Seithe (8 page)

"Would you like to rape me while you're at it?"

Guilty eyes snap up to stare into his. "Sorry, just appreciating the view."

He has a dimple in the corner of his mouth twitching. What's the male equivalent of a cocktease?

Pausing, I halt with him. Following his lead. He moves the curtain of black hair veiling me, draping it behind my shoulder, and stares pointedly at the pink nipple protruding toward him. An uncomfortable prickle makes my cheeks itch with heat.

"Nice view from here."

For some reason my pulse is jumping in my throat. I think my heartbeat just quadrupled. I distract myself by staring at his hands, hiding lusty eyes from Mr Perceptive. Except this just makes it harder for me to think straight. His hands are fabulous. He could model them, they're so perfectly shaped. Smooth, with the muscle next to the thumb protruding, hinting at latent strength. Perfectly trimmed flat nails gracing slender, mildly tanned fingers. They've touched me, and they felt so good. He didn't feel like he had calluses. I wonder what he does for a living? I want to suck one right now. How can fingers be so full of exquisite temptation? I swear God had him first in line for perfection personified.

Hesitantly, I look back into his amused eyes.

"You are beautiful."

He grins, "Ditto darling."

He *changes the subject* by forcing us into movement again.

I walk with him into a state of the art, unbelievably modern, kitchen. Oil lamps burn on each reflective counter. He pulls out a kitchen stool for me to sit at. I oblige, and watch him casually sauntering around the room.

"Before I feed you, I'd like us to experiment further with your senses."

"You just can't resist can you? You want them to spontaneously short circuit so you can take the credit for my sensory overload."

An indulgent laugh reverberates.

I have to ask. "Surely you don't do your own cleaning?"

"No. I have people that come in to do it, and a housekeeper."

Now I feel doubly intimidated.

"Close your eyes."

I sigh with feigned resistance. I just knew he was going to say that. I close them and wait.

He's not taking any chances and I feel the stretchy blindfold cover my eyes again. I use the opportunity to have a little dig.

"I suppose I should be grateful you didn't blind me again."

"Put your hands on the counter."

Okay. That sounded serious. Gulp. Nervously I place them on the cold surface.

He picks up my right wrist and pushes my hand into something.

"Touch is the first sense to dull. Tell me what your hand is in."

It's grainy. I rub it between my fingers and a strong familiar aroma invades my nose. Grinning, a tad smugly, I announce, "Coffee."

He picks up my left hand and pushes it into something else. Definitely, without a doubt in my mind, this is jelly. Thank heavens for a decent childhood education.

"Jelly."

"You're getting good at this. Let's try one a little less obvious."

He pulls my hands out of their locations and wipes them down. Cool, moist, cloth of some kind. This is becoming a habit. I'm describing things to myself now and feel like a dunce.

"What are you smiling about?"

"Nothing." That just broadens my smile.

He wipes something over my hand.

"Tell me what that is."

I rub my fingers together. It's slimy! An involuntary shudder ripples through me. What's slimy? I can't think of anything other than slug.

"What is it?" I demand with a fair amount of rising apprehension.

"Taste it."

"No!"

"Come on. Trust me, Phoebe."

Bugger!

With huge dread I put the tip of my tongue onto my pointer finger. UGH. NO. It's
horrid
. Bitter bitter bitter. Bleaugh. My skin crawls and covers with bumps.

"It's repulsive! What is it?"

"Placenta."

Scrambling, I fall backward in frantic motion. I have to wash my mouth and hand,
now
.

"You total bastard!"

I fall, banging my head. I have to get this stuff off. NOW! Shit that hurt.

"Stop panicking. Let me help you."

With my unslimed hand I tear at the blindfold, scratching my face in the process. A firm grip lifts me off the floor. My eyes focus on him, and he's bloody smiling isn't he! Then they observe the piece of cactus in his hand.

"You are mean and a total wanker."

"I'd have to be, to be around you and not get it on."

Bastard. I feel myself smiling back.

"What is that?"

"Aloe."

"You couldn't resist messing with my mind, could you?" Accusation.

"Suggestion is that powerful. It's a lesson you needed to learn. Stop trusting words and start trusting instinct."

I feel weak after that. I wipe my hand off on his bare chest. "You're going to have to pay the toll fee for that stunt."

An arched eyebrow aims at me.

"A hug, you stupid man. I need one,
now
. I feel all shaky."

Laughter tumbles around me again as he pulls me in for a squeeze.

"Phoebe, start trusting me. Put faith in that."

"Arse."

I look up and feel breath stolen again when unexpected lips close on mine, hovering, just waiting for the opening.

*

After eating, he leads me into a rather lavish bathroom. My pulse picks up with anticipation. Über romantic pad with all these candles flickering seductively.

"So where's the Tchaikovsky, or Barry White?"

He flips the taps on to fill the tub.

"I don't play by rules."

"No kidding."

The water pressure in here must be phenomenal. He's already switching them off.

"Come here."

Willingly I walk into his arms across cold white marble tiles. The candlelight is reflecting off the huge wall to wall mirrors. I love seeing us together. Finally!
Hmmm
, perfect couple if you ask my opinion. Not that anyone will.

What are you
doing
?
Gasp!

He just picks me up and plunges me into the tub. His hand firmly holding my waistband. Make me look like a toy.
Wait!

