His (A Dark Erotic Romance Novel) Page 5

  He frowned.

  “Now that would be very stupid,” he said. “Very stupid, indeed.”

  “I’ll scream,” I said. Anger was building up inside of me and I couldn’t keep it from pouring out, just like I couldn’t keep myself from crying.

  “Then scream. Do you know how far we are from anybody else out here? Go ahead, try. It won’t work.”

  “Please,” I said, desperation creeping through my chest. “Please let me go.”

  He shook his head.

  “The sooner you realize that you’re here for good, the better,” he said.

  He stood up and I scrambled to my feet, limping after him.

  “No, please. Please don’t leave me here. Please!”

  He kept walking to the door. I grabbed his arm and he whipped me around in a single motion, pinning me to the wall with his own body. I hadn’t realized how tall he was, but he had me lifted inches off of the ground. My toes scraped the floor just barely, and my hurt ankle screamed with pain.

  He spoke, and I could feel his hot breath on my face. His dark eyes sparked and he moved one hand over my hair, brushing through it with his fingers. I had fucked up. I had played with fire, and now it was going to burn me.

  “Do you really want me to stay down here with you?” he whispered.

  I cringed. His body was pressed against mine, and in spite of everything I could feel myself responding to his touch. He shifted his weight and pushed one of his legs between my thighs. I burned with the pressing ache there.

  “You wanted me before, in the elevator,” he said, his eyes searching mine. “Do you want me now?”

  A shiver ran down my spine. My lips parted, but all I could do was shake my head slightly from side to side.

  “No? Then stop tempting me.”

  He stepped back and let me down. I fell to the floor, clutching my hurt ankle. He flicked off the light and the room went dark, but I could still see his silhouette in the doorway, looking back at me.

  “Have a good night,” he said, and shut the door.

  Gav

  The girl had given me an idea.

  No, not to rape her. I get no pleasure out of harming innocent people. Harming guilty people, on the other hand... that was a delicious prospect to drive away the shadow. But not her.

  There’s really only one thing I could do, if I didn’t want to kill her. I could convince her to stay. It would be hard, I know. She seemed different than most of the people I’ve met out there in the world. I’m not sure how. Perhaps it was simply that she’d thrown herself at me the first time we’d met, and the timing was right. Her kiss had woken up a little part of brightness in the world, if only for a second or two.

  If I wanted her to live, then I had to break her. To make her think that she would be better off here, where I kept her in chains. I would have to make her love me. It was the only chance I had to keep myself from killing her.

  Kat

  The morning light came through the window.

  Window.

  I sat up suddenly. The room I was in was dark except for the single small window. Where was I?

  Then I remembered. The man on the table. The blood. The knife. All of the sleepiness evaporated in a wave of terror. I was being kept hostage in a basement. He was keeping me here.

  But there was a window.

  I got up, feeling my ankle ache under the weight of my body. I didn’t know how badly I’d hurt it, but I knew it wasn’t good. Shifting my weight onto it, I thought I could at least walk. Not run, but walk. It was getting better.

  Looking around in the dim basement, I saw the empty paint cans. I’d have to stand on them to reach the window, but I doubted they were heavy enough to break through unless I really had leverage to swing at the glass. I tiptoed over to the cans and set them down underneath the window, then stood on top of them. I could just reach the ledge.

  It was one of those small cellar windows, so dirty that I couldn’t see anything out of it. All I could see was that there was sunlight coming through, so there must be an opening. If I could get out there, I could run down to the road. I could—

  But that would come later. Right now, I needed to get out. The window was big enough for me to crawl through, but just barely. And there was no way I was trying to escape out the front door, not with a killer waiting for me with a knife.

  A water pipe ran down from the ceiling to the floor of the basement right next to the small window. I pushed my foot against it and it held fast. I could use it as leverage to climb up. Perfect.

