Captive Beauty

“I don’t…” I start, my voice breaking. “I don’t sleep with anyone.” I hear how ridiculous that sounds.

His eyebrows shoot up but he doesn’t reply, instead, he pries my hand from the doorknob and we walk toward the double doors at the end of the hall. It’s like a movie. Like the corridor is growing longer, the doors larger, the ones to his room looming like a dark omen. He’s already fucked me. Why is this different?

Kill opens one of the two doors and hits a light switch. Two lamps on either side of the king size, four-poster bed come on and the room is bathed in golden light. The frame of the bed is steel, this room modern in comparison to the rest of the house. The carpet is lush and the tones are a deep, dark blue. The curtains are closed, as if someone already readied the room for sleep, and when I hear the door close behind me, I startle.

With a grunt, he points to the bed.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because there are ghosts, Cilla. Angry ones.”

I’m watching him, trying to make sense of what he just said, but he turns and walks into the bathroom, leaving clumps of mud dropping from his clothes. A moment later, I hear the shower go on. I stand there like an idiot. I should do something. Find a weapon or a key or—no that’s stupid. A weapon for what? To do what? A key to leave the house? When I go back on my word, he will hurt Jones. Period. One month. It’s what I agreed to. To be his captive for thirty days. And that means he owns me.

With heavy legs, I walk to the bed. The shower switches off and I quickly duck beneath the covers, turning my back to the bathroom, trying not to think of how the sheets smell like him. I listen to him moving around the room, and a moment later the bed shifts under his weight. An arm wraps around my middle and I gasp when he draws me to him, turns me onto my back.

He’s naked and although we’ve fucked, this is the first time I see his chest. Droplets of water cling to the muscles of his arms and shoulders, the hard ripples of his stomach. The tattoo on his chest, it’s the Joker. And he’s laughing and flipping someone off. Why do I get the feeling the joke’s on him?

When I look up at Kill’s face, I see that his eyes have cleared, the darkness softened a little, giving way to the specks of gold inside, vivid, intent on me, my face, on my eyes, my lips—skimming over my body. They lock on my panties. He pushes my sweater and tank top up a little, exposing my stomach. His fingers are feather light when he touches my belly button, trails a path to the waistband of my underwear. His eyes lock on my sex and I feel my body readying itself to betray me. Readying itself for him. Because I know what he wants. It’s in his too bright eyes. His thick, ready cock.

His fingers slide beneath and he glances at me momentarily before returning his gaze to my sex and drawing my panties down, down, over my hips and thighs, off my feet. He brings them to his nose, watching me as he does this, as he inhales deeply with a satisfied moan. I feel my face burn when he tosses them aside, a knowing look in his eyes. He slides his knees between my legs and spreads them, and I feel his cock on me, on my thigh, my stomach. It leaves pre-cum in the places it touches. He takes my wrists, stretches my arms out to either side of me, holds them there and locks his eyes on mine when he penetrates.

I swallow, my back arching. He slides in easily—I’m slick for him—and I like it. I like that he’s too big. That my body has to stretch to accommodate him. That it hurts to take him. I can give myself to this, right? For one month, I can let myself feel what this is. Whatever it is. This pain and the pleasure. If I choose it, doesn’t that give me the power?

“Mine,” he grunts, as if he’s heard my thoughts.

He’s moving slowly, taking his time, fucking me deep and with purpose, as if he’ll brand me as his with this fucking.

“I like feeling your cunt stretch to take me. I like how tight you are. How ready for me. Always.”

I bite my lip, he’s hit that spot, just the right spot. I close my eyes. I can just feel now. I can just let myself feel this. It would be easy to lose myself in the sensation. I only have to take care I don’t lose myself altogether.