New Title 7 (8 page)

What the holy hell was wrong with me?

Whenever I mentioned it to Brandon, an amused smirk played at his lips, which certainly added to my bewilderment.

Sleepier than usual this evening, I retreated to bed early. Brandon clutched a roll of duct tape as he strolled in.

Struck by terror, I frowned, heart heavy with disappointment. He sank to the side of the mattress and yanked out a silver strip, tore it with his white teeth. Tentatively he brought the strip to my mouth.

"I uh, I'm sorry I have to do this," he muttered as guilt flashed in his eyes.

"Why
are
you doing it? Is something wrong?"

"No. I have some friends coming over in a little bit. I don't want to risk a scene."

"You don't trust me?"

"I can't risk it, Mia. Not at this time." He smoothed the tape across my mouth to my cheeks. He proceeded to tear a longer strip, drew my wrists outward and wrapped them securely with tape.

Forgetting I couldn't speak, I asked him something and my words came out muffled. He chuckled.

At my expense. 

"Don't worry, baby. I'll be back later to take it off. And..." his mouth warped to a lecherous grin. "I'm gonna strip you down so we can fuck, fuck, fuck. Nice
rough
fucking and if you don't mind, I'd like to give you a rough fuck while you're bound." He tilted his head as he eyed me with pure lust.

I blinked, nodded, willing to do whatever he wanted to keep my living situation pleasant.

"Very good, little angel. I gotta go but I'll be back soon." Shirtless and full of himself, he strutted out, hips swaggering as his khaki slacks hung low and practically exposed his ass. His tan line graced the arch of his lower back and though he annoyed me, I couldn't stop drooling.

I drifted to sleep while observing the soothing angel snowglobe.

When I woke, Brandon was positioned above. His head tipped, throat vibrated as he moaned, bed agitated while his taut length filled and pleasured me.

Yes, my hands were still bound and since he couldn't kiss my mouth, he lightly tasted the tip of my nose, cheeks, chin, jaw line and brushed my throat. He nipped an earlobe and slithered his tongue along the ticklish contours of my neck.

Oh Jesus, yes. God help me, I cannot resist you...

Excitement building, I sealed my eyelids, reveling in his sexy attention. His forefinger dipped in my belly button, tickled, forced me to toss and flail—which incited downright savagery where we wrestled, rolled and fought for control. I got on top but he embraced me, flipping me over to regain domination. Our actions inched us off the mattress, so we scooted backward to continue fucking.

Trapped underneath, I thrashed within his powerful embrace while his free hand cinched my secured wrists.

For seemingly the millionth time we climaxed and the bed quaked below our heaving bodies. His impassioned cries pitched louder than ever, verging on unnerving shrieks.

Sweating, quivering, he flopped to my side. Each breath raced from his lips, his broad chest rising and falling as fast.

"My fucking god," he rasped. "You are amazing, baby.
Amazing
. Christ. I can't get enough of you."

I started to talk and only mumbling escaped. He broke out in laughter, holding his stomach and doubling over. I lowered my arms to my belly, whining, wanting him to take off the damn tape already.

"Okay, baby. Give me another minute to catch my breath," he said and slumped back on the mattress.

He got up and gracefully sauntered out of the bedroom, ass cheeks firm and tightening as he moved.

Patiently I waited, at times glancing at the mini snow globe. Brandon, still naked, reemerged from the shadowed doorway. He carried a plastic container of cooking oil and piece of cloth.

My brows furrowed and he snickered at my obvious confusion.

He sat beside me, unscrewing the top of the container. "I'm going to pour some of this on the cloth, then try to soak the tape so it'll be easier to yank off. And a lot less likely to hurt."

I sat upright and swung my legs over the mattress. He tipped the bottle upside down, drenched the cloth and scrubbed my wrists, working to loosen the adhesive.

As Brandon twisted the cloth, oil trickled down the underside of my arms. He lowered a moment to lick the excess.

"I know what you're thinking," he said grinning. "Too much grease is bad for the heart."

