Abduction (27 page)

In agonizing terror I waited for the terrible thing to start happening. But he, he just knelt there, watching me, not moving. The longer he waited the more scared I got, until I was almost out of my mind, almost unable to keep still and quiet, no matter the consequences.

"Put your arms up, over your head."

My fingers had almost cramped in fists around the scrunched hem of the nightie I'd lifted to my belly. I forced my fists open and raised my arms above my head. I felt the cool air on my hot skin as the nightie slid up my torso. My fingers clawed into the pillow.

I was watching him. He hadn't undone his pants. His hands were resting on his thighs. Part of me wanted him to hurry up and do it, get it over with, put an end to the awful waiting. But then his hand moved and I wanted to stop it, anything to make him stop.

"Shhhh," he cooed back to my pitiful whimper of terror. "Put your arms back down, Devan."

I don't know how, but I forced myself to lower my arms to the pillow again.

For a moment nothing happened. I lay there in the still dimness, awaiting sudden violation. But when I felt him, it was the lightest possible touch that just barely grazed me over my panties. Then nothing. Then a moment later another touch, just as light, slowly wandering down between my thighs and up again, then once more, starting just where my lips start, and gliding, barely perceptibly between them, down between my legs.

"Breathe," he whispered.

I let go of the breath I had caught and held. Feather-light his fingers traced delicate circles over my sex. The strange sensation blooming down there, nerve by nerve, seemed somehow to grow from little seeds of anticipation he sowed rather than his physical touch.

It was different than anything I'd felt or imagined.

His light caresses stopped. His legs forced mine open still more, So spread, so vulnerable, the terror rushed back at me. It didn't matter how soft his touches had been.

"So delicate. So sensitive, hmmm?"

He touched down on my clit. I gasped, then felt my face flush hot in embarrassment.

"Open your eyes, Devan."

He was gazing down at me, kind of a tender look in his eyes, but his mouth was a smirk. He lifted his thumb from my clit, then pressed down again, just softly. I closed my eyes against the humiliation of the pleasure.

"Open your eyes, Devan. I want you to look at me while I touch you. "

The smirk was gone when I forced my eyes open again. His thumb started pulsing slowly against my clit, softly pressing, then lifting, over and over. The alternating pressure and release gave my crotch a swelling, aching feeling. Then, with terrible gentleness, he began rubbing my clit, up and down, then in tiny circles, deepening and lightening the pressure, subtly altering the motion. It was unbearable, an agonizing little feeling, so concentrated. I could hardly take it. I wanted to squirm away from his touch, and my whole body was rigid with the effort of forcing myself to be still. He took his thumb away for a few seconds. While he wasn't touching me I felt my clit, my whole sex, throbbing uncomfortably. Then he touched down again and it was twice as intense. I sucked in my breath to keep from whimpering.

He noticed. His lips curved slightly. The fucking bastard was amused.

"You're wet. Your panties are getting damp."

His commentary embarrassed me. I guess it was meant to. When he touched me again he put his four fingertips lightly to me, and gently began rubbing, massaging my sex. Now that incredible, uncomfortable feeling concentrated at my clit stayed centered there, but spread out and multiplied under his touch. It was all building, building, and my whole body seemed to be softly throbbing the echo of the agonizing tension between my legs. My whole body was rigid, seeking, waiting.

He put his free hand on my thigh—a firm grip. I looked at his hand pressing into my flesh. Then, when I looked back at him he had an expression of anticipation.

He caressed, stopped, let my sex throb and want his touch again. Then he gave it, rubbing me. Suddenly I knew what was happening, and I didn't want it. Not thinking, just trying to escape, I raised my knees, tenting my legs so I could squeeze them together above his legs that had kept mine pried apart.

"Yes, darling, I'm going to make you come. Now spread your legs again, like a good girl, if you don't want the ropes."

