Twist Me (6 page)

I don’t know what to say to him, so I blurt out the first thing that pops into my head. “How long are you going to keep me here?”

He cocks his head slightly to the side. “Here in the room? Or on the island?”

“Both.”

“Beth will show you around tomorrow, take you swimming if you’d like,” he says, approaching me. “You won’t be locked in, unless you do something foolish.”

“Such as?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest as he stops next to me and lifts his hand to stroke my hair.

“Trying to harm Beth or yourself.” His voice is soft, his gaze hypnotic as he looks down at me. The way he’s touching my hair is oddly relaxing.

I blink, trying to break his spell. “And what about on the island? How long will you keep me here?”

His hand caresses my face, curves around my cheek. I catch myself leaning into his touch, like a cat getting petted, and I immediately stiffen.

His lips curl into a knowing smile. The bastard knows the effect he has on me. “A long time, I hope,” he says.

For some reason, I’m not surprised. He wouldn’t have bothered bringing me all the way here if he just wanted to fuck me a few times. I’m terrified, but I’m not surprised.

I gather my courage and ask the next logical question. “Why did you kidnap me?”

The smile leaves his face. He doesn’t answer, just looks at me with an inscrutable blue gaze.

I begin to shake. “Are you going to kill me?”

“No, Nora, I won’t kill you.”

His denial reassures me, although he could obviously be lying.

“Are you going to sell me?” I can barely get the words out. “Like to be a prostitute or something?”

“No,” he says softly. “Never. You’re mine and mine alone.”

I feel a tiny bit calmer, but there is one more thing I have to know. “Are you going to hurt me?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer again. Something dark briefly flashes in his eyes. “Probably,” he says quietly.

And then he leans down and kisses me, his warm lips soft and gentle on mine.

For a second, I stand there frozen, unresponsive. I believe him. I know he’s telling the truth when he says he’ll hurt me. There’s something in him that scares me—that has scared me from the very beginning.

He’s nothing like the boys I’ve gone on dates with. He’s capable of anything.

And I’m completely at his mercy.

I think about trying to fight him again. That would be the normal thing to do in my situation. The brave thing to do.

And yet I don’t do it.

I can feel the darkness inside him. There’s something wrong with him. His outer beauty hides something monstrous underneath.

I don’t want to unleash that darkness. I don’t know what will happen if I do.

So I stand still in his embrace and let him kiss me. And when he picks me up again and takes me to bed, I don’t try to resist in any way.

Instead, I close my eyes and give in to the sensations.

* * *

He’s again gentle with me. I should be terrified of him—and I am—but my body seems to enjoy the dual sensation of fear and arousal. I don’t know what that says about me.

I lie there with my eyes closed as he takes off my clothes, layer by layer. First he unbuttons the front of the dress, like he’s unwrapping a present. His hands are strong and sure; there’s no hint of awkwardness or hesitation in his movements. He’s clearly had a lot of practice with women’s clothing.

After the dress is unbuttoned, he pauses for a second. I sense his gaze on me, and I wonder what he’s seeing. I know I have a good body; it’s slim and toned, even though it’s not as curvy as I would like.

He trails his fingers down my stomach, making me tremble. “So pretty,” he says softly. “Such lovely skin. You should always wear white. It suits you.”

I don’t respond, just squeeze my eyes tighter. I don’t want him looking at me, don’t want him enjoying the sight of my body in the undergarments he picked out for me. I wish he would just fuck me and get it over with, instead of engaging in this twisted parody of lovemaking.

But he has no intention of making it easy for me.

His mouth follows the same path as his fingers. It feels hot and moist on my belly, and then he moves lower, to where my legs are instinctively squeezed tightly together. He doesn’t seem to like that, and his hands are rough as they pull my thighs apart, his fingers digging into my tender flesh.

I whimper at the hint of violence, and try to relax my legs to avoid angering him further.

His grip eases, his hands becoming gentler. “My sweet, beautiful girl,” he whispers, and I can feel his hot breath on my sensitive folds. “You know I’ll make it good for you.”

And then his lips are on me, and his tongue is swirling around my clit, his mouth sucking and nibbling. His hair brushes against my inner thighs, tickling me, and his hands hold my legs spread wide open. I twist and cry out, the pleasure so intense that I forget everything but the incredible heat and tension inside me.

He brings me close to the edge, but doesn’t let me go over. Every time I feel my orgasm approaching, he stops or changes the rhythm, driving me crazy with frustration. I find myself pleading, begging, my body arching mindlessly toward him. When he finally lets me reach the peak, it’s such a relief that my entire body spasms, shuddering and twisting from the intensity of the release.

For some reason, I start crying when it’s over. Tears leak from the outer corners of my eyes and run down my temples, soaking into my hair and then the pillow. He appears to like it because he crawls up my body and kisses the wet trails on my face, then licks them.

His large hands stroke my body, rubbing my skin, caressing me all over. It would be soothing if it weren’t for the hardness of his cock prodding at my entrance.

I’m not fully healed inside, so it hurts again when he starts to push in. Even though I’m wet from the orgasm, he can’t slip into me easily, not without tearing me open. Instead, he has to go slowly, working himself in gradually until I have a chance to adjust to the intrusion.

I bite my lower lip, trying to cope with the burning, too-f feeling. Would I ever be able to accept him easily? Would I ever experience pleasure without pain in his arms?

“Open your eyes,” he orders in a harsh whisper.

I obey him, even though I can barely see through the veil of tears.

