New Title 7 (2 page)

He moaned. "Damn, you smell good. So good I could eat you alive." He kissed me a third time on the other cheek, kissed until my tears vanished. "So pretty," he whispered, caressed my face.

I swallowed hard, watching closely as he settled in his seat. With one arm draped over the wheel, he peered out the window and sighed. The center of his jeans bulged with a thick, hearty erection. His chest heaved with quickened breaths and the scythe tattoo looked even more foreboding.

I shivered.

He stretched to shove my door open, his shoulder practically smashing me in the process.

He glared with cold, riveting eyes. "If you wanna go, then go. I won't stop you." He slumped to his own side while my gaping door signaled irresistible freedom.

I didn't think twice.

I sprinted across the densely wooded area, ducking wherever branches drooped. In a clearing, I dropped to my knees and fresh tears replaced the dampness of his kisses.

Everything would be perfect—if I could find some way to get home.

Good luck with that, Mia you moron. Left the fuckin' phone in Brandon's car.

Now what?

The woods gradually darkened and a full silvery moon contributed to the ominous surroundings. As I huddled on the ground, I recalled having night terrors as a five-year-old and I'd pull the covers over my head to hide from 'monsters'.

He was a one-eyed, one-horned flying purple people eater.

Too bad I couldn't do the same thing now. Just close my eyes, the terror would disappear and I'd find myself safe at home.

My cheeks tickled, itched with dried tears. I rubbed the patches and clambered upright.

Footsteps crunched the forest floor behind me. The back of my neck tingled as goose bumps flourished.

Monster's here.

"Ah, there you are." Brandon's sultry voice echoed. "I'm glad I found you. I feel bad since this was my fault, so I'm here to take you home. Officially."

I forced myself to face him.

"This time I promise it's for real. You can trust me, Mia." He smiled warmly and shadows danced on his features.

"No thanks. I'll figure something out."
I already gave you a chance, asshole.

Suddenly I knew what Little Red Riding Hood felt like. Guess who played the Big Bad Wolf? Terror stifled the hysterical laughter that emerged in my throat.

Briskly I massaged my upper arms. Or was the chilly look in his eyes making me cold?

I stepped back and a twig snapped, startled me.

It was enough time for him to pounce.

I started to run, but he gathered me around the waist from behind. I wrestled, kicked while he lifted until my feet dangled in the air. His forearms dug into my stomach so I couldn't breathe.

He dropped me and I smacked face-down on the ground where I spit, choked on dirt. He grabbed a shoulder, twisted me around. He fell on top and his thighs pinned my legs apart.

He glowered as my fists lashed his shoulders, arms. He seized my wrists with one hand and raised them high. I lay there helpless, immobile, bare thighs tremoring.

"Fuck you," I breathed. His lips drew up at the corners, sinister eyes swept across my face, breasts, going lower, lower.

"I'm taller than you, I weigh a hell of a lot more than you. You can't fight me. Your pretty little ass is mine, sweetheart."

"Does that make you feel good? That you're stronger than a girl?" I steeled myself for his reaction.

His smirk dissolved. He stilled, his quietness the scariest threat of all. A vein pulsed in his temple.

With his free hand he reached in his jeans and brought out a switchblade. I squeezed my eyelids shut for a second. Again I recalled being five years old, in bed, fearing monsters outside or worse—
monsters beneath my bed
.

Cold steel met my skin. He held the blade on my outer thigh, ran the pointed tip to the side of my panties. Placing the blade underneath the fabric, he sliced through to expose my sex.

My face warmed.

He closed the blade and crammed it in his pocket. Scarlet veins stood out on his hand as he braced it beside me.

"Are you sexually experienced?" He asked, his breathing ragged.

"Why? What difference does it make?"

"So I'll know whether to use lubricant."

"Use it anyway."

"So you
are
experienced?"

"Go to hell."

"As long as you come with me." He unzipped and clumsily lowered his pants with one hand.

I choked back a sob.

"Are you a virgin or not? I won't ask again."

"No. I'm not," I managed to say.

"Okay. Just relax and it'll be over in a few minutes."