I willed myself to let my knees open. His hand, still on my sex, began to move again, one finger moving in maddening little motions over my clit, pulsing against it. I tried not to. He went on, rubbing and teasing my clit, massaging the throbbing flesh around it. I kept twitching, trying to lay still but needing to move. The strange, throbbing, pulling discomfort was building, spreading through me. Then it all seemed to pull in, concentrating in an unbearable pressure right there, under the tips of his fingers where he was touching me. That strange agony exploded in a sudden surge of amazing sensation that swelled in my sex then flooded up and down my body. It seemed to go on an on. Then, finally, it faded, then stopped. I felt tears tickling down my temples and into my hair.

"Look at me, Devan."

I looked at him and he pressed his hand down firmly over my crotch. I arched and squirmed as another wave of sensation pulsed under his touch. It was silent for a long while, as the throbbing between my legs slowly faded.

Then his voice came to me soft and low, "Sweet Devan. How lovely you are in your tormented ecstasy."

I hated that he'd watched me. That he was still looking at me then, when I felt so…vulnerable. So…strangely exposed. Not my body, but me. Then he said something that shocked me strangely, considering what had happened.

"Now Devan, I want you to tell me—and I warn you, be honest with me, now—

this climax I've just given you—was it your first?"

His hand was still curved against my thigh, his other hand still cupped my sex.

Why had he asked me that? I thought I'd done something—made some gesture or some noise that gave away my lack of experience. I wanted so, so much to lie to him then. It was bad enough, the reality of it. I didn't want him to have the satisfaction. But I was too scared, even though I was almost sure there was no way he could know. I couldn't speak. I nodded my head.

He smiled softly, a look of relief. The moment when he asked his question and waited for my answer, it was, looking back now, the only time I ever saw him looking unsure. He'd been scared he'd missed something. Maybe by not lying I missed my one chance of ever seeing a look of consternation or disappointment on that perpetually smug face. He got up, off the bed.

"Get under the covers, Devan."

It didn't even occur to me that he'd let me go to sleep. His movement, his order terrified me. The next thing, the scarier thing would happen now, I was sure. I forced myself to do what he'd asked, trying not to cry out loud or shake too hard, I got my legs under the covers, but I couldn't make myself lie down.

He sat down beside me, on the edge of the bed, his face terribly close to mine. I had a weird little moment then, so strange after everything that had happened, of thinking how odd it was to be so close to a man, the intimacy of our faces being just a couple inches apart, looking into each others eyes in such a…a real way. Me so scared.

Him so…tender. The look in his eyes kind and warm, the infuriating smirk softened into a gentle smile.

He brought his hand toward my face. I startled, sucked in my breath, pulled back.

He didn't grab at me or pounce on me. He just waited. Calm. Patient. I stayed still, tense and trembling, working hard not to cry. With his fingers he combed a few stray strands of hair back from my face. Then he just sat there gazing at me, scaring the shit out of me. Then his hand slipped down to my shoulder, and he pushed me back, down onto the pillow.

"I trust, dear Devan, that you'll be a good girl and stay in your bed tonight. I should hate to have to resort to keeping you chained up like a convict."

Then he stood, walked out, and shut the door behind him.

When I woke up the next day to the fresh realization of the situation I was in, I went cold and soft with miserable terror. Later, after a morning of hell, dreading him every second, I remember, I was looking at Conrad, hating him, fearing him. And he said something like,

"You constantly look as though you expect me to do something positively vile to you."

Then he gave me a teasing smile. It was so…so fucking warm. Somehow, standing there in that strange cabin with him, that man who'd kidnapped me, who'd done what he'd done the night before, I actually felt silly, like I was the one being unreasonable, shaking with fear and hate. Then, still with that taunting grin he said, "I suppose I'd better not disappoint you."

The look he gave me then, from under his brow, gave me the chills.

"Get over there, Devan. Back against the wall."

I backed away from him, already feeling an overwhelming urge to cry. I bumped into the wall behind me.

"Sweet Devan. You've never been fucked, have you?"

My vision blurred and I felt the tears rolling down my cheeks. He took a couple steps toward me, a strange, determined look on his face.

"Answer me, Devan. Have you been fucked before?" Even that brutal question, all its implications, in his fucking playful voice.

