Abduction (46 page)

Touched her like a lover. Yes, yes, he'd touched her many times. Touched her body, teased and given pleasure. But all to a purpose. Never, not once had he indulged in the little touches of the sort that go on between two people who are intimate with one another. But now, their bodies touching, they were so close to one another on the sofa, with his fingers he delicately combed a few stray strands back from her face and then, in an almost absent-minded fashion, began fingering the lace hem of her short night dress. Already she'd gone all rigid and her breathing came in rapid, shallow gusts.

"Drink you wine, darling."

Staring straight ahead into the fire she tipped the glass back and took two big swallows, her hand noticeably shaking. He brushed his lips over the smooth skin of her pretty shoulder, then lifted his head and met Vaughn's threatening stare.

"Just think, Devan. About this time last night, Vaughn was taking your virginity.

This is really a kind of anniversary. I wonder what we might do to mark the occasion?"

He nuzzled against her warm, fragrant hair and sighed, "Hmmm?"

Feeling her body tremble against his, seeing Vaughn's chest begin to heave, Conrad fought back a grin. Leaving the both of them untouched since morning had them wound up to a delicious pitch.

"I know what you're thinking, you naughty girl. But I've got something entirely different in mind. A nice, fireside chat."

She looked nervously at Vaughn, then back to the fire.

"I don't know if you realize it, but Vaughn and I have been having some rather heated discussions about…what shall we call it? Your true nature."

She was drinking the wine now without his prompting.

"As you can well imagine, Vaughn's perspective is rather different than mine.

And, it isn't that he hasn't made some good points, but I just can't come around to his way of seeing things. And though I like to see myself as a broadminded fellow who can be persuaded to other's points of view, I can't help thinking that, where you're concerned, Devan, I'm something of an expert."

"Don't misunderstand—I do value Vaughn's opinion. I fear, though, that he's at a disadvantage, because, though he's had the happy privilege of getting to spend a good deal of time with you, he hasn't had the benefit of knowing your most secret thoughts.

Unlike me, all Vaughn's seen of you—" Conrad suddenly caught himself and laughed softly. "well, of your thoughts, that is—is what you've chosen to let him see."

She knew what was coming. He could tell, the set of her mouth, the way she was staring ahead into that fire, the way her body had gone from trembling to rigid.

"It seems unfair that I should have such an advantage. Don't you think, darling?"

Her look of fearful resistance—her set jaw, her rigid posture—slowly settled into one of resignation. She took another big swallow of wine.

Obviously, the thing to do is to let him in on your secret desires. Via one of your lovely stories. Not like the one he read last night, in preparation for you…deflowering."

Again he laughed gently. "I know, and you know, that was just about the tamest thing you've ever written. And besides, I took out all the context and left him with nothing but action. And context is so important. Isn't it?"

"I had a bit of trouble deciding which story he should read first. I actually managed to bring quite a few along, and they're all so arousing, and so enlightening. In the end I decided to go with this one…" he reached over the arm of the couch and plucked the little stack of paper from the end table where it had been in plain sight but apparently unnoticed since before dinner. "'…because…well, for now let's just say I've chosen it for reasons of my own."

Devan didn't turn her head, but he caught her furtive, sidelong glance at the title at the top of the first page, and took in the way her brow furrowed and her breath suddenly quickened. True, it was one of her darker stories. But far from the most perverse. He couldn't imagine there was a single one that she wouldn't be mortified to have revealed to Vaughn.

"Read it for us, Devan darling."

One last little flinch as his words no doubt crushed a futile hope that he'd simply hand the document to Vaughn to read in comforting silence. He'd thought she'd protest, beg not to be made to read it aloud. He'd been certain that at the very least there'd be a tear or two. But Devan simply drank down the last of her glass of wine, handed him the empty vessel, and took the story from his hands. Knowing that in a strange way, his presence beside her was a kind of comfort, Conrad rose and reseated himself across from her, on the hearth beside the warm fire.

Brave as she was being, the pages trembled noticeably in her shaking hands, and as she attempted to commence her reading, her voice cracked, and he knew she was struggling not to cry as she sat silent for a moment before clearing her throat and trying again. Conrad looked over to see Vaughn gazing at Devan with both sympathy and anticipation as she finally got the first sentence out in a quiet, wavering voice.

"She resisted waking, but she was cold."

Devan drew in a deep breath, looked at Vaughn for a long, silent moment, then read them her story.

She resisted waking, but she was cold. And her arm was asleep. She tried to roll
over, but something was wrong. Something didn't make sense. The pulling through her
arms and torso. The cold pressure on her feet.

Fuck, fuck, she wanted to wake up. Even knowing it was a dream, the way you
do, it was too terrifying. She dreaded the next horrible moment her subconscious would
conjure. And then, almost as if she'd brought it on with that terrifying moment of self-awareness someone stepped from the pitch of the shadows before her.

She tried to change it. Go somewhere else. In her dreams she did that
sometimes. Became conscious of her power to alter the setting, the action, the plot. But
nothing was happening.

He came closer. Yes, it was a man. His shape, his walk. A man.

"Good. You're awake."

She tried to shift her stance but her legs wouldn't cooperate.

"Here."

He squatted down and became just a black shape, somewhere between a circle
and a square. Then she felt his hands on her ankles, pleasantly warm on her cold skin,
and felt the soles of her feet press more firmly to the cold floor.

The black shape rose up before her and turned back into a man.

"You'll be all right in a few minutes. The drugs wear off fast."

She really didn't like this dream. She rarely did this—even scary dreams and sad
dreams were like intense alternate realities which she valued, no matter how ugly they
got—but now she tried to wake herself up.

