Page 40 of A Touch of Dark
He chuckles. “I prefer to send more…direct messages, Ms. Thorne.” His fingers flex at his sides, drawing my attention. I see a sudden image of him hunched over a sheet of paper, channeling his rage into vivid sketches.
“What do you have against my father?” I’m merely stalling now.
I’m not as naïve as Mr. Villa appears to think, and the recent news coverage merely exposed an open secret: Daddy isn’t as perfect as he pretends to be. Neither is his judgment.
“Did he convict you of too many traffic violations or something?”
“Too many traffic violations…” He laughs again, more deeply than before. The sound serves as a chilling foil to another crack of thunder, louder than all those before it. “You should really read a newspaper article, Ms. Thorne. It’s right there in black and white.”
Ah, but wasn’t he the one who spelled it out for me? I’m sheltered. Innocent. A fucking pathetic coward. Daddy has his own demons to deal with, and I’ve been more than willing to let him battle them alone.
“Enlighten me, then,” I demand. Forming the words takes more effort than it should. The clock on the wall reveals why. Seven minutes.
“No.” He crosses to me like a snake, sensing out my position through motion and sound. His hand reaches out, his fingers searching until they find my chin. “I’ll let you think about it, Juliana.” He tilts my head back and my limp muscles are no match. I can’t even raise a finger against him. “I’ll let you play with every dark scenario that might flit around that simple mind of yours. You worried that I might kill you. Rape you. But do you know what Ireallywant to do to you?” He leans in close, his breath hot on my skin.
My throat refuses to form words. Even a gasp. All I can do is stare.
“I’m going to let you sit here in the fucking dark. Alone.” He drags his thumb in a cruel imitation of a caress as terror locks me in a vise-grip. “Do you know the real reason why I stayed with you last night? Youbeggedme to. Nothing terrifies you more than silence. The darkness. The emptiness…”
He’s lying. I cling to that hope, even as the repressed memories from last night flutter to the surface. Thrashing on sweat-soaked sheets, seeing Simon in the shadows. Grasping someone’s hand so tightly that I could sense the bones and ridges that made up their fingers. Touching skin so soft that I could tear it. Croaking a single word over and over.Stay. Stay. Stay. Stay.
My eyes blink rapidly—the only physical act I have control over.
“Enjoy your night, Ms. Thorne.” He steps back, silhouetted by the storm raging behind him, and moves beyond my line of sight.
“D-don’t…” I have to shove the word off my tongue, my chest heaving with the effort.
He’ll leave anyway. I wait for the sound of the door slamming shut. For the silence that’s become the soundtrack of my adult life.
I wait.
And he lingers, lurking just beyond the reach of my peripheral vision. Air trickles in and out of paper-thin lungs. The clock tells me why; it’s beyond ten minutes. My muscles and nerves have become deaf to any command my brain issues. I can’t even turn my head. Only my ears aid in sensing just where he is. Paces from the couch. Maybe in that exact spot where the carpet turns to the tile of the kitchen. From there, and with his height, he’ll have the perfect view of me. Sprawled upright, trapped beneath the towel. Without my fingers to support it, the terrycloth rides dangerously low. And yet…
It’s not my body he seems to be after.
My heart lurches as his footsteps return, drawing closer. At first, I fear he’ll stay where I can’t see him. But no. He enters my line of sight, sans his cane…and I shouldn’t be relieved. Not given the way he looks. Jaw clenched. Furrowed lines around the edges of his blindfold.
Panting. The sound comes from me, clashing with the muted sounds of rain and thunder. It picks up, feathering into breathless gasps as he advances step by step. He hunts me through the act alone, his head cocked, his posture rigid.
I nearly jump out of my skin when his finger brushes my cheek. He wasn’t lying. I feel everything. The softness of his skin. The faintest slickness of sweat, even though I’m freezing. He traces a path to my mouth and hovers his thumb over my parted lips, sensing how they quiver.
His other hand comes slowly, almost reluctantly, to seek out my forearm. Then my collarbone. Finally, he finds the edge of my towel and sinks his fingers into the material. He tugs it away and my lips flutter open around a gasp.
Helpless like this, I have no comparison to any other moment in my life. Simon made me feel small and cornered, like a mouse, always running on a wheel that would never move. Damien, in this moment, makes me feel like…
Prey. Only he’s a disinterested predator. I’m more helpless before him than I’ve ever been around any other monster—even the one who tried to kill me. Yet he controls how much of me he wants to see. My lips at the moment. Then the tender, bony ridge of my rib cage where my heartbeat can be felt the most.
Watching him stand over me is too damn surreal. So I force my eyes shut and listen, copying how he must sense me. I’m nowhere near as warm as he is, and my hands aren’t halfway as soft.
My pulse quickens, and I can almost visualize the sound pulsating through his fingertips, giving me away. Touch feels far more penetrating than sight ever could. He can feel what my facial expression wouldn’t reveal. My fear. Terror. Curiosity?
The other women, the ones so intriguing that he rendered them motionless to decipher their secrets. I bet he explored them far more intimately than he does me. Good. I should count my blessings. Thank God he isn’t interested in peering too deeply beneath my shell.
Wrong. His main goal seems to be to circumvent my expectations at every turn. The hand he has on my chest curls, cupping more flesh, kneading it just to the point of roughness. To hear me scream. As easily as he deciphers me, I’m finding that I can do the same to him. He wants me to protest, so I make a concerted effort to say nothing.
I don’t gasp. I don’t whimper. I don’t even breathe.
I simply feel, locked inside my own body. Now seems like the wrong moment to realize that he’s the first man to ever touch me like this. Really touch me. Naked flesh beneath roaming fingers. Should I feel robbed of some precious moment? My future lover has been beaten to this intimate discovery. He’ll have to be content with whatever Damien leaves untouched.
