Page 25 of The Taste

She was pirouetted around.

And came face to face with her captor.

But it wasn’t the Latino man, it was the biker from across the street. It was Phantom.

She wanted to breathe a sigh of relief but she couldn’t breathe, in or out. She stared at him, confused. Facing him, pressed up against him. Thrilled to be so close to him, thrilled to have such a level of intimacy.

But she felt something at her throat. Something cold and sharp. A chill ran down her spine. He had a knife. A wickedly cold sharp knife, held to her throat. She swallowed and felt the blade against her. It was a strange knife, without a handle, the metal was black. It bit a little, a sting, but he held it still. And kept his eyes on her. Her mouth tried to open, air tried to rush from her lungs, she wanted to let out a scream. His hand on her mouth silenced her.

His eyes. His eyes spoke to her like no look from anyone ever had before. Even he had only just stared at her blankly before. Now he was telling her something. Warning her. His eyes widened meaningfully, the whites of his eyes glowed in the semi gloom.

She wasn’t prepared to listen to whatever he was trying to tell her. She looked up at him and felt intense confusion. She had trusted him. She liked him. She had thought about him, dreamed about him. She had wanted him. And now she was fully at his mercy. Was he going to kill her? Hurt her? Icy terror daggered through her. She struggled in his arms. He pursed his lips, and shook his head urgently. A tiny shake, a single little jerk, really. But she paused. It was enough from him to make her stop. He released her nose and she took a greedy inhale of air. And another, panting through her nose, the air blowing his hair.

He continued to stare at her, telling her so much with his eyes, screaming at her silently.

Her head caught up with her. If he was going to kill her he would have done it by now. The fear sapped out of her. Sophie wasn’t a scaredy cat, oh no. Her mother had always said her curiosity would be the death of her. She was that little girl who would chat to strangers. Who would climb that weak tree branch. People said she was naive. She needed to be more careful. Well, if she’d have listened to them, she wouldn’t be running her own ice cream shop at the age of twenty-five. So to hell with them and to hell with fear. Phantom wasn’t going to kill her. She’d already be dead if he was.

What was he trying to say? She moved her head a fraction of an inch, trying to look down at the blade at her throat. He had no give in him. He tightened his grip to prevent her. At the same time, he moved his hand that was holding the knife away from her neck for a moment. He released his index finger from its grasp around the hilt, and put it to his lips. Then he pulled his lips together. Silently shushing her.

Shushing her? In her own shop? The nerve of him! She felt indignant now, what kind of game was he playing? She struggled harder. He almost dipped his head and shook it again. As if she was doing something wrong. Something he didn’t want her to do. His eyes roved over his face, trying to make her understand something that she just couldn’t grasp.

He adjusted his grip. He held her upper arm. He suddenly pulled his hand away, looking at her, like he’d been burnt. Yes, he’d felt it, it hadn’t hurt her, but she knew he had felt it, under her skin. Her birth control implant, a little hairpin shaped contraceptive device in her upper arm. They both blinked at each other. They both knew what that meant. Sophie was immediately filled with the image of them having sex, him taking her bare, no need for a condom, his cock thrusting into her, his hips rolling and rolling-

Then she felt something else. He was getting hard. Knife at her throat, hand over her mouth, with her struggling in his arms. She felt the outline of an unmistakable erection, big and hard, pressing against her stomach. He looked at her now with something like regret, shame. No, not shame, he wasn’t ashamed of himself.

He was begging her not to.

Begging her not to struggle.

Not to scream.

Because it was turning him on.

She understood now.

His eyelids fluttered, his lips parted. His breath came out from his chest in a little, hot puff. Her own hair drifted over her face. She blinked and looked at him, watching the oh so subtle change come over him. His skin flushed, his pupils dilated, his cock hardened further, beneath her stomach. He was... aroused.

She was surprised. Here she was, scared out of her mind, thinking he was going to murder her, and he was enjoying it. The man who couldn’t speak. The man whose only communication with her to this point had been barely there looks and a grunt. Now he was pressed against her with a raging hard-on, begging her to stop teasing him.

She tried to say something, her lips moving beneath his hand. He clamped down again. He shushed her silently again, his finger lingered on his lip a fraction of a second longer, and actually touched the soft skin of his lip this time. He held his finger there longer than necessary. Caught his Cupid’s bow of his lips with the pad of his finger as he brought his hand down. His eyes warned her.

She wanted to test her theory. She wanted to play with fire. The sudden, unexpected euphoria of finally getting the opportunity to communicate with him, and how it had suddenly become as intimate and hot as some of her fantasies about him overtook any fear she had felt. She wiggled now, more with her body, rubbing up against him. And she tried to let out a little high pitched squeak. He shuddered and growled. It was more a purr, deep in his throat. A guttural, primeval throb. She looked up at him, and wanted it to be clear in her eyes.

She wanted him to see how she felt about all of this.

She thought she should hate this. She shouldn’t want this. But who was she kidding? She wanted it. She wanted him like this. She wanted this so much, her body yearned for it, every fiber of her being was thrumming in anticipation. She needed him to chase out the darkness, the loneliness, the weight on her shoulders. She needed him to bring back the joy to her soul. Make her soul ping and sing. Please, she begged him back.

She lifted her hand. He released the pressure on her enough so that she could move her hand. She brought it up to his face. Slowly. Like she was about to touch a wild animal. A skittish wild beast who wasn’t usually touched. He stared at her hand, inching closer. She moved toward his cheek. Screw it, she wanted to touch his lips. She was a fraction of an inch away now. Their breaths were hot, and close, breathing each other’s air. She could smell him. His scent. Leather, warmth, almost sweet sweat, pine. He pulled away a little, snorting. He didn’t want to be touched.

She leaned in with her face now. Her cheek. He frowned, clearly perplexed by what she was doing. But then, he leaned a fraction of an inch forward. Dipping his head down. Slowly, like he didn’t trust her now. His eyes flickering between hers, checking if this was right. His cheek was now so close to hers. She heard his breath against her ear. The only sound he made. She raised her nose to nuzzle into his neck. He pulled away, almost spooked. She bit her lip, instantly regretting the hasty move. She made a little noise in her throat, urging him to come back. He narrowed his eyes for a second, but then, slowly, slowly, lowered his face down again. She felt the electricity in his skin. She shivered, tingled from it. She wanted to rub her nose into his short beard. She could smell his scent more, stronger so close to his facial hair. Warmer. It smelled good. She wanted to rub her body into him. She wanted him.

As he came closer, she felt his body quivering, just the smallest amount. Just the faintest tremor. That told her he didn’t do this often. He was struggling to contain himself.

The last remnants of fear ebbed away. In its place, she felt power and lust. He was turned on and fully focused on her. He wouldn’t harm her.

She wanted more. He licked his lips, bit them, his gaze flashed to the knife. He seemed to just realize it was there. He looked back at her.

And he stared at the blade against her skin. He adjusted the knife so it was right over her pulse.

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