I turned my head, refused to meet his gaze any longer.

"
Relax
." His grip tightened on my wrists.

"Okay. I—I'm relaxed." I made an effort to loosen every muscle. It was very difficult, considering what he was about to do.

He peered downward. I glimpsed the dark gold of his hair, parted at the crown and glimmering in the moonlight. Then I focused on the overhead stars.

Quiet. Very quiet and agonizing as this stranger drove into me. I cried out. Stars blurred. 

"So tight," he mumbled. "I love a shaved pussy. It's much neater, sexier." He lunged and a sharp ache rippled within me. Pins and needles climbed my arms.

Stunned, I felt wetness gather and end the pain he inflicted.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"No."

"Then why are you wet? Slippery?" He slowly licked his lips.

I didn't respond.

"Fine. I hope you keep enjoying yourself—as much as I'm enjoying you." His hand slid under my rear and lifted. He began thrusting so roughly the ache returned.

"You really are a little beauty. Yeah, you're beautiful." He increased the momentum, breaths eluded lips that quivered in rapture. "
Mmm, baby
. It's building up."

My head rubbed the filthy ground as he pumped. His torso was long, lean and his jeans rumpled past the start of his crack near his tan line. His backside flexed.

"Tell me... you like me fucking you."

"No."

"Tell me, Mia. Say it. Maybe you'll get lucky and I'll get off."

"I—like you fucking me."

"Say it again." He pushed harder, faster, closed his eyes. Sweat glimmered on his forehead.

"I like you fucking me."

He grunted as he thrust. Instead of climaxing, Brandon continued his assault and it seemed this ordeal would never end.

Nighttime stars glittered above us. Meanwhile I relaxed and yielded to his violent, sick love making. Faint stirrings invaded my belly and strange pleasurable heat grew, swelled, peaked to unbearable intensity. I squirmed as the tension released.

"
Oh, yeah
. You came, baby. I knew you liked it, wanted it. You haven't seen anything yet." He went wild on me. "Say you want me to fuck you. Fuck you good."

"Fuck me, fuck me good." I repeated it several times, wanting this to end.

"
Oh, oh, oh
." His moans resonated. He halted, grimaced and a fluttering erupted deep inside me. "
Ah, jeeeezus.
" Another breath rushed from his throat as he jabbed a final time.

Tepid fluid leaked when he pulled out.

It was over. Over.

Wasn't so bad, thank god, thank god.

Fighting to catch his breath, he released me and swiveled to lie on his back.

I surveyed my chafed wrists, arms. Otherwise I didn't budge. 

"I'm going to keep you, Mia. You're mine now." He rolled to his side, tucked his arm behind his head while gazing at me. His face conveyed warmth as if he weren't a monster.

I gaped. "You're not going to let me go? You got what you wanted, didn't you?"

"Of course I did, baby. But I want more. Is that so bad?"

"You're not going to kill me, are you?"

"Not unless you try to get away."

"And you're not going to give me a choice about this?"

"Afraid not, sweetie." He winked.

"What are you going to do, keep me locked up in a cage like some pathetic pet?"

"Whatever works."

"You're sick."

"You're right. I
am
sick," he said, mood darkening.

"What do you mean by that?"

He chuckled, but it sounded more bitter than jovial. He shifted and lay supine, his arms folded behind his head as he eyed the stars.

"Like I said, I'm sick." Brief silence. "I have a defective heart."

"It's defective but not in the physical sense. You sound like you're trying to manipulate me or something. You just want me to feel sorry for you."

"Believe what you want. It's true. My condition is a congenital heart defect, something the doctors couldn't entirely fix through surgery. I need a heart transplant, which isn't likely to happen in time. Even if I
could
get a transplant, the new heart wouldn't last longer than fifteen years. I'd still be living under a death sentence."

The scar. That's why he has the scar on his chest.

"What does being sick have to do with raping me? What does it have to do with keeping me?"

"If someone said you only had so many months to live, what would you do?"

"I'd spend every second doing the things I've always wanted."

