Twist Me (13 page)

He smiles. “Okay, I’ll have to remedy that. I’ll bring you a TV and a bunch of movies the next time I make a trip.”

“Thanks,” I say automatically, staring down into my plate. I feel so miserable that I want to cry, but I have too much pride to do it in front of them.

“What’s the matter?” Beth asks, finally noticing my uncharacteristic behavior. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Not really,” I say, gladly latching on to the excuse she gave me. “I think I got too much sun.”

Beth sighs. “I told you not to sleep on the beach mid-day. It’s ninety-five degrees out.”

It’s true; she had warned me about that. But my misery today has nothing to do with the heat and everything with the man sitting across the table from me. I know that when the dinner is over, he’s going to take me upstairs and fuck me again. Maybe hurt me.

And I will respond to him, like I always do.

That last part is the worst. He beat up Jake in front of my eyes. He admitted to being a murdering sociopath. I should be disgusted. I should look at him with nothing but fear and contempt. The fact that I can feel even a smidgen of desire for him is beyond sick.

It’s downright twisted.

So I sit there, picking at my food, my stomach filled with lead. I would get up and go to my room, but I’m afraid it will just speed up the inevitable.

Finally, the meal is over. Julian takes my hand and leads me upstairs. I feel like I’m going to my execution, though that’s probably too dramatic. He said he wouldn’t kill me.

When we’re in the room, he sits down on the bed and pulls me between his legs. I want to resist, to put up at least some kind of fight, but my brain and my body don’t seem to be on speaking terms these days. Instead, I stand there mutely, trembling from head to toe, while he looks at me. His eyes trace over my facial features, lingering on my mouth, then drop down to my neckline, where my nipples are visible through the thin fabric of my sundress. They’re peaked, as though from arousal, but I think it’s because I’m chilled. Beth must’ve turned on air-conditioning for the night.

“Very pretty,” he says finally, lifting his hand and stroking the edge of my jaw with his fingers. “Such soft golden skin.”

I close my eyes, not wanting to look at the monster in front of me.
I wanted to kill more . . . I wanted to kill more . . .
His words repeat over and over in my mind, like a song that’s stuck on replay. I don’t know how to turn it off, how to go back in time and scrub the memories of this afternoon from my mind. Why did I insist on knowing this about him? Why did I probe and pry until I got these kind of answers? Now I can’t think about anything but the fact that the man touching me is a ruthless killer.

He leans closer to me, and I can feel his hot breath on my neck. “Are you sorry you asked me all those questions today?” he whispers in my ear. “Are you, Nora?”

I flinch, my eyes flying open. Does he also read minds?

At my reaction, he pulls back and smiles. There’s something in that smile that makes my chill ten times worse. I don’t know what’s going on with him tonight, but whatever it is, it frightens me more than anything he’s done before.

“You’re scared of me, aren’t you, my pet?” he says softly, still holding me prisoner between his legs. “I can feel you shaking like a leaf.”

I want to deny it, to be brave, but I can’t. I
am
scared, and I
am
shaking. “Please,” I whisper, not even knowing why I’m begging. He hasn’t done anything to me yet.

He gives me a light push then, releasing me from his hold. I take a few steps back, glad to put some distance between us.

He gets up off the bed and walks out of the room.

I stare after him, unable to believe he just left me alone. Could it be that he doesn’t want sex right now? He did already have me once on the beach earlier today.

And just as I’m about to let myself feel relief, Julian returns, a black gym bag in his hands.

All blood drains from my face. Horrifying thoughts run through my mind. What does he have in there—knives, guns, some kind of torture devices?

When he takes out a blindfold and a small dildo, I’m almost grateful.
Sex toys.
He just has some sex toys in that bag. I would take sex over torture any day of the week.

Of course, with Julian the two are not necessarily separate, as I learn this night.