I tried to smile beneath the tape. It was pointless.

He switched between the tape on my mouth and wrists, feverishly soaking the strips. After the adhesive loosened, he peeled off the tape and dropped the oily scraps on the floor.

I kneaded my wrists while he swiveled to fix me with a penetrating gaze. I shrank back because he stared with such determination.

I feared asking what was wrong.

"I know of your attempts to email your father," he said, gaze unwavering. "I found your email message on my laptop. It was minimized. You forgot to click out of it."

Pulse thrumming in a crazed fashion, I blinked, searched his face for clues to predict how he'd deal with my betrayal.

"Mia, what do you have to say for yourself? Do you honestly want to leave me? Am I not treating you well enough? Hm? I found your email days ago but wasn't sure how to handle it. I tried to put it out of my mind, but unfortunately it didn't work." He eyed me, likely debating my punishment. 

I felt like a small child—about to get a scolding and sound spanking.

"I'm sorry, Brandon."

"It's alright, we all make stupid mistakes." His expression gentled.

"I was angry because—"

"Because you found my home-made porn. Right?"

"Yes." I looked away.

"I'm sure it was shocking to see those videos, especially the one I made of you."

"Very shocking, but I'm over it. Sorry I snooped."

"No worries, little angel, I don't mind if you know my secrets. I want to be an open book. In return, all I ask is for you to tell me when you're upset or angry. I don't want you to contact your friends or family, ever.
Never
again. That could be dangerous. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, I understand. I'm sorry."

He put his hand up to quiet me. "I told you it's fine, just don't do it again."

"I won't."

Brandon strode to the door. With his back to me, he spoke.

"You can't leave me anyway." He shrugged. "Not really, not entirely, because part of me is growing inside you. Now I'll have
two
little angels who belong to me. And I should know—I'm a doctor." He left me to dissect his riddle.

A riddle that wasn't too complicated to figure out.

What? I'm pregnant?

Oh god no. No no no no no no no.

"H
ow?" I asked him the next morning after not sleeping a wink. "Exactly how would
you
know I'm pregnant?"

Side-by-side on the basement couch, we sat so close our thighs touched. It was a heavy, intimate moment when I expressed my anguish about the pregnancy.

"Mia," he chortled, "I've been to medical school. I know these things. I'll get you a test if you want."

"Please do," I insisted, worried shitless. Thoughts of bringing a helpless infant into this situation spiraled me into devastation. I didn't need a baby.

Brandon—
definitely—
didn't need a baby.

"This is why you've been having headaches, why your body's been warmer. An elevated temperature happens throughout pregnancy, caused by progesterone which keeps you from having a period, nourishes the baby by ensuring your uterine lining stays thick," he said with a straight face, speaking as if he were an educational instructor and I his student.

"I won't believe it until you get me a test," I said.

"Okay. It's going to be positive, though. I promise." He smirked.

"Hurry and get a test. I can't wait. I have to know."

"Sure." He retreated upstairs. "Be back in a minute."

Restless, losing my mind, I paced the room and probably did a hundred laps while he was gone.

He reappeared, handed me a slim rectangular box with the words
Early HCG Test
. My shaking hand rattled the box as I took it.

"It'll be okay, Mia. Just take the test."

I hurried to the bathroom.

"But make sure you read the directions first," he called. More concerned with getting this nightmare over, I barely heard him.

Fancy burgundy tile surrounded me while I peered at the toilet—dreading to pee for the first time in my life. The box and its contents were scattered across the marble sink. I snatched the pink strip and glanced at the directions.

I peed on the stick. Afterward I put the strip on the sink, waited as my stomach twisted and my limbs quaked. First test window changed to a light pink. Second window darkened.

In the strangest nursery rhyme, Dr. Suess-like laments invaded my mind:
Light pink. Dark pink. Pink pink pink. Pretty colors ensued as this little stick casually decided my fate, rudely chose what route my life was going to take.

Pink pink pink pink
and a line.

