Oh, God! He unzips my jacket and pushes the front of my tank top down, and then my lace-covered breast is pushed up and over it. My breasts feel like they are straining against my bra, wanting to be bared to him. My nipples harden, and just as I wonder what it would feel like to have him touch them, he pinches one hard as he starts pumping those fingers inside me, the pain mixed with so much pleasure, and everything goes white. I’m seeing stars my senses are so overwhelmed. There is so much hitting me at once my eyes flutter shut, my head feels heavy, and my hips start dancing for him.
I want more of this man.
I need to be closer.
Oh, God, this feels so good, and then he adds to all the sensations that are flooding my sensitive parts by sliding another finger inside me, and I can feel myself starting to pant, trying to stay in control while he adds to the pleasure by biting my top lip. My eyes widen from the sheer surprise of him doing this, and it is in no way an act of violence. It’s sensual.
He’s now assaulting my lips with his mouth; he’s devouring me. Our lips are lost to this fast dance, while my hips grind against his fingers, and I can’t take my eyes off him. I’m in a trance as I feel my body starting to take off. I’ve watched women about to orgasm on the porn sites, but it doesn’t do it justice to what is happening to me.
I felt nothing watching the porn.
I didn’t believe I was capable of feeling aroused, but I can feel myself clamping down hard on his fingers as my lashes force themselves down. The power of this feeling is getting too much for me to stand. I’m going to explode from all these intense feelings my body is being subjected to at once. I have a volcano growing inside me, and it’s about to erupt and overflow and I can’t stop it.
I don’t want to stop it.
I cry out when I can no longer stand the ecstasy my body is being subjected to, and let it have the reins as I shudder from the sheer euphoria of my release. I don’t even understand the noises I am making. They take over and reveal themselves unashamedly to this man.
And that’s when I wake up to my panting breaths easing, and embarrassment consumes me before I realize I am alone.
I allow my eyes to take in where I am. There is a small light overhead illuminating the room with a soft glow. I’m in a single bed, and not with the tattooed man in Connard who brought me so much pleasure in the safety of Boxer’s bar. That had to have been a figment of my imagination, because how can Edge have changed from being that sexy man who gave me all that, to finding myself alone, coping with the pain he has inflicted on me, and strangers who have abducted me.
I know it’s real because here I am. He doesn’t deserve to enter my dreams. He stalked me and shot me after having sex with me. I’m confused by his actions. He now seems to want to help me.
I note how different this room looks to the last one. Where have I been taken?
Where is Mathias? He’s surprisingly become a small comfort I have grown used to. He is dangerous and a killer, as I’ve bore witness. He has roughly manhandled me, but he has also looked after me. There is something about him. I don’t know how to explain what I feel with him, but I have to go on my gut instinct.
It’s all I have.
A shiver runs down my spine as I wonder what web I have now been caught in. This room is deliberately cold and uninviting. There’s no window for me to look through, only four dull gray stone walls holding me captive.
It’s a cell.
I. Am. A. Prisoner.
I move to sit up and groan as pain shoots through my shoulder, and my body protests from everything it has been put through. I decide staying still for a little longer has its merits.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but I need to get out. I know I can’t lie here like a sitting duck waiting for my fate to be revealed, waiting for somebody to control me again.
The urge to flee this horrible room is too strong versus playing a sitting duck. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand. I give myself a moment, letting my right shoulder fall back against the wall beside the bed, supporting me until I feel sure I can walk a straight line.
My broken wrist is in a cast and has been placed in a sling. I am clothed, but it is a poor attempt at covering me up. I’ve been dressed in a ridiculous, virtually transparent, flimsy piece of black, lacy, loose flowing, thigh-length lingerie. My wound is bandaged.
I look around for something to cover myself up in, but there is nothing. There are no cupboards or a closet. The room is bare, with nothing but a bed in it.
This is indeed a cell.
My bare feet feel the chill on the stone floor, but it’s dry and doesn’t burn like the cold of snow, which is a positive. I start walking across the room when my skin gets that all too familiar crawl to it. I know that feeling. I snap my head up, searching the corners of the room, and notice the red blinking light.
I am being observed.
My face flames. Did they see my dream play out? Was I loud?
Does that mean they know I’m awake?
These thoughts do not stop me from defiantly walking over to the door and twisting the handle, and to my utter surprise, it turns, and then I go for broke and pull on the handle. The door swings open.
I stand there for several heartbeats, staring at a curved corridor ten feet wide in front of me, and another stone, windowless wall.
I am about to walk out into the unknown. A prisoner who was left unattended in an unlocked room raises a mighty red flag that is flapping in my face, begging me to pay attention to it.
But I don’t.
Fuck them!
I face the camera, determined, and give them the bird. I owe nobody my manners or my emotions.
This is a game.
They want to see what I will do next.
I will show them I am not afraid.
What more can they do to me that hasn’t already been done?
And then I stupidly walk out the room, because there was indeed so much more they could do to me.
And they would.
I had no concept of how far I had gotten when I’d left that room. The hallway was curved and it had an arched roof. It felt medieval, because the outer wall was also made of stone, and I hadn’t come across one window.
Was it night or day?
The inner wall was broken up with doors like mine every so often. I felt like I was walking in a constant semi-circle, as I tried to find an exit that would lead me out of here.
It almost felt like a curved tunnel that had been burrowed beneath the ground, with a central hive of rooms at its core.
My heart stutters when I see a striking, long-limbed, redheaded woman dressed in a black catsuit, looking like she belongs in a Marvel comic book, walking toward me barefooted. My instant reaction is to call out to her for help, because Miss Catherine was kind and helped me when I was in need, and then I notice the look on her face. My skin prickles, and I suddenly feel like I’m her prey, and it is me she is hunting.
I start to back up when she hastens her pace, and then I awkwardly run back from where I came.
I have no clue where I’m running to, and I should have tried some of those doors, but I was afraid they were just more cells. I need a way out, not a way into another room.
I’m too slow. She catches up to me in seconds, her hand at my nape, slamming my face against the wall on my barely healing side.
“Ugh!” I cry out, as I pant from the exertion of running. My broken wrist is pushed hard up against the wall, trapping the cast against my chest, while my other is pulled up high behind my back. I can do nothing but wait for what is to come next as pressure is applied, making my shoulder throb in agony. She wants me to cry out again, but I won’t. Instead, I bite down on my lip, her warm breath fanning the side of my face.