Page 23 of Enraptured

“Change your mind, little dove?”

“Never.”

He closes his eyes, pumping faster and faster into his hand, “Jessie!” He groans coming on himself. My knees tremble. He’s never said my name when he comes. I’ve never watched anyone like this. It’s decadent, wrong…so hot. He continues to pump into his hands, but his eyes are open now and trained on me. His gaze travels from my breasts down my stomach to the triangle of curls I refuse to do more than trim. There’s ownership in his eyes as he lingers on me before one last spasm has him falling back against a pillow. One arm crosses over his forehead. “Theos, that was good. You always make it good, whether I’m in you or not.”

He gets up and walks into the bathroom to clean himself up. I take that moment to pull my T-shirt back on. The cotton rubs against my bare nipples making me moan. I need to come. But I can’t stand his hands on me, hurting my heart while taking the ache between my thighs away.

He gets back into bed, opens the cover and pats the spot next to him. I shake my head. “Suit yourself,” he yawns, sated by his visceral release.

My thumb hangs from my mouth as I pace, chewing my nail. I’m worked up, horny as hell and I’m angry. He’s seducing me again, using different tactics but the end result is the same. I want him. Badly. Between my legs, making me scream.

But I can’t give him the satisfaction of my surrender. Holding out is the only hope I have. He fakes a snore. My face heats, seeing red. I want to jump on the bed, pummel him with my fists, slap his face until my palm stings. Then I want to ride him. Up and down while he presses my clit hard.

I settle for slamming the bathroom door behind me as I turn the shower on, riffle through his drawers finding the vibrator still in its plastic case, never opened. That asshole had it here since the first day I woke up. It taunted me, that he knew I’d need it. Many nights, after he pet me, I was tempted to sneak out of bed and finish myself off.

I tear it open, then throw the thing at the marble wall. It turns on. The steady buzz echoing. Fuck this. I can’t sleep.

Stepping into the shower, I take the removable head down holding the jet against my aching core.

It’s not enough.

Hanging my head, my palm slaps the wall.

He’s beat me.

Again.

I open the glass door, pick-up the vibrator and hold the thrumming machine against my clit. Just as I start to feel the wave, I stick it in deep, feeling the gyrating head hit my G-Spot.“Christos!”I moan coming hard, collapsing on the floor in shame as the water pours over me.

Sighing, I slip from the covers and face another crisp autumn day, wondering when I’ll be free again. I didn’t dare climb in bed with him after I made myself come. I was so angry, I found my way to the kitchen, had a cutting knife in my hand and was halfway up the stairs before I realized what I was doing. I dropped it like a hot coal. My anger and shame at who he’s turned me into is making me unstable. I lost all rational thought as I held the knife, fantasizing about how I’d use it. Instead, I found an empty bedroom, riffled through the medicine cabinet and took a few sleeping pills. He probably used them on someone else at some other time. But I didn’t care as I swallowed them down using tap water. The smell of freshly brewed coffee hits me as I slowly open the door and quietly enter the hallway.

My parents must be worried sick. I was supposed to return home to San Diego by now. Andre and Yaya must know he has me. Surely, they all are searching the world trying to bring me back home. I hesitate at the door to the room I’ve been staying in. I slowly crack it open, using one eye to peek in. He’s gone.

The air is chilly as I slip on a pair of jeans, a heavy sweater and pick-up a pair of boots I found in the tack room of the barn. I’ve come here everyday since I knew it was here.

My only friends have four legs. Their affection isn’t faked with pills or part of a twisted game to break me down and take something from me.

My hand twists the knob. Even though it’s been unlocked since I arrived, I still expect him to change his mind without notice.

On light feet, I tip-toe down the back set of stairs the staff uses and slip out the back door.

The cold, wet air of early morning greets me. Mist spirals up from the dew-covered grass. My feet sink easily into the worn leather boots. I jog through the white mist to my refuge, the barn. As far as I know, Christos never comes in here. Probably because the smell of dung and hay is too much for his aristocratic ass.

“Hello love.” I call out, hearing the answering snicker from the light brown mare in the last stall. Her name is Simone. An elegant name for an elegant creature.

I take the apple I slipped from the kitchen yesterday out of my pocket, holding it out to her soft nose.

She takes it gingerly from my hand. I smile, feeling the familiar small body twining around my legs. “Did you think I forgot you?” Ollie, the barn cat, blinks his green eyes at me. I reach in my other pocket for the piece of smoked salmon Christos likes on his bagels and hold it out for the cat.

Maybe I’m the one buying friends. Earning affection anyway I can.

I slink down to the floor, resting my back against the open stall door. Simone knows she has it made here and there’s only a piece of velvet rope clipped across her door.

Ollie climbs in my lap.

And I let the tears fall.

Simone nuzzles my hair, snickering softly. Each of them sensing my sadness, my despair, that my life is once again not mine to live.

I weep where only they can hear me. Shoulders shuddering with shame. I wanted him to touch me last night. Wanted his hands to stroke between my thighs. Freya was right, I’ll never be the same after what they all did to me. But I also crave the pleasure, miss the ecstasy, the high of the carnal delights of the dark world he brought me into. I hate him but crave his touch. His dark love does set me free. I lose every rational thought when I’m in his arms. But I can’t ever forget what he did. How far he went to destroy the love growing between us.

Fiona.

That bitch’s face as he entered her from behind. How she smirked as I cried, every thrust of Christos’s hips was a dagger to my chest.

I can’t let him win.

I won’t let him back into my world like that. I hang my head in shame remembering what we did in the dark hours earlier. How I watched him pleasure himself with hungry eyes and what I did to myself afterwards.

But how do you beat the devil at his own game?

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