No, wait—
two
lines. One a deeper red than the other, showing a definite positive result.

Pregnant. I wanted to cry. I wanted to die. Mental voices shrilly reminded me
this situation wasn't conducive to raising a healthy child! 

I dropped to my knees, didn't realize I was crying till my tears dripped to the floor. Brandon crouched by and held me, rocked me, whispering words of comfort. Telling me everything would be okay.

Would it? 

The voices told me
no
.

S
o he'd planted the seed, or rather fertilized it. This seed would become a child—an actual
child
complete with DNA, coursing blood and eyes that could mimic the unusual color of Brandon's.

I tried to get used to the idea but couldn't, just couldn't.

I wasn't ready. He wasn't ready. Our unprotected sex caught up, forced me to become a mother too soon. I should've known this would happen as Brandon never used condoms, though he'd used one with Deeana. 

Deeana. Poor Deeana.

And Brandon had impregnated
me
on purpose. Of
course
he had.

'My father taught me that the most important thing you'll ever do is get married, bring children into this world. Someone to carry on your name. Continue family traditions,'
he'd stated from the beginning
.

He'd planned it all along, wanted a child before leaving this earth. I couldn't blame him—but this didn't mean
I
wanted it.

What if it was a girl? Brandon had an obvious lack of respect for females, so how the hell would he treat a
little girl
? The possibilities disturbed me.

For the past three nights he slept beside me, making a gallant effort to be there for me.

Weird falling asleep next to him as if we were married or any normal couple.

Normal couple.

He didn't fit well on the narrow mattress and every morning his nude body slung part-way off. Surprising he didn't fall.

Maybe he stayed here to ensure I didn't run away.

Should I run away?

Brandon told me I was five weeks along and the baby was due in February. I counted back the weeks, struggled through my mind fog and concluded he'd impregnated me in the woods. Which was a violent way to start new life, although I'd wanted him to make love to me. I objected to the
manner
in which he'd done it.

On the other hand—he gave me an orgasm. I
must
have liked it. 

My two lousy choices: Stay or leave. I didn't want to leave but I had a baby to consider.

I'd miss him. Badly, totally. I dreaded the possibility of being away, living without him while raising his baby... a child to remind me every time I gazed upon its face, his or her features reminiscent of Brandon's.

I wouldn't be allowed to forget.

And what if I wanted an abortion?

Tears soaked my pillow while I curled up and imagined the angel enlivened in the nearby snowglobe. Her wings flapped as she glided to freedom. 

Six days after endless self-reflection, I chose freedom as well.

I yearned to recapture my power so my baby's future could rest in my hands.

Not
Brandon's.

M
y decision to leave didn't bring me happiness or peace. Sadness consumed me, spinning my emotions in constant turmoil.

I was only doing this for the baby. Even if ultimately deciding to terminate, I was confident in making the right choice.

Nine days after discovering my pregnancy, Brandon forgot to lock the basement door. He'd forgotten the day before too. His complacency became his enemy—and perhaps my best friend.

It was nighttime. Midnight. My head throbbed with a moderate headache. Brandon spooned me as we lay in bed, his arm over my waist. He made me feel safe, my lover who was tough, angry and used to terrify me.

Safe or not, the choice had been made and it was time to go—before I changed my mind. Entering the outside world filled me with trepidation, but fears of birthing a child in this basement were far greater.

So how would I squirm out of his arms without waking him?

He softly snored while I observed the gaping door.

His long fingers splayed over one of my breasts and juicy veins zig-zagged his forearm. I also had a clear view of the scythe tattoo. Brandon's large bicep obscured my insignificant arm and his muscular, tattooed arm appeared frightening in the dark. All he had to do was lift his bicep to my neck and he could break it with one swift lurch. I almost heard the crunching and snapping of my spine.

Would he
really
do something so horrible? Paralyzed, I couldn't move or free myself from his needy embrace.

Cautiously, quietly I wriggled. Brandon released me and flipped to his opposite side.

I had a clear shot to the doorway but waited until he resumed snoring.