blood. Someone forced to get themselves dirty against their will.
They’re the words of a boy whose hands are steeped in the stuff through choice.
“Tell me about her.”
His hands pause in their gentle movements, then resume when he finds his place. “Her who?”
“The girl who you hurt.”
“I’ve already told you.”
“Not everything.” My throat clicks and I tense, worried the band is tightening, then the muscle relaxes. “Why did you start watching videos?”
“That’s…” He shifts, moving to the side, stretching his body out, laying his head on the post next to mine so he’s looking into my eyes.
The hair he let go of has fallen across my face and he tenderly moves it, the gesture a sweet one if it weren’t for the restraints cutting into my wrists and neck, the position making my shoulder tendons feel like they’re tearing loose from the bone.
His fingers move over my neck, brush against my cheek, thumb stroking along my jawline until I shudder, dragging in a deep breath.
“There was something I saw as a kid. My dad’s always had security cameras at his properties, always had a bank of monitors where you can see into most rooms at a glance. He…”
Trent’s eyes lose focus, their sharp colour muddying.
He sits up, moving out of my sight range. Then he straddles my lower body again. His hands reach out to grip my shoulders, repositioning me.
It’s a scene. You’ve agreed a payment. It’s just another contract.
“I like you like this,” he says in such a deep voice it sounds like its rumbling from the earth. “Completely at my mercy.”
I want to beg him not to hurt me, but I’m scared that will trigger him further. I try to relax but it’s not possible.
Keep him talking. Keep him connected.
“What did you see on the monitors?”
“There was a woman,” he continues in a faraway voice. Like this is an old story he’s told a million times before. “I was looking for my dad and went into the security room. Sometimes he’d just sit in there for hours while I played on the floor. Watching the screens, drinking bourbon. It’s what he did to relax.”
“He liked to watch, too?”
“My dad enjoys owning things,” Trent corrects. “Him sitting in that room and watching every piece of his property is like a dragon sitting on his hoard, admiring its gold.”
His hands stroke along my back, following the curve of my spine, my tailbone, then tracing a path between my buttocks, between my legs. A second later, he grabs a thigh in each hand and spreads them apart and I let him. I don’t want to fight. If I try hard enough, I can turn this into our first time. Mental gymnastics required but I’m used to that. I’ve been using those since I was seven years old.
His lips press against the inside of my thigh, the tease rippling out until a wave of desire lodges deep inside. I close my eyes, giving over to the sensations, not the fear. Give over to the tenderness, not the sharp bite of thick plastic.
Submitting to Trent’s desires and letting them stir my own.
“There was a woman on the screen. In one of the spare bedrooms. A man was there, holding her down.”
