BLYSS (Blyss Trilogy #1) (21 page)

I feel my core beginning to pulsate, and the wetness of my own arousal is beginning to soak my panties.
How in the hell did I get this way?
I feel a throbbing sensation intensifying deep within my groin. I can’t even begin to describe what my body has been awakened to. This growing sexual tension I’m feeling is so new to me. Never in my life could I have ever imagined this type of consuming arousal even existed.
 

I truly thought romance novels were overly-fabricated. I am simply astounded by the plethora of adjectives that can be combined to describe physical and emotional responses with such clarity that it becomes a reality for the reader. I feel the characters’ needs and wants as if they are my own. I really don’t know how the author does it, because I find myself at a loss for words, unable to describe what my own body is currently experiencing, causing the wetness I feel down...in my…pussy—
there, I said it.
It’s always been such a taboo word for me, but there is no other way to pay tribute to or describe what my nether regions are feeling right now.
 

I’ve always hated that word—
pussy
—and I probably still do. It seems so crass, but I’m not in my right frame of mind at the moment. Jared told me what these drugs would do, and they’ve kicked my hormones into another solar system. My nipples harden, and I curse the book for breaking the Hoover Dam of my sexual sanity. I’m morphing into a sex-starved nympho, and I realize it’s with good reason I’ve always been so reluctant to pick up these types of books. I should’ve stuck with reading The Old Man and the Sea, Huckleberry Finn, Gulliver’s Travels, or my Harry Potter—anything but romance!

I must have lost all reason, especially if I’m arguing with myself over why I feel the need to use the word
pussy.
The absurd amount of desire coursing through my blood stream, and wanting to figure out a way to describe what my vagina is feeling…is insane! I seem to have no perception of normalcy right now, because I can’t stop thinking about my pussy.

 
My pussy feels overly-swollen, with a mix of heaviness, throbbing, and a pulsating pain. I have an out-of-control need for release, something more than the one Travis gave me yesterday. I am light-years away from my prudish comfort zone, and I want someone or something to take this frantic feeling away from me.

My body is so overly-desperate right now that at this point, I would even let Nick fuck me; it’s that bad. I know that sounds sick, and now I see the reason these men are so obsessed with this drug they’ve been developing. I pause, realizing I—Julianna Oakley, lifetime attendee of strict, all-girl boarding schools, who has always made her dad and bodyguards put a dollar in the swear jar for even saying ‘damn’—have just thought the words
fuck
and
pussy.
That’s twice in two days I’ve turned to using a foul mouth, and I’m almost mortified at myself…almost. I’m too distracted with thoughts of grabbing one of the throw pillows beside me to buck my hips against.

This concoction of Jared’s can make the most unwilling and devout Puritan genuinely beg anyone to release them from this yearning, even if the man was a necrophiliac. The way I’m feeling, I’d even roll over and play dead for the sick fucker. I try desperately to steer my thoughts away from this libidinous way of thinking, but I can’t. The overwhelming feeling of needing to hump something has me going out of my mind. I contemplate for a moment if I have something to break the Plexiglass cases behind the red curtains. It’d be equivalent to looting, I know, but this calls for disaster survival.
Hmnn,
I look around the room.
Will a water bottle work? TV remote? Shit...

I put the book down and close my eyes, trying to make heads or tails of the way I feel. Shielding my eyes with my forearm, I rest the crook of my elbow across my brow and begin to daydream. I think of yesterday in the clinic with Travis’ weight on top of me, holding me down and moving his hips against mine. I imagine Travis being naked and moving over my body, and I feel his hardness graze along my inner thigh as he makes his way up my body. I want to feel his fullness inside me, stretching me, and I remember the orgasmic explosion he brought me.

I pretend he’s here now, hovering over me, his hard muscles working, flexing, and rubbing against my body. I can hear his deep moans, and I can feel his tongue as it slides over mine with its heated skill. I lick my bottom lip slowly, responding to my thoughts. He tastes me hungrily, exploring every inch of my mouth, and my tongue remembers the pattern of his kiss. I feel his muscular chest as it rests against mine, and his breathing has accelerated, indicating he’s as turned on as I am.