"You can hear me all right, can't you?"

"Yes," she heard herself mumble, which was confusing because she hadn't
meant to answer.

"Thought so. Your eyesight and your muscle control just take a little longer. You'll
be yourself in another minute or two."

His voice was calm. Cool. Detached. She tried to make her eyes focus. Tall. He
was tall. Pale. Dark hair. Dark eyes.

Now she felt him against her, and willed her dream not to be a rape. His fingers
combed into her hair and he began talking to her in a soft voice.

"In a moment you're going to realize what's going on. And you're going to be
scared. So listen to me. I brought you here just for one thing. And when I've done that
one thing, I'm going to let you go. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to kill you. Do
you understand?"

Now that she was standing and they weren't bearing her weight any longer, her
wrists ached. Bending and straightening her elbows she felt the familiar pain of a joint
punished by prolonged hyperextension. She felt the man's breathing—warm moist
breath in her hair, his chest swelling rhythmically against her.

She was awake.

"Shhhh, shhhhh," the man hissed in her ear, his arms winding around,
constricting her, pinning her against his too-hot body as she collapsed in shrieking sobs,
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once more dangling from the ropes secured to her wrists. "Shhhhh. You won't be hurt.

In two or three hours, you'll be back in your bed. I promise."

His anaconda arms slowly released her, and the man stepped a pace away from
her. Slowly he began circling her, letting his eyes and his hand wander over her body.

"Please," she sobbed, "please don't do this."

Ceasing to circle his prey, he came to a stop behind her, pressed himself to her,
reaching around to cup a breast with one hand while his other slid down against her
stomach and curved against her sex.

"I'm sorry, lover. All my life I've wanted to know the feeling of having absolute
power over someone as I fucked them. You get to go home after I find out."

Again his hands slipped away as he circled back before her.

"But…you…" she was gulping air through her sobs, "look at you," she choked
out, desperate to reason with him, "you don't need to…God, it must be easy for you
to…"

"To what? Get laid? Sure, hon', but that's not what this is about." He leaned in
close, whispered in her ear, "It's about experiencing something different."

He leaned back an inch or two, took in her look of terror, then looked down at her
breasts. She was wearing the little white tank top she'd worn to bed. He hooked his
index fingers behind the spaghetti straps and slowly, firmly pulled down, and inch by
inch the front of the top sank down, the pale swells of her breasts, her nipples, hard in
the cold, coming slowly into view until finally the neckline of the tank top settled under
her breasts. She felt more lewdly exposed than if he'd torn her shirt off and left her torso
bare.

She thought of biting. Of kicking. Sure she could really hurt him. Make him bleed.

Make him scream. But it wouldn't stop him. After, he'd only be angry. She'd still be
bound. At his mercy.

His breathing quickened as he looked at her, aroused, it seemed, by her bare
breasts, by her tears, her fear. His eyes flickered up and down between her tits and her
face as he brought his hands to her, cupping her soft, tender flesh, running his thumbs
along the undersides, taunting her, coming close again and again but never touching
her nipples. His look of aroused anticipation answering her expression of dread
expectation.

"Don't worry, lover. I'm not going to fuck you like a dog on a bitch in heat, all hard
and frenzied. I'm going to take my time. Let you really feel everything."

His hands were off her tits now, slinking up under her tank top, slithering over her
waist, gliding over her belly, her ribs, up her spine, down again, down beyond the elastic
waist of her pajamas, palming her ass, the backs of her thighs, sliding forward, up, his
fingertips trilling up over her pelvis, her belly. Touching everywhere, but touching
nothing. A kind of vicious promise.

The cold embraced her as he backed off, and she felt her pajamas and
underwear sliding down, over her hips, down her thighs, past her knees and calves. He
left them heaped around her ankles.

"Please," she sobbed one last, futile time. The way he closed his eyes and
sighed, as if her plea had aroused him more than the sight of her naked body, almost
made her retch. She didn't beg again.

He locked his determined eyes on hers, and she thought he was going to kiss
her, he came in so close, his hot breath on her lips. But he just stayed liked that as his
two big hands curved around her breasts. This time his thumbs found her nipples, and
as he watched her he began rubbing them. She hated that it felt the same, that her body
didn't know the difference between this rapist's touch and a lover's. She tried to keep
her face blank but she knew he could see that she was feeling. Their panting breaths
parried.

His hands drew in, capping the peaks of her breasts, then drew back. He caught
her nipples between his fingers, pinched them, soft, then harder, then so hard she
whimpered. When he took his hands away her nipples throbbed, hard and full, and she
realized with a resentful pang that the throb he'd created in her nipples was
reverberating in her sex.

He leaned in, his slightly raspy voice low. "Is that little cunt of yours getting wet?"

Then he pulled back to see the expression on her face. She tried to hide
everything--her embarrassment, her hatred, her arousal. Let him. Let him touch her.

Rape her. She wasn't going to help him get off by crying and screaming and begging.

He could go fuck himself.

"Hmmm?"

He stooped and caught her nipple in his mouth, squeezing her breast with his
hand so all the tender flesh was taut against his lips. Her core went hot as he began to
suck eagerly at her tit, pulling her throbbing nipple into his mouth and releasing it again
and again, her other breast still imprisoned in his other hand, her hard nipple poking out
into the cold night air until he turned to it and slid the warm, wet surface of his tongue
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against it, letting it feel the cold all the more as he went back to suck her other nipple
again. Then he straightened up until their eyes were level.

"Let's check on that pussy and see."