  First, I tried to push the window open. There wasn’t any lock that I could see, so I shoved my hand against the window pane, hoping it would force it outward. No luck. I braced my good leg against the paint can and tried to push. The paint can tilted with the pressure under my feet, and I lost my balance. I fell and banged my knee against the wall, holding onto the window ledge with both hands. My breath rushed out of me in a painful gasp.

  Okay, so that wasn’t a good plan.

  I needed to break the window pane. There was nothing down here heavy enough, though. Nothing but...

  My head twisted toward the wine bottles. They would certainly be heavy enough to break the window, I thought. I picked one off of the lower rack and hefted it in my hand. He would hear the noise. But by that time, I would hopefully be out of there.

  I stood on the paint cans, my breath coming fast. I would have one chance. I’d have to get through as quickly as possible. I took a deep breath, lifted the wine bottle, and swung.

  CRASH!

  Glass shards from the window came shattering down over my head. I swung the bottle again and the rest of the pane broke through. Sunlight poured through the broken window, and I could see the forest beyond. I grabbed the edge of the sill and tried desperately to pull myself up. My feet slipped against the water pipe but didn’t hold.

  Oh, god. I wasn’t going to be able to make it. Last semester Jules had signed us up for a rock climbing class as an elective. I had gone once and never again, and now I was regretting it. My arms were just too weak to hold my weight.

  No. I had to do it. A noise from upstairs made my heart jump into my throat. Footsteps. Oh no!

  I crouched down and jumped up as high as I could, clutching at the broken pane. My hand caught on a glass shard and a stabbing pain went through my arm. Blood welled on my skin. I ignored the pain and pulled hard, hard—

  “What in the—”

  The voice in the doorway behind me made me pull harder. The light in the room flicked on.

  No!

  My feet kicked at the pipe, scrabbling for purchase. I had my elbow on the ledge, pulling to get through, when I felt an arm come around my waist and hold me tight. Glass tore at my shoulder.

  “NO! NO!” I was so close. So close! Blood poured from my arm as I reached out. I had my hand in the dirt outside, but the man was pulling me back in. My fingers clawed at the windowsill, but it was no use. Blood ran down my fingers, made them slippery. I had no hold on the window. He dragged me back inside.

  “No! NO! Let me go!”

  I flailed in his arms, trying to punch him in the head. He caught my arms and held me in a bear hug, pressing me against his body. No matter how I twisted, I couldn’t get out. My eyes couldn’t stop looking out towards the sunlight, toward freedom. Would I ever get to see the sun again? Or would he kill me now, here, in the dirty basement?

  “You’re—Jesus, you’re cut badly,” he said. His grasp loosened. Now was my chance. I took all of my energy and whipped my head around, smashing it into his nose.

  He let me go. Go! I ran to the basement door and limped up the stairs. Blood flowed down my arm, but I pushed myself to keep going. I could make it, and if I didn’t then I would die. Die trying to escape. I was halfway across the living room when I felt his hand grab my shoulder. I turned to swing at him again, but then I felt the pinch of a needle in my neck.

  Heat washed through me and the room spun. I saw him draw back, the syringe in his h
and. Then I fell backwards and the world went black.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Gav

  Stitch by stitch, I sewed her arm shut. I did not want her dead, no, not if I could help it. I wasn’t that much of a monster, and there was something in her face that made me want to know more about her. I could always kill her later if I decided I needed to, anyway.

  The glass had sliced through the lower part of her arm, almost to the bone. She was lucky it hadn’t severed the artery. Lucky, too, that I was there.

  I’m sure she wouldn’t think so.

  Was it luck, then, that brought her to me? Dumb, blind chance that set her outside my window? No, I thought there was something more to it than that. Even though I was an abomination in every sense of the word, sinful beyond normal sin, I couldn’t believe in a world that was so cold and unthoughtful. There had to be something behind this girl, this beautiful girl appearing at my doorstep.

  The devil planted temptation. Dare I pluck this flower?

  I pulled the needle through her skin.