My back arches, my breasts seeking the palms of his hands, and I recall how hot his passion was, and the way he pinched and pulled at my nipples. My stomach dips as I continue to relive yesterday’s intense exchange.
Oh, sweet mother of Moses.
I can feel his thick, swollen cock and how it nestled perfectly in the opening of my pussy, and I remember the way my inner walls practically reached for his dick behind the rough fabric of his jeans as he pressed into me, rubbing and grinding against my slick core. I can only imagine what the head of his penis would feel like nestled just inches inside me as he slowly rocks himself in and out, stretching me, getting ready to breach my barrier.

I feel him pinching my nipple hard as he whispers into my mouth between heated kisses, telling me to ride his cock, take my pleasure, and give into my body. I envision his cock driving into me, entering and retreating as his balls slap against my ass. I can feel the walls of my pussy being stretched wide as he fills me to the brim. I want to feel that unfamiliar pull low in my groin again, warning me of my impending orgasm.

I have the insane urge to slip my fingers inside my pajama bottoms and into my wet core, something I’ve never done before. Oh, the things I would give for another taste of him and the feel of his hands roaming over my body. The way he made my body respond to his was definitely brand new to me. I never felt those sensations…or those emotions before. I let out a long, throaty groan of frustration into the silent room.
 

The hole I’m digging for myself is getting deeper. If I don’t stop and pull myself out of this absurd daydream, I’ll end up putting on a show. I reluctantly heave my achingly-aroused body up from where I’ve melted into the sofa and sit on the edge of the cushion. My feet bounce nervously as I try shaking off the carnal thoughts. I’m beginning to feel edgy, almost panicky, my body crying out desperately for a release. I can’t think straight, and it’s mocking my ability to rationalize. Because, shit, who thinks of begging and playing dead for a necrophiliac? That’s just beyond repulsive. I’ll definitely need a psychiatrist after this.
 

My arms and legs start to slightly tremor against my will. I am up against an evil and undefeated monstrous power that’s making my hormones fly faster than a bat out of Hell, and I feel completely out of control. I’d say they finally found the right fucking dose. If this is how they wanted me to feel, then by George, I think they’ve got it! Travis asked him to double the dose, and I think after our knockdown, drag-out fight, Jared quadrupled it instead.

What’s even crazier is I don’t seem petrified at the thought of losing my virginity and being violated at the moment. I frown and lower my face into the palm of my hands. The fact I don’t seem affected by the act of someone sexually pillaging my body should really bother me. It’s these damn drugs; they have me out of my mind. It’s obvious I’m not going to get rescued in time; something is bound to happen sooner or later, whether I want it to or not, and a very dark part of me doesn’t mind if it’s Travis. How sick is that—to want my captor, especially after all the things Jared revealed about him yesterday?
 

Suddenly, I realize all too late I’ve just willingly cheated on Adam in my very own mind. A huge sense of guilt washes over me.
How could I?
It was one thing when Travis was on top of me, holding me down and grinding into me while I couldn’t get away. I reluctantly gave in; I admit it, but here I sit, alone, fantasizing about another man taking me as I beg for it. I smack myself on the forehead hard enough that the sound echoes in the small room. I’ve already let the master manipulator, Travis, strategically place himself in front of Adam. I’m such a two-timing skank. At this point, I have to ask myself,
Just how much do I love Adam?
I feel like such a bitch for making Adam wait so long before we could make love, and yet, in a matter of three days, I’m all too ready to spread ‘em wide for the next passerby.

I flop back into the sofa, blow out a deep breath, and I groan as I gaze up at the popcorn ceiling in a trance. Adam…I do love him. I love him so much it hurts. What am I supposed to do? I’m forced to live with these drugs running amok throughout my body, and I’m forced to deal with one particular handsome man pawing at me at every turn. I wish I were in Adam’s arms right now; better yet, I wish he were rescuing me and taking me far away from this deranged mess I’m living in.
 