I grip his arm, opening my mouth to speak when he fully submerses me and I swallow a mouthful of water.
Choke!
Fighting for breath. Let me up!
Seithe!
Lashing frantically I struggle with his strength. No grip! Panic overrides everything else. Thrashing desperately.
Air! Air! I need to breathe! No!

Betrayal, hurt, fear, burning pain in chest.
Save yourself! No! Please no!
Nooooo!
I don't want to die! Water, breathing in. Please! Sobbing
. Can't
breathe
!
Eyes burning. Chest closing.
Wild thrash!
Scratching at the arm holding me under.
Clawing desperately!

PLEASE!

I fucking trusted you! My instinct is to draw air. I can't prevent it no matter how hard I try to fight it. HELP! My mouth opens and I breathe in.
Frantic lashing, struggling, twisting. Fight! Water!

LURCH.

Inhale. Huuuuuuuuh. HAAAAAAAAAH.
Cough
. Water spills out of my mouth. He lifts me out of the bath. Frantic, I slide, crawling desperately to get away from the FUCKING MADMAN! Wracking
c
ough
. I still can't breathe.
Thump
. More water comes spewing out of me. I'm alive. Barely.

Get away. NOW! Burning lungs. Tears blurring vision. Chest severely aching. Head throbbing.

GET AWAY!

Trying to stand, slipping on the cold floor. Fall. Ouch.
Bump
. Eyes burning. Everything feels heavy. Urgency clutches me.

Somehow, from where I don't know, my voice
screams
out of me when he clamps a hand on my ankle. "DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!"

Hack. Cough. Fighting for breath.

Phoebe
run
.

"Wait!"

"
Fuck off!
"

Claw, crawl, get away! Kick at hand. On knees, almost on feet.
Run
!

He's got me. OH GOD, NO!

"
Stop panicking.
"

"YOU JUST TRIED TO DROWN ME YOU INSANE LUNATIC!"

Hand firmly on my shoulder, thumb in the hollow above my collar bone. Pressing down painfully.

His voice commands sternly, "Calm down."

Black. The sloshing bath ... his voice ... fades. Slump.

*

My eyes open and I become aware that I'm lying on something very cold and hard. Recollection comes flooding back, and I sit up rapidly, ready to bolt. His hands push me back down and he holds me so tightly that I know this is it. Now I'm dead for sure.

"Do not speak. Try to remain calm."

I stare up at him. Wounded.

How could you do this to me?

I'm fighting tears of betrayal and hurt.

I was smitten, and you just wanted me here to destroy. I don't want to di
e.

This realisation makes me start sobbing with anticipation. Held down against my will by my beautiful insane man. I'm not ready. Sob.
Wail
.

"Phoebe, please. I need you to understand why I did that."

"
Why? You're fucked up, that's why!
"

WAIL!

"I need you to remember how you're feeling. Why did you fight me so hard? What for?"

"Because I'm not ready to die!"

Sniff!

"What were you fighting for?"

"
Life! My life!
"

"Specifically, what were you fighting for?"

I try to sit up, but he holds me down.

"Air!"

"Why do you need it?"

"To breathe."

"Remember this.
I need you to remember this
."

"
I'll never bloody forget it!
"

"Phoebe, you are going to be given a choice soon. When you get that choice, I want you to remember this panic. Why you fought me. I need you to remember how much you valued life and breath. Your heartbeat."

I'm broken. I'm just broken. I turn my head away, sobbing hysterically.

He lifts me off the floor, cradling me across his legs in his arms. Covering me with kisses. He's so warm.

"It was the only way. I'm sorry I had to do that to you."

I lay unwilling to engage him any longer. I stare with silently accusing eyes into his face. He's mad. He's totally loony. And for fuck's sake I think I'm in love with him. And he'll probably kill me sooner or later. How often has he done something insane to me? Too often since we've met. Tears stream silently out of my midnight blue eyes. I don't think we can ever go back. I'm a victim. I know I am. I can't escape. Despite my conflict, I soak in the comfort. Crying, terrified, I am appalled to find myself clinging back while I sob in mental despair against his chest.

Chapter 12: Alive

I don't resist at all when he picks me up and carries me back to his candlelit lair. I'm exhausted and on the edge mentally. I'm holding on with my last fingernail. Fraught, I watch flame induced shadows on the far wall. It smells mildly of cloves in here.

Vaguely claustrophobic I'm struggling with the panic that induces hyperventilation. I have to stay conscious. I wish my hair wasn't so cold and wet. I'm not sure if the shivering is from the fear quivering my stomach, or from the cold attacking my skin from being so damp.

I force myself to breathe when he starts peeling my wet jeans off after depositing me onto his bed. Staring at the ceiling sheathed in shadows; I'm still queasy from swallowing so much water. I am so far beyond terrified that I'm not sure I'm feeling any longer. Becoming engulfed in a disturbing numb resignation.

I'm experiencing mild relief that he doesn't seem intent on removing my black satin g-string. I'm trying to focus on something static. Something to help return calm. Anything to avoid looking into his eyes. I know he'll see how severely he's shattered my confidence if he looks into my eyes. I don't want him to know how petrified I am right now. Stupid girls end up with crazy men, alone in their dungeons. Did I learn nothing from Silence of the Lambs?