He’s staring at me as he slowly begins to move inside me, and there’s something triumphant in his gaze. The heat of his body surrounds me, his weight presses me down on the bed. He’s inside me, on top of me, all around me. I can’t even escape into the privacy of my mind.

And in that moment, I feel possessed by him, like he’s taking more than just my body. Like he’s laying claim to something deep within me, bringing out a side of me that I never knew existed.

Because in his arms, I experience something I have never felt before.

A primitive and completely irrational sense of belonging.

* * *

He takes me twice more during the night. By morning I’m so sore I feel raw inside—and yet I’ve had so many orgasms I lost count.

He leaves me at some point in the morning. I’m so exhausted I’m not even aware of his departure. I sleep deeply and dreamlessly, and when I wake up, it’s already past noon.

I get up, brush my teeth, and take a shower. On my thighs, I can see dried bits of semen. He didn’t use a condom this night either.

I wonder again about STDs. Does Julian care about this at all? He probably isn’t worried about catching anything from me, given my lack of experience, but I’m certainly worried about getting it from him. Lifting my left arm, I peer at the tiny mark where my birth control implant was inserted. Thank God for my mom’s pregnancy paranoia. If I didn’t have it . . . I shudder at the thought.

Right after I exit the bathroom, Beth comes into my room carrying another food tray and more clothes. This time, it’s more traditional breakfast food: an omelet with vegetables and cheese, a piece of toast, and fresh tropical fruit.

She’s again smiling at me, apparently determined to ignore the fork incident. “Good morning,” she says cheerfully.

My eyebrows rise. “And good morning to you too,” I say, my voice thick with sarcasm.

At my obvious attempt to needle her, Beth’s smile widens further. “Oh, don’t be such a grump. Julian said you get to leave the room today. Isn’t that nice?”

It actually
is
nice. It would give me a chance to explore my prison a bit, to see if this place is really an island. Maybe there are other people here besides Beth—people who would be more sympathetic to my plight.

Alternatively, maybe I’ll find a phone or a computer. If I could just send a text or an email to my parents, they could pass it along to the police and then I might be rescued.

At the thought of my family, my chest feels tight and my eyes burn. They must be so worried about me, wondering what happened, whether I am still alive. I’m an only child, and my mom always said she’d die if anything happened to me. I hope she didn’t mean it.

I hate him.

And I hate this woman, who’s smiling at me right now.

“Sure, Beth,” I say, wanting to claw at her face until that smile turns into a grimace. “It’s always nice to leave a small cage for a bigger one.”

She rolls her eyes and sits down on a chair. “So dramatic. Just eat your food and then I’ll show you around.”

I think about not eating just to spite her, but I am hungry. So I eat, polishing off all the food on the tray.

“Where is Julian?” I ask between bites. I’m curious how he spends his days. So far, I’ve only seen him in the evenings.

“He’s working,” Beth explains. “He has a lot of business interests that require his attention.”

“What kind of business interests?”

She shrugs. “All kinds.”

“Is he a criminal?” I ask bluntly.

She laughs. “Why would you assume that?”

“Um, maybe because he kidnapped me?”

She laughs again, shaking her head as though I said something funny.

I want to hit her, but I restrain myself. I need to learn more about my surroundings before I try anything like that. I don’t want to end up locked up in the room if I can avoid it. My chances of escape are much better if I have more freedom.

So I just get up and give her a cold look. “I’m ready to go.”

“Then put on a swimming suit,” she says, gesturing toward the clothes she had brought, “and we can go.”

* * *

Before we walk out, Beth shows me the rest of the house. It’s spacious and tastefully furnished. The decor is modern, with just a hint of tropical influence and subtle Asian motifs. Light hues predominate, although here and there, I see an unexpected pop of color in the form of a red vase or a bright blue dragon sculpture. There are four bedrooms—three upstairs and one downstairs. The kitchen on the first floor is particularly striking, with top-of-the-line appliances and gleaming granite countertops.

There is also one room that Beth says is Julian’s office. It’s on the first floor, and it’s apparently off-limits to anyone but him. That’s where he supposedly takes care of his business affairs. The door is closed when we walk past it.

After we’re done with the house tour, Beth spends the next two hours showing me the island. And it’s definitely an island—she didn’t lie to me about that.

It’s only about two miles across and a mile wide. According to Beth, we’re somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, with the nearest populated piece of land over five hundred miles away. She emphasizes that fact a couple of times, as though she’s afraid I might take it into my head to try to swim away.

I wouldn’t do that. I’m not a strong enough swimmer, nor am I suicidal.

I would try to steal a boat instead.

We go up to the highest point of the island. It’s a small mountain—or a large hill, depending on one’s definition of these things. The view from there is amazing—all bright blue water wherever the eye can see. On one side of the island, the water is a different shade of blue, more turquoise, and Beth tells me it’s a shallow cove that’s great for snorkeling.

Julian’s house is the only one on the island. It’s sitting on one side of the mountain, a little ways back from the beach and somewhat elevated. That’s the most sheltered location, Beth explains; the house is protected from both strong winds and the ocean there. It has apparently survived a number of typhoons with minimal damage.

I nod, as though I care. I have no intention of being here for the next typhoon. The desire to escape burns brightly within me. I didn’t see any phones or computers when Beth was showing me the house, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there. If Julian is able to work from the island, then there’s definitely internet connectivity. And if they’re foolish enough to let me roam this island freely, I will find a way to reach the outside world.

We end the tour at the beach near the house.