“Strip, Nora,” he tells me, walking over to sit down on the bed again. He lays the blindfold and the dildo on the mattress. “Take off your clothes, slowly.”

I freeze. He wants me to disrobe while he watches? For a moment, I think about refusing, but then I start to undress with clumsy fingers. He has already seen me naked today. What would I achieve by being modest now? Besides, I’m still sensing that strange vibe from him. His eyes are glittering with excitement that goes beyond simple lust.

It’s an excitement that makes my blood run cold.

He watches as the dress falls off my body and I kick off my flip-flops. My movements are wooden, stiff with fear. I doubt a normal man would find this striptease arousing, but I can see that it turns Julian on. Under the dress, I’m wearing only a pair of cream-colored lacy panties. The cold air washes over my skin, making my nipples harden even more.

“Now the underwear,” he says.

I swallow and push the panties down my legs. Then I step out of them.

“Good girl,” he says approvingly. “Now come here.”

This time I’m unable to obey him. My self-preservation instinct is screaming that I need to run, but there’s nowhere to run to. Julian would catch me if I tried to make it out the door right now—and it’s not like I can get off this island anyway.

So I just stand there, naked and shivering, frozen in place.

Julian gets up himself. Contrary to my expectations, he doesn’t look angry. Instead he seems almost . . . pleased. “I see that I was right to begin training you tonight,” he says as he comes up to me. “I’ve been too soft with you because of your inexperience. I didn’t want to break you, to damage you beyond repair—”

My shaking intensifies as he circles around me like a shark.

“—but I need to start molding you into what I want you to be, Nora. You’re already so close to perfection, but there are these occasional lapses . . .” He traces his fingers down my body, ignoring the way I’m cringing from his touch.

“Please,” I whisper, “please, Julian, I’m sorry.” I don’t know what I’m sorry for, but I will say anything right now to avoid this training, whatever it may be.

He smiles at me. “It’s not a punishment, my pet. I just have certain needs, that’s all—and I want you to be able to satisfy them.”

“What needs?” My words are barely audible. I don’t want to know, I truly don’t, yet I can’t seem to stop myself from asking.

“You’ll see,” he says, wrapping his fingers around my upper arm and leading me toward the bed. When we get there, he reaches for the blindfold and ties it around my eyes. My hands automatically try to go to my face, but he pulls them down, so that they’re hanging by my sides.

I hear rustling sounds, as though he’s searching for something in that bag. Terror rips through me again, and I make a convulsive movement to free my eyes, but he catches my wrists. Then I feel him binding them behind my back.

At this point I start to cry. I don’t make a sound, but I can feel the blindfold getting wet from the moisture escaping my eyes. I know I was helpless before, even without being blindfolded and tied up, but the sense of vulnerability is a thousand times worse now. I know there are women who are into this, who play these types of games with their partners, but Julian is not my partner. I’ve read enough books that I know the rules—and I know that he’s not following them. There’s nothing safe, sane, or consensual about what’s going on here.

And yet, when Julian reaches between my legs and strokes me there, I’m horrified to realize that I’m wet.

That pleases him. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the satisfaction emanating from him as he begins to play with my clit, occasionally dipping the tip of one finger inside me to monitor my physical response to his stimulation. His movements are sure, not the least bit hesitant. He knows exactly what to do to enhance my arousal, how to touch me to make me come.

I hate that, his expertise in bringing me pleasure. How many women has he done this to? Surely it takes practice to get so good at making a woman orgasm despite her fear and reluctance.

None of this matters to my body, of course. With each stroke of his skilled fingers, the tension inside me builds and intensifies, the insidious pressure starting to gather low in my belly. I moan, my hips involuntarily pushing toward him as he continues to play with my sex. He’s not touching me anywhere else, just there, but it seems to be enough to drive me insane.

“Oh yes,” he murmurs, bending down to kiss my neck. “Come for me, my pet.”