"Exactly. And my father—even though I hate his guts—taught me that the most important thing you'll ever do is get married, bring children into this world. Someone to carry on your name. Continue family traditions just like daddy dearest and me. He's a doctor too."

"I don't get what you're saying."

"Being in med school gave me no time to find a lover, let alone someone to spend the rest of my days with. I left school but I still don't have time to search for the perfect girl. Time's running out for me."

Took a while for me to comprehend his sickening proposition. It was all so fucking insane; so insane that my emotions simply shut down to where I felt nothing.

"Yes. I've found the perfect girl and I plan to keep her, and I plan to fuck her as much as I want," he said. "You never know, Mia. You might come to really enjoy it. But this is the way it has to be. I have to do this before I die."

* * *

O
nce we sat inside Brandon's sports car, he took the phone out of my purse and tapped in a number. He placed the device to my ear and told me to speak to a towing service rep.

"Don't try to be cute. Just tell them to tow your car to your house. Tell them you won't be home, and for them to mail you the towing fee." He hovered close to ensure I did everything as he wanted.

Afterward he made me call the café to tell them I'd quit.

He started the engine and tore out of the wooded area, speeding through the vast gloom until we reached the highway. Double headlight beams cast a dim glow.

He kept an eye on the road while reaching and fumbling for my phone. He found it, lowered his window and tossed the device.

An empty, grassy field swallowed it.

I watched the moon as it followed along our journey, playing hide-and-seek with the clouds.

Numbness snared me. Better than being afraid. Nevertheless I clung to the bottom side of my seat as if heading straight for a head-on collision.

Maybe death would be better than this.

I dreaded the moment when numbness would disappear and give way to panic.

A matter of time.

Two hours later, Brandon pulled his car into the stone driveway of a ranch-style home. Tall shrubs crossed a lawn overlooked by weeping willows, an oak gazebo in front.

Nice home for a guy in his twenties. His parents were rich because 'Daddy' raked in a hefty physician's salary and 'Daddy' probably paid the bills like he paid for college.

It didn't take a genius to guess Brandon was spoiled and used to getting his way.

His life was a privileged paradox of mine. I'd grown up in a household where money was tight and my parents argued about finances. These facts made me despise him more.

He shut off the ignition.

Like a gentleman he circled to my side, flung open the passenger door. I shook my head in disbelief and climbed out.

He grabbed my hand and led me to the front door. "You know better than to scream or start shit," he muttered squeezing my hand.

"Yes."
Do I have a choice? Did I ever?

I scanned the property with similar houses on all sides. A closely woven neighborhood (plenty of helpful neighbors) which gave me hope. 

He wrenched me by the arm, hurled me inside his house.
Click
went the deadbolt.

"Welcome home." He challenged with those vivid eyes.

Brandon led me through a room where ivory sofas faced a fireplace and an Oriental rug draped the white carpet. He yanked me in a hallway. My shoes sank into deep carpet, caused me to stumble.

Past a door, stairs descended to a shadowy pit. My fingers twined with his as he advanced.

When he triggered a switch at the bottom, dim lights chased away shadows. A black couch sat in the center of the basement. 

"The bathroom's in there," he said pointing to a door. Then he motioned to the right. "That's a rec room with a pool table."

I didn't give a shit about his fancy rec room with its pool table, or his stupid-ass LCD television the size of a cinema screen.

Revolting how spoiled and rich he was. Disgusting how he thought he'd get by with keeping me as his fucking pet.

What kind of parents raised this sicko? 

Snapping me back to reality, he nudged me inside a spacious bedroom with white furniture. A curved headboard accented the queen-sized bed.

I saw my reflection in a full-length mirror. My face was as white as this room, lips dark red in contrast.

God. I resembled a fucking vampire.

"Nice bedroom, isn't it?" he proudly said.

"I guess."

"There's another bathroom in here." He tapped in a door beside the bureau. A tiny bathroom emerged.

He twisted around and smirked my way.

"This is going to be my room?" I asked already knowing the answer.

"Yes, beautiful. This is your room. I hope you like it." He pressed a palm to his lips, then blew me a kiss. I looked away.