“Come on, I don’t want to spell it out. I’ll just show you.” He put his hands on my waist and pulled me up against him.
“I need to know what I’m allowed to do,” I said, holding perfectly still as his arms snaked around my body, his lips on my neck. I let my revulsion strengthen my control over myself.
“What do you mean?”
“Can I go down on you?”
Shit. Should have been subtler.
He gave me an evil, knowing grin. “When I trust you, absolutely. But, darling, we’re not there yet.”
I swallowed thickly. “Can I touch you?”
“Of course,” he said, his eyes shining. “I’m allowed to touch you?”
He hated the wordno, so it stood to reason he liked the opposite one. I nodded slowly. “Yes.”
There was worry that I might burst into hysterical, nervous laughter when I opened my mouth, but it didn’t happen. The hand on my back slid upward and slowly around the curve of my body, heading for my breasts. As I’d hoped, the permission had knocked his defenses down.
I turned as quickly as I could and wrapped my hands around the heavy lamp, swinging it toward him. I’d brought a man down with a skillet, and I was ready to add this lamp to my list of unconventional weapons.
He was unprepared . . . but he had lightning-fast reflexes. He spun away so only his shoulder caught the edge of the blow. The impact thundered up my arms as I swung again?—
A foot crashed into my hip and sent me flying. I gasped as my body cracked hard against the wooden slat of the bedframe. The collision knocked the lamp from my hands, and when it hit the ground, the light bulb shattered in a flash of bright light.
There was no time to react.
He wrapped his hands around my throat and lifted me until the tips of my toes could barely scrape the carpet beneath them. He squeezed so hard I could feel every muscle in his fingers and their effort to end my life.
My vision went hazy and dark. I was rapidly losing consciousness but knew this wasn’t the end. He didn’t want me dead. He had much worse plans for me, which he confirmed when he tossed me backward onto the bed. His heavy footsteps took him to the bathroom, and a drawer opened, only to slam shut a moment later.
My head ached from the lack of oxygen. When I scrambled to sit up, he surged toward me.
“No!” I screamed, my voice almost gone from the recent trauma. There was a syringe in his hand.
“I gave you a choice,” he said. He shoved me back and clamped one of his large hands just above my elbow, more painful than any rubber band I’d ever had when getting blood drawn. “Don’t move or you’ll blow the vein.”
“You’re hurting me.” I panted for air. “Stop! Please!”
But the needle stabbed into my arm, and it was done. He released his grip, letting the drug work its way into me, pulling the needle back.
“I don’t want to forget,” I cried.
“You’ll be begging me to make you forget in a moment.”
What did he mean? If that drug wasn’t going to wipe my memory, what was it going to?—
Oh, shit, I’m on fire!
I screamed as the burning crept along my skin, searing every nerve ending. The pain was so intense I wanted to vomit, but when I moved my head to the side, the pain was worse.
“Stop moving,” he ordered.
I had no choice but to obey, and when I did, the flames died down to a level where I could barely breathe again. Could only just form coherent thought over the pain. I had to lie utterly still on the bed and take the shallowest of breaths.
“Put your hands above your head,” he commanded.
The pain would be too great. “I can’t.”
