When the Dark Wins
He wasn't sure he'd ever felt fear. There had been plenty of times when he was aware of danger, more than once that he'd felt physical pain and known more was coming. But there was no surging heartbeat beyond the requirements of his body, no flash of something more in the vacuum inside him.
But she was feeling it, real fear, and he wanted to know what it felt like.
Moving his hand to her stomach he spread out his fingers, almost covering her taut abdomen as her muscles spasmed. “I'm waiting.”
“It feels like fear, what the FUCK do you want from me?” she shouted the question, the vibrations of her voice coming up through his fingertips just before he dug them into her skin. A whine of pain, her face contorting with it, but this was just the beginning.
She would learn new levels of pain and realize that the way he pressed his nails into her skin was gentle. An introduction, a graceful easing in.
“Let me help. Is your heart racing?” As he asked he relaxed his hand and moved it upward, between her breasts to graze her throat. The rapid pounding of her blood just under her skin was answer enough, but he wanted her to voice it. “Speak.”
“Yes.” Another weak voiced concession from her soft lips.
He tightened his grip on her throat ever so slightly, just enough to threaten the airway. “And are you breathing faster?” he prompted.
The girl swallowed, the swell of it pressing against his palm. “I don't want to die,” she whispered, tears brimming at the edges of her eyes, and he smiled.
It was his smile that pushed her into the first sob. Marcus had always told him there was something wrong with his smile — he could never do it right.
But it had barely been ten minutes and they had already had so many firsts. A scream, a touch, ha
lf-moon marks embedded in her stomach, and then a sob. She was rushing things, making it difficult to savor each of them separately.
And now, the first tears.
He ran his thumb up her cheek, catching one before he lifted his hand from her skin. Wide eyes watched him, pupils dilating as her autonomic nervous system kicked her into fight or flight. The slick moisture made his fingers rub together smoothly, and for a flash he wondered if her cunt were just as slick.
Could she be as excited by their interaction as he was?
It was unlikely, but Marcus usually chose well. The pain would summon a reaction from her and he couldn't wait to find out what it was.
“It's good that you don't want to die. A strong survival instinct will help you to make smart choices.” Anthony wiped his hand on his pants, clearing her tears away. “And killing you would be such a waste.”
“You won't kill me?”
He couldn't help but smile again. “What fun would that be?”
“Oh God!” Another scream, and the tears were back as she pulled at the rope, ripping at her skin in her panic. Anthony watched her for a moment, imagining what that fear must feel like. Taste like.
Was it coppery like blood? Bitter like a lemon?
Or was it as sweet for her as it was for him? Lush and rich like a sinful dessert.
The girl had done such a poor job of describing it, and if it would work he would cut her open just to see the fear, to feel it like she did, if just for a moment. But… that wasn’t possible. There was no way to experience what she felt, he could only see his side of the equation, and at least he could enjoy this.
“Oh my God, this can’t be happening,” she whined.
“Do you think your God is listening?” Anthony tilted an ear towards the ceiling as if he were waiting to hear an answer from the heavens. “Do you think he will save you?”
Her body shook, she was biting back the sobs that made her ribs quake. From somewhere inside her she summoned the strength to meet his eyes, and he respected the effort it took. “What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice cracking again.
“Everything.” Reaching out he stroked her cheek, and then caught her chin when she tried to turn away, fingers digging into the bone as he made her face him. “And I will have it.”
3
This had to be a nightmare.
Things like this didn’t happen in real life.