  Not for the first time, I wondered what it would be like if I were squeamish about blood. So many people were, after all. It was a normal fear.

  I had always loved bodies, the sheer corporeality of their flesh, the hard bone tied together with thick knotted tendons, the sticky tissues.

  And her body…

  She was asleep and didn’t feel anything, but I still felt a strange nervousness when I ran my hands over the curves of her living breathing person. Her hips rounded into thick thighs, ripe and smooth. Her chest moved in slight gasps of breath. Inhale, exhale. Her hands, pale and delicate, her fingers cut sensibly, her wrists—

  Her wrists.

  I leaned closer to her body, smelling her scent. Turning her palm up, I ran my hand over hers and stretched out the skin along her wrist.

  Scars, running alongside the carpal tunnel. White dimpled lines from a knife’s edge.

  I knew those kinds of scars. Old scars. I knew all kinds of scars. But these scars were attached to a body I found myself much intrigued by, and I could not let go of her hand once I saw them. My fingers traced the line of those white subtle seams over and over again, as though trying to stroke the truth of it out of her body.

  “Tell me, kitten,” I whispered, although she could not hear me, “why did you try to kill yourself?”

  Kat

  When I woke up again, I was lying on a hard surface. I tried to lift my head, but there was something holding me back. I twisted my head and glanced down. There was a strap holding down my wrist. And my neck. Straps against my bare skin.

  I was on the kitchen table. Wearing only a bra and panties. He’d taken off the rest of my clothes.

  “Awake?”

  I screamed. The man stood up over me, his face looking upside down at mine. I was trapped. Oh Jesus, I was tied down. I screamed again, whimpering sobs of a scream that came out in spasms.

  He waited until I was done screaming, and then he bent down lower. The strap around my neck tightened, then went slack. I lifted my head.

  He cupped his hand around the back of my neck, holding my head up. His hand was strong around my neck, and the tips of his fingers grazed my throat.

  “Your arm was cut badly,” he said. “It needed sutures.”

  I looked down to see my arm bandaged up. Red blossoms of blood flowered at the top of the bandage. I tilted my head back, settling back into his palm.

  “You stuck me with the syringe again.”

  “I didn’t think you’d let me stitch you up if you were conscious. You seemed much too eager to bleed to death while escaping.”

  “How did you know how to do the stitches?” I asked. My breaths were quick and shallow. I looked into his eyes. I wanted to see if he would torture me, kill me. I wanted to ask him questions forever to keep him from remembering that I would be better off dead and cut up and burned in the fireplace.

  “I used to be a medical student,” he said. “I was going to be a doctor.”

  Questions. More questions. Anything to keep him talking, to keep him from getting angry.

  “Why’d you stop?”

  He smiled and his eyes went blank, as though focusing on something in the far off distance.

  “I tried, I really did. I loved working with the human body. They’re such remarkable things, bodies. So perfectly made to survive. I would have loved the academic work, certainly. But that whole thing about first do no harm? Doesn’t quite work with my personality.”

  “What is your personality?”

  His eyes refocused on mine, and I saw them narrow.

  “You know my personality, kitten,” he said. “I have a taste for killing.”

  “If that’s all you are, then why’d you save me?”

  “You have a lot of questions, little kitten,” he said. His hand began to knead my neck. My lips parted as his fingers dug deep, massaging the tense muscles. “So many questions.”

  I gasped as he brought his other hand up to my shoulder and began to rub. The motions were automatic, clinical. But as he worked his fingers into my skin, I could feel my body relaxing. He knelt down at the table behind me so that I couldn’t see his face. All I could sense were his hands on my neck, his strong, possessive grasp so close to my throat that I could hardly breathe.

  “I have some questions for you, kitten,” he whispered. His breath was hot on my ear, and I trembled at the low growl of his words. One of his hands left the back of my neck and moved around to the front. His fingers were long and taut, and they slid down my side, rubbing my skin in slow circles.

