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His large hands slide over the bar at the foot of the bed, and he leans forward slowly bringing more of him into the faint city lights shining in through the window. I swallow hard as I watch him slip from the shadows, taking in the man hovering a few feet from me. His hands wrap around the iron bar, causing his massive forearms to flex under the tight sleeves of his cotton shirt. As he leans further, my eyes travel up to his bulging biceps and broad chest.
I should be screaming. Yelling for help. Running for the phone and calling 911. Instead, my intrigue grossly and foolishly outweighs my fear.
Instinctively, I know the man before me is the unknown man from the phone. And more than anything, I want to know who he is.
He leans even lower, and an involuntary gasp blows from my lips when I see his covered face. Everything but his eyes are covered with a mask – a ski mask of sorts with an evil-looking skeleton printed across the front – leaving him looking at the Grimm Reaper.
Suddenly, I realize how foolish this was, and slow tears begin to stream down my face as I silently sob. The sudden terror of what this man is going to do to me overwhelms nearly all of my senses.
“I don’t want your tears,mi reina. I want your screams, and I know exactly how I intend to get them,” his words sound more like a promise than a threat.
“Are you going to hurt me?” The words vomit uncontrollably from my mouth.
“Oh,mi reina,” his voice is deep, gravelly, and sincere, “I would never harm you.”
“Kyle?” I quietly question. He doesn’t answer and instead inquisitively tips his head like a dog when they don’t understand, “Did you kill Kyle?”
“Did I need to?” His fingers flex tighter around the bar, “Was I mistaken about your lack of feelings for him?”
“No,” my answer is soft because apparently we both know that I was settling with a guy like Kyle.
“I’m not a complete monster,” he walks around the bed until he is standing next to me. His fingers gingerly tuck hair behind my ear before sliding down my cheek, “He’s just going to be left-handed now. He had to pay for touching you.”
“Why?” A tear rolls down my cheek and he wipes it away with his thumb.
“I told you. You are mine, and other men do not touch what belongs to me,” his voice is deep and commanding but eerily calm.
I swallow hard and try to sound brave when I respond, “What if I don’t want to be yours?”
“You will,” his thumb swipes over my lower lip as he talks, “you just don’t know it yet.”
“What makes you so sure of yourself?”
“You,” he presses his thumb between my lips and slides it over the length of my tongue, “you aren’t screaming for help or fighting me off. You like my hands on you.”
With his thumb still in my mouth, I have to wait to answer until he pulls it from my mouth. “No, I don’t,” the words even sound like a lie as I say them.
“Liar,” I can almost hear him smile with pleasure beneath the mask as he slides his thumb, still slick with my saliva, over my slightly parted lips, “Tell me the lips beneath this blanket aren’t as wet as these beautiful pink ones on your face.”
I can’t.
I don’t know if it’s fear, arousal, or both, but I know that my panties are currently soaked through. For some reason, I am certain that he knows it, too.
His fingers grip the blanket in my lap, and he slowly drags it down my legs until I am sitting before him nothing but an oversized T-shirt and a pair of panties. A moan vibrates against his mask as his eyes rake back up my body. The knuckles of his hand drag up my outer thigh until they are slowly dipping under the bottom of the shirt pooled on my thighs. His fingers hook under the side of my panties. He leans forward, until I can feel the cotton of his mask brush against my ear, before groaning, “Are you wet for me?”
My eyes lock on his as he waits for an answer I can’t bring myself to give. I am unable to lie or admit the truth. His free hand grips the panties on my other hip, and he yanks on them roughly. He pulls so aggressively that I am no longer sitting against the headboard as he pulls them down my thighs. He slows, and his fingers drag down my legs, leaving goosebumps in their wake, as he slides my panties down my legs and over my feet.
“Fuck,” he groans as he brings my wet panties to his face and inhales deeply before shoving them into his pocket, “you smell fucking better than I’ve imagined. I can’t wait to fucking taste you.”
My mouth gapes at his words. I feel like I can’t breathe, as my chest heaves at even the thought of him just taking what he wants. He grabs my hand and pulls it between my thighs. Holding it gently in his, he slides my fingers through my folds and brings them to his mouth. Without hesitation, he draws them into his mouth, groaning as he sucks and licks vigorously at my fingers. Each swipe of his tongue over and between my fingers sends tingles across my clit.
Pulling me from his mouth, he moves my hand back between my thighs. My tiny hand in his large palm, he cups my pussy. I am unable to stifle my moan when he presses two of my fingers inside of me. My thighs tremble as he works my fingers in and out of me.
“Next time I taste your sweet cunt, it’ll be with my face buried between your thighs,” his hand leaves mine and lingers up my arm as he growls, “keep those fingers in that tight little cunt of yours.”
Part of me is still scared to death. Yet even with my heart pounding in my chest, I desperately crave his next command.
thirteen
