Entrapment (Morelli Family 7.5)

That sounds like fun. I nod my head to let him know I get the message, then settle into my character. This is why I wish he’d given me information prior to our appointment. It’s much more immersive if you work out the details of a particular fantasy beforehand, then you don’t have to pollute the atmosphere night-of by going over the dirty details.

Now I wait for a cue from him. He seems to understand; he raises my hands over my head and pins them there, skimming my side with the tips of his fingers.

Cranking up the emotion, I tell him, “You don’t have to do this, Mateo. Please. You’re better than this.”

As if my words anger him, in a sudden burst of emotion, he grabs me, lifting me just to toss me down further back on the bed. “Don’t tell me what I am. You don’t know me. You don’t know the things I’ve done.”

Fuck, that was a lane change.

I rush to assure him, “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. Nobody’s perfect. We all make mistakes. I do know you, and I know you’re better than this.” He hasn’t pinned me back down yet, so I bring a hand up to tenderly caress his face, my heart in my eyes. “Please don’t hurt me. Please.”

His eyes narrow, then he roughly grabs my wrist. I gasp and he turns me over on my stomach, twisting my wrists behind my back and holding them there. “Maybe I wouldn’t hurt you if you didn’t hurt me. Maybe if you weren’t such a faithless fucking whore I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

Oh shit, plot twist. Am I still doing the girlfriend experience on top of the rape fantasy?

I writhe, trying to get away from him while I search for my next words. “I… I—You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I hurt you. It’s all my fault. Please, can’t we just talk about it?”

His weight presses against my back as he leans in to ask roughly, “What is there to talk about? You’re getting exactly what you fucking deserve.”

I gasp as he yanks down my zipper and the back of my dress falls open. “Please, Mateo. Please, I’m so sorry. It’ll never happen again, I promise. I’m so sorry, but please don’t do this. You’re better than this. You care about me.”

“That’s right,” he agrees, too smoothly. Dangerously. “And if you fucking cared, you wouldn’t have let another man touch you.”

Even though I know logically that I, personally, have not done this, dread moves down my spine for whomever did. I hate the fucked up situations like these where it’s too specific and you know it has to be real.

I try to get my character to fight some more. This is supposed to be a rape fantasy, after all. I’m supposed to struggle. But she’s feeling saintly, because when I open my mouth, what spills out is a broken, “Fine. You’re wrong about that—it was a mistake, a mistake I’ll always regret, but if this is what you feel you have to do… Do whatever you have to do to me. Punish me if you need to. I’ll never stop trying to convince you how sorry I am. I’ll never stop loving you.”

There’s a pause and my heart skips. Maybe that was bad. Maybe I should’ve kept to the script—it’s just hard to follow, the damn script keeps changing!

Suddenly his weight is gone and cool air hits my bare back. He’s not holding me down anymore. He’s not on top of me. I wait, breathing heavily, figuring maybe he’s undressing. He snatches his jacket off the bed and I frown. Finally, I lift up and turn over so I can look back at him.

He’s pulling his jacket back on. The bursts of anger from our game are gone and he’s calm again, watching me, but clearly not addressing me. “Cancel the fourth girl.”

I glance over at the man by the door. He nods his head and pulls out his cell phone.

I look back at Mateo, curling my legs up behind me. I’m completely confused. He’s acting like he just finished and he’s done here, but he’s hardly touched me.

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask, tentatively. “I was just inspired there; I can go back to…”

He shakes his head. “No, you were perfect.”

“Okay.” I hesitate. “Um, but you didn’t fuck me.”

“I’m not going to fuck you.” He straightens the sleeve of his jacket, more interested in that than the semi-undressed escort on his bed.

I frown. “You’re not?”

“No.” For such a short word, he sure fills it up with disbelief and disdain. “Trust me; I can have better sex at home than I could with you.”

My jaw drops a few inches at the casual insult, but he continues on.

“You can zip your dress back up. The physical part of this interview is over, now I want to ask you some questions.”