As though obeying his command, my inner muscles contract . . . and then the climax rushes through me with the force of a freight train. I forget to be afraid; I forget everything in that moment except the pleasure exploding through my nerve endings.

Before I can recover, he pushes me onto the bed, face down. I hear him moving, doing something, and then he lifts me and arranges me on top of a mound of pillows, elevating my hips. Now I’m lying on my stomach with my ass sticking out and my hands tied behind my back, even more exposed and vulnerable than before. I turn my head sideways, so I don’t suffocate in the mattress.

My tears, which had almost stopped before, begin again. I have a terrible suspicion I know what he’s going to do to me now.

When I feel something cool and wet between my butt cheeks, my suspicion is confirmed. He’s spreading lube on me, preparing me for what’s to come.

“Please, don’t.” The words are wrenched out of me. I know that begging is useless. I know that he has no mercy, that it turns him on to see me like this—but I can’t help it. I can’t accept that additional violation. I just can’t. “Please.”

“Hush, baby,” he murmurs, stroking the curve of my buttocks with his large palm. “I’ll teach you to enjoy this too.”

I hear more sounds, and then I feel something pushing into me, into that other opening. I tense, clenching my muscles with all my might, but the pressure is too much to resist and the thing begins to penetrate me.

“Stop,” I moan as a burning pain begins, and Julian actually listens this time, pausing for a second.

“Relax, my pet,” he says softly, caressing my leg with one of his hands. “It’ll go much better if you relax.”

“Take it out,” I beg. “Please take it out.”

“Nora,” he says, his tone suddenly harsh. “I told you to relax. It’s nothing but a small toy. It won’t hurt you if you relax.”

“Isn’t hurting me the whole point?” I ask bitterly. “Isn’t that what gets your rocks off?”

“Do you want me to hurt you?” His voice is soft, almost hypnotic. “It would get my rocks off, you’re right . . . Is that what you want, my pet? For me to hurt you?”

No, I don’t. I don’t want that at all. I give an almost imperceptible shake of my head and do my best to relax. I don’t think I’m successful at it. It’s just too wrong, the feeling of something pushing in there from the outside.

Nonetheless, Julian seems pleased with my efforts. “Good,” he croons. “Good girl, there we go . . .” He applies steady pressure, and the thing goes deeper into me, past the resistance of my sphincter, inch by slow inch. When it’s all the way in, he pauses, letting me get used to the sensation.

The burning pain is still there, as is the almost nauseating feeling of fullness. I focus on taking small, even breaths and not moving. After about a minute, the pain begins to subside, leaving only the disorienting sensation of a foreign object lodged inside my body.

Julian leaves the toy in place and starts stroking me all over, his touch oddly gentle. He starts with my feet, rubbing them, finding all the kinks and massaging them away. Then he moves up my calves and thighs, which are almost vibrating with tension. His hands are skilled and sure on my body; what he’s doing is better than any massage I’ve ever had. Despite everything, I feel myself melting into his touch, my muscles turning to mush under his fingers. By the time he gets to my neck and shoulders, I’m as relaxed as I’ve been since waking up on this island. If I hadn’t been blindfolded, bound, and sodomized, I would’ve thought I was in a spa.

When he removes the toy some twenty minutes later, it slides right out, without even a hint of discomfort. He pushes it back in again, and this time, the pain is minimal. If anything, it feels . . . interesting . . . particularly when his fingers find my clit and begin stimulating it again.

I don’t resist the pleasure those fingers bring me. Why bother? I would take pleasure over pain any day of the week. Julian is going to do whatever he wants, and I might as well enjoy some parts of it.

So I divorce my mind from the wrongness of it all and let myself simply feel. I can’t see anything with the blindfold, and I can’t put up much of a fight with my hands tied behind my back. I’m completely helpless—and there’s something peculiarly liberating in that. There’s no point in worrying, no point in thinking. I’m simply drifting in the darkness, high on post-massage endorphins.