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Chapter 16
SUKI
He forces my arm to bend until the face of the knife is pressed on my belly and he holds it there, pulling me away from the window. My legs want to protest, but he keeps me in a hold that forces me to move along with him, otherwise the edge of the knife could slice through the fabric that keeps it away from my skin.
He walks me through the room that is clearly his bedroom, yet it looks completely different bathed in all this light. I catch glimpses of warm tones, terracotta and wheat, but they disappear too fast as we walk into the ensuite bathroom. A tall cabinet is moved away from the wall and I’m shocked to see an open hidden door behind it—this is how he came in the bedroom.
As we walk through it and he closes the door behind us, the darkness that meets me weaves threads of fear through my mind.
“I need you to see Suki, to feel… I need you to know.”
“Why?”
He doesn’t respond… I do not think he knows the answer.
I hear a flick then a dim light floods the black-walled room and I do not know if I want to scream, run, melt, or just stand there hoping he will forget I am here.
My gaze travels to my left and I note a door that most likely leads to the corridor and next to it, hanging below a shelf are various playthings—ropes, two wooden paddles, two canes, belts, nothing fancy or of great variety, but one does not need many props to achieve the desired effect and I fear his methods will be effective enough… enough for me to desire more.
He moves again, my body being led forward by his, towards the opposite wall that holds something beautiful, something great, something that scares me and intrigues me all at once—a St. Andrews cross.
The wall to my right is covered in soft black curtains, and I know they block the same view that you can see from his bedroom, since it’s on the same side of the house. I cannot help but wonder how this black room would look against that bright white scenery, the contrast of it is intriguing. The grip on my throat tightens and he spins me around, before he pushes me against the cross. He presses his large body into mine, our hands clutching the knife between us, and my mind drifts to that blade against our naked flesh instead, pressed between our bodies… nicking our skin at the same time… A shiver runs through me.
I may have been wrong the night he saved me—I feel more like a whore now than I ever did in those woods, because the hunter caught the prey and even dominated by fear, prey wants to be prey.
His gaze penetrates mine, whatever softness resided there is long gone now, replaced by a coldness that can freeze bones… and the prey whimpers.
He squeezes my fist hard, and when he lets go, the need to soothe my hand makes me drop the knife to the floor beneath us. The hilt brushes my foot when it falls and I think the edge of the blade touches him, because there is a sudden slight hitch in his breath, even if his stance does not falter.
Releasing my throat, he brings his hands to the hem of my hoodie and the t-shirt underneath as I fight for some sense of control, pointlessly holding onto it. He does not look impressed, his gaze stern as he forces the hems up, roughly grazing my arms until he rips them over my head, pressing his body onto mine to hold me in place.
He looks down between us as he gently pulls away, and I could have sworn I heard a low growl when his eyes landed on my breasts. I shake myself mentally… must have imagined it because his eyes hold the same stern, emotionless expression.
“Do not fucking move.” The sheer force of his voice pins me in place. He promises pain devoid of pleasure and that is a side of it I would never want to experience again.
So, I do not fucking move.
He squats down in front of me, pulling out what look like rectangle shaped shelves from the base of the cross. Cocking his head, he looks me up and down, before he refits them on the cross a foot above ground and then it dawns on me—foot supports… so we can be eye to eye.
Shit.
Grabbing my waist, he lifts me off the ground before I even realize what is happening and instinctively my feet search for those little shelves. The corner of his lips quirk ever so slightly, victory flashing on his features for a split second.No, I will not give him the satisfaction!I slam my hands on his strong chest and push as hard as I can, but he leans forward, pinning me against the warm wood, my arms trapped between us. He pulls one out, and I realize he has me exactly where he needs me… like he anticipated my reaction.
Will he anticipate all of them?
He slowly and deliberately ties ropes around each wrist, my arms spread in a V above me. He takes his time, twisting beautiful knots around them as I try and fail to break my body free, his erection growing against my belly the more I fidget.
He steps back, and I struggle for balance as I almost fall forwards, the restraints digging into my flesh. With a fresh rope in hand, he comes to me and loops it over my shoulders, knotting it in the middle of my chest, from the sternum down my torso just above the belly button, the ropes wrapping around my ribs, holding me secured in place on the cross.
I catch his gaze on me, and I do not know what I want anymore. No matter how much my demons scream in victory over the potential of fulfillment of long coveted, depraved desires, the fear over my current predicament is real. He is, after all, a stranger, even if our demons appear to be familiar. He is unpredictable and anything… absolutely anything could happen right now. I am no longer a deer in the headlights… I am sprawled over the hood of the fucking car and my life is seconds away from ending.
I close my eyes and two lone tears run down my cheeks. I’m startled when I feel his hot breath on my cheeks and his tongue gently licking the tears off. Can he taste it? Can he taste my fear? Worst of all… can he taste my lust?
Mere minutes later, the boxers I was wearing are cut off my body and my thighs and ankles are tied to the cross as well, holding me in place. It is strange how liberating this feels, standing, yet not holding myself up. I look beyond Niklas and I notice that the entire wall across from me, where the door we came through stands, is covered with mirrors and I force myself to recognize the person staring back at me.
Naked, spread-eagle on a St. Andrews cross, ropes digging into her plump flesh, her eyes laced with fear and hunger.
I watch him turn his head, looking at the same person I see in the mirror.