I shook my head, more to deny what was happening than to answer his question.

He came closer and closer until he was so close our bodies almost touched. His fingers brushed against my thigh. I had to force myself to be still, not to hit him, not to run. His touch slid slowly up my thigh, so light it almost tickled, over my sex, scaring me, startling my body, and up, over my belly. I was breathing so hard, but I felt like I was suffocating. Then he brought his other hand up, too, and he brushed his fingers against the undersides of my breasts.

"Has anyone ever caressed your breasts, Devan?"

I stood there, silent, until the memory of his reaction to my resistance the night before spurred me to answer.

"No."

His hands moved soft and light over the filmy fabric loosely covering my breasts.

It felt like barely more than a breeze, but my nipples tingled and contracted. His mouth curved, and he brought his fingertips to my nipples, lightly rubbing the hardening bumps. Then he took his hands away.

"When I take your blouse off, Devan, will I be the first?"

I couldn't talk. I just nodded my head. I hated what was happening. It was like he was about to strip away my identity along with the blouse I was wearing. My body—it wasn't for this. I wasn't for this. His hands were at my chest, his fingers converging on the first delicate button, pushing it through.

He looked up from what he was doing, confronting me. He could do, would do what he wanted. I could cry or beg and he'd still do it.

The next button came undone, and the next. His fingers were slipping button after button through the neat little buttonholes, between my breasts, down my belly, until the blouse was open. His fingers lightly holding the fabric, he pulled it open, slowly, just past my nipples. He looked for a moment, but then he brought his eyes up to my face, and that's what he stared at unbearably long—my expression as I stood there, exposed and miserable.

His eyes locked on mine he touched my nipples. I wished he'd look down, at his hands, at my tits, not prying into me for every little thing I was feeling as he touched me.

I wanted him to grab and squeeze and maul me, even hurt me, not do what he was 245

doing, touching just the very tips of my nipples so lightly, making them tingle, making it hard to breathe. That fucking little smirk was curving his lips again as he watched me. I didn't want it to feel that way. Not good, but so…strangely uncomfortable.

His fingers stayed there, lightly rubbing the points of my breasts, every tiny little touch vibrating through my breasts, lower, into my belly, lower, to my sex. That uncomfortable pull, like a buzzing wire running through me. Then he took my nipples between his fingers and softly squeezed. I made a little noise and he closed his eyes for a second and sighed. I hated myself for giving him that moment of pleasure. But then he squeezed my nipples harder and my whole body shuddered with the sudden twinge of arousal. He began gently pulling and squeezing, rhythmic little tugs and I was trying my hardest not to squirm, not to let him see what he was doing to me.

His self-satisfied smirk morphed into a caddish grin. Suddenly he grasped the little blouse hanging loose and open, and yanked it down my arms, baring my shoulders, leaving my chest and belly fully exposed. My strained panting from trying to resist his caresses shot up to terrified heaving breath. His gaze slid down from my face to my tits, plainly in view now, rising and falling, and down. With one hand he pulled up the hem of my skirt, and with the other he slid his fingers down into my panties.

"So silky smooth," he sighed as his fingertips caressed my mound. The he opened his eyes and took hold of me again. “I wonder why an untouched virgin, like you, has her cunt waxed smooth.” Then he purred, "What do you think, Devan? Will I find you wet?"

His fingers trailed lightly down, over my mound, brushing against my lips. I locked my thighs tight together.

"Devan."

I couldn't. I couldn't just spread for him, knowing how he'd touch me. My body wouldn't do it.

"Open your legs for me, darling."

I knew what he'd do if I defied him. It was useless. My brain knew it. But my body, my legs wouldn't move. I started to get scared, horribly afraid that he'd get angry, drag me back to the bed, tie me up. Just the thought of the first piece of rope cinching down on my wrist made me shake, almost scream. I willed my legs to soften. To open, just a little.

"Good girl, Devan."

His fingers glided back, over my delicate skin, the lips of my sex. I caught my breath as he moved, sliding a finger up against my opening.

"Mmmmm," he sighed with a revolting smirk at finding me wet.