He loves me; I know he does, and I have to believe he hasn’t given up hope. My fingers drift unconsciously to my ring finger to find it bare. Damn Nick, he had no right to take what was mine—freedom, rings, and otherwise. I know Adam would forgive me for these thoughts. He would tell me none of this is my fault and that we could get past this bump in the road, because we’re meant to be together.

 
I allow a few silent drops of sadness to escape my tear ducts before I have to push my love—my Adam—back into the recesses of my mind, in order to deal with the here and now. I was saving myself for the man of my dreams, but I won’t have that now. Nick is going to rob me of that, too; I’m sure of it. I have to kick myself back into survival mode. I don’t bother wiping my stray tears away; they can stay. I pretend they’re a piece of Adam comforting me, remembering how he wiped them away at the airport before my flight to Atlanta. Crazy, I know, but I’m dying on the inside, little by little. I’m losing touch with reality at an alarming rate, and I’m grasping at straws for any sort of familiar comfort. I find myself clutching my medallion, holding it with a death grip in my hand.

I abhor this feeling, this state of being a slave to my own body. The drugs are snaking their way through my bloodstream, making my body physically ache with an animalistic hunger. Jared was spot on—the drugs are taking over every aspect of my mental faculties, affecting my concentration, making me think of nothing but...unnatural desires. Excessive saliva pours from my parotid glands, and I feel as if I’m a caged wild animal, sickly foaming and frothing at the mouth. I throw my head back and moan. Just…God, please don’t let me think of bestiality. I can’t handle that shit. There’s enough debauchery pervading my brain to make a whorehouse look like a convent.
 

I’m sure I’m creating quite the picture for the sickos watching me right now through the cameras in each corner of my room, and I find myself struggling against these horrific urges to take matters into my own hands, literally.
I refuse to give these perverts a show,
I think as I clench my fists. I can see it now—them monitoring me, fist-bumping as they sit down with a cold brew and a bowl of popcorn, waiting for kickoff.
 

Frustrated, I get up from the sofa and go draw a wicked-hot bath, one near boiling point. I want something else to focus on, pain. Perhaps feeling burning pain on my skin from the scalding water will knock the neediness out of me. I’m also counting on the steam that’s billowing around in the small bathroom to help me sweat this shit out of my pores, as well. I will not be picking up that particular book again, nor any other romance novels, for that matter. I don’t need any other outside forces wreaking havoc on my body and running rough-shod over my brain. It would be equivalent to starting a giant forest fire with a tiny little spark, watching the flames spread uncontrollably and consuming everything in its path.
 

Do they really think this is a more humane way to treat women? I guess we’re not considered women in the scheme of things; we’re prized possessions, like expensive racehorses as Jared put it. I need to find a way around the Blyss, keeping it from impairing my judgment, and not let it cause confusion and disorder in my mind. I still have this small window of opportunity left to save myself before they twist my mind around, making my body addicted to the drug, the sex, or both. If there is one thing I’ve been taught in life, it’s where there is a will, there is a way. I have no doubt I will find a way. I may have been naïve and sheltered, but my dad and Jake didn’t allow me to grow up a helpless and spoiled little princess; therefore, these people don’t know the willpower I possess.
 

~Travis~

I walk into the security room the next morning at about 7 am, where we have guards monitoring every room inside the facility. We have a team on these camera feeds around the clock, always watching for either suspicious activities or keeping an eye on the captives. Since she spent the entire day yesterday in solitary confinement, I’m curious as to how her evening went. Shutting the door behind me, I ask, “How did room seven do last night?”
 

“She did fine, cried herself to sleep. Nothing unusual. It was a boring night,” he says with a yawn, and then takes a sip of his coffee.

“Boring is good,” I say, taking a seat in an overstuffed leather chair, scanning the multiple screens hanging on the wall.

The door opens behind me, and I turn my head to see Nick walking in. I nod my head in acknowledgment. “Hey, Trav,” he greets, sitting down beside me, “I guess this will be day number four for her. Blyss should be sinking its claws into her mind and body by now. “