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A little bit of my fear retreats. I pray he’s telling the truth. If he’s lying—if he’s brought women here and raped and tortured them—then there’s no hope for me. So I have to believe him, for my own sanity’s sake. And it makes an odd kind of sense. He’s so damn arrogant, I suspect he wouldn’t condescend to force himself on a woman in that way. At least that’s what I tell myself, frantic for any scrap of comfort.
I open my mouth to speak, but he shakes his head.
“You will always address me as Master. You will only speak when spoken to. Speaking is a privilege. For that matter, breathing is a privilege. And you may find that out very soon.”
A chill runs through me, but I refuse to let my fright show on my face. I shape my features into an emotionless mask and stare at him.
He carries on. “The time will come, and it will come very soon, when you’ll beg to call me Master. You’ll beg me to fuck you. You’ll beg to sleep at the foot of my bed.”
“Are you out of your damn mind?” I shout at him. “I will never do any of those things.”
His eyes glow with vicious happiness. He flashes his brilliant smile again, and the light gleams off his perfect white teeth. “Remember those words.”
Then he grabs my arm and spins me around so I’m facing the wall. I thrash and struggle, but he chains up first one wrist and then the other until I’m pinned there, helpless, face pressed against the cold white paneling.
Oh God, oh God…what the hell is he going to do to me now? This is going to hurt so much. I blink frantically.Don’t cry, don’t cry. He doesn’t deserve your tears.
He adjusts the length of the chains so my arms are stretched over my head with just a little bit of play—I can move them maybe an inch or two. He walks away, and I yank pointlessly on my chains a few times before I finally give up.
He takes his time, which is a punishment in itself.
When he comes back, I spin around so I can see what’s coming. And then I’m sorry I did. I can’t help myself. My muscles jerk as I scream with terror and thrash against my chains. Because he’s holding up a sharp, shiny silver knife.
CHAPTERSEVEN
TAMARA
“Hold still.”
I can’t stop myself from struggling, so he holds the flat side of the knife against my throat, and I freeze immediately. Tears fill my eyes and roll down my cheeks, and I’m furious with myself. So much for not crying.
The knife slides down, and he seizes the neckline of my dress in one hand and slashes it down to my navel. I jerk a little, and there’s a tiny pinprick of pain on my stomach.
He smiles apologetically. “I did warn you to hold still.”
Then he kneels and kisses the area that he nicked, on my belly right above my navel. It’s so unexpected that I don’t have time to brace myself against the shocking pleasure it brings me. His lips are soft and sensuous, and a wave of desire burns through my body before I can stop it.
No, no, no.I force myself to think of George lying there in a pool of blood. The smells and the sounds. My desire evaporates. I suck my stomach in, pulling my flesh away from Joshua’s lips. I can’t escape him, but at least I’m sending him a message that I’m not submitting to him willingly.
He stands up, his expression calm and kind as he slices my dress and the bra underneath it to ribbons. Pieces fall off me and drift to the floor. Finally, I’m horribly exposed, stripped down to my panties. Cool air wafts across my breasts, and goose flesh pebbles my body.
He kneels once again to cut my panties from me. Tears continue to flow as he slashes one side of them and then the other and the front of them falls forward. I feel horribly exposed. He can see everything, and I can’t stop him.
I press my legs together, trapping the scrap of fabric between my thighs, but he gently tugs it out, then kisses the area right above my pubic bone. Again, that sickening arousal burns through me, and I go rigid, frantically trying to banish it from my treacherous flesh. I fail. My nipples are swollen nubs of desire, announcing my body’s wanton surrender.
He drops the knife on the floor.
Then he stands up, and I see a fierce hunger in his gaze that terrifies me.
“How long will it take you to admit how much you want me, I wonder?” And he slides his fingers between my legs, stroking my pussy lips. I’m mortified to realize that they’re slick with the juices of my arousal. I jerk wildly, trying to dislodge his hand.
“You said you wouldn’t rape me!”
“I’m not raping you,” he says, slowly rubbing his fingers between my legs. “I’m just touching you. And you love it. You’re wet for me.”
My body reacts instinctively, writhing in a desperate attempt to escape. The memories he’s calling up are too familiar. “Don’t touch me there!” I sob. “Please. My stepfather used to…”
He freezes instantly, withdrawing his hand, and my panic recedes. The relief that floods me makes me want to weep with ridiculous, pathetic gratitude.