  I couldn’t help it. The touch of a man’s hands all over me made me sigh, and at that sigh he nuzzled the top of my head. A terrifying mixture of desire and disgust swept through me. Then his lips touched my hairline just above my ear, and he spoke again.

  “First I would ask you why you kissed me,” he said. His hand slid down under my bra, and I drew a sharp breath as he cupped my breast. “Did you think I was handsome? Your prince charming, come to take you away on horseback?”

  I didn’t answer right away. What would I say? But his hand never stopped massaging the back of my neck, even when his other hand squeezed my breast softly. I whimpered as his fingers came up and took hold of my quickly stiffening nipple. Then he pinched me hard, twisting, and I cried out, arching my back against the table.

  “Tell me, kitten,” he said. He released my nipple, his fingertips stroking it gently. Then he pinched hard again, so hard that I saw white flashes behind my eyelids.

  “Yes!” I said, breathless. “Yes, I did! It was a bet! I’m sorry!”

  “A bet?” He came to the side of the table, my nipple twisted in his fingers. His eyes were flat, dull green stones that burned all the more with their indifference.

  Then he reached down between my legs. I froze. His fingertips grazed the fabric of my panties and my mouth went dry. He was touching me there, right there, and I could barely feel the sensation. A slight stroke up, then down. Up. Then down. His hand moved as though he was idly feeling the top of a tablecloth and he never looked down, not once.

  The small voice hiding away inside of me began to crackle and whisper. This is what you want, the voice said.

  No. Not what I had in mind when I thought about a guy tying me down. Not this.

  Then why are you aroused?

  I’m not. Not...

  This is what you need.

  I breathed shallowly, watching his every move. His other hand still held my nipple tight, the ache there beginning to throb through my stomach. He did not watch my body: his eyes were fixed on mine.

  “Tell me about this bet.”

  “Please—”

  “Tell me.” His thumb rubbed my nipple, rolling it hard. I moaned. He eased off and his other hand stroked me through the fabric, so gently that my body arched to meet him before I pulled myself away. My core clutched itself with repulsive need, and I felt myself grow wet. I threw my head to one side, closing my eyes. No. I didn
’t want him. Didn’t need him.

  Maybe if I told him everything he would leave me alone. Maybe he would see how harmless I was, let me go.

  The small voice said: maybe he’ll give you what you want.

  I gulped air and spoke.

  “It was stupid. My friend said I should kiss the first attractive guy I saw. And—

  “And you saw me.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you thought I was attractive?” He pushed harder.

  “Yes,” I moaned.

  “What was it that attracted you?” His fingers split apart, stroking both sides of me through my panties, but not the middle. Not where I ached. The fabric was soaked through and I ached, god, I ached so badly.

  “I don’t—I don’t—”

  “Tell me. What was it about me?”

  “You looked…” My heart was pounding. I needed release. It was horrific to be so aroused with nothing to do about it. My arms were pinned back and I twisted under the straps, trying to get out.

  “Yes?”

  I breathed in deeply. I had to answer. My mind cast back to that day, a week ago.

  “You looked… lonely. Like you needed someone to make things better.”

  He paused, and the ache that swept through me at the pause took away my breath. Touch me, I wanted to cry out. Don’t stop. I bit my lip hard.

  “Kitten,” he said. “You might understand me, a little bit. But I didn’t need to kiss someone to make things better. I kill people to make things better. Bad people.”

  He smiled and ice ran through my veins.

  “And now I’m not lonely either. I have you.”

  With those words, he rested my head back down onto the table and left me in the kitchen, still aching for release that he would not give me.

  Gav

  She was a complication, indeed. My head swam with it even though I hadn’t had a single sip of brandy that day. She kaleidoscoped my world. And I had just finished spring cleaning!

  I left as soon as I found myself beginning to respond to her body. Attraction is a dangerous thing. I couldn’t risk falling for anyone, not even one with a body as lush as hers. It disappointed me that she tried to escape. She cut her body up so badly.