by ML Guida
His breath was warm, caressing her face. She stared into his piercing brown eyes.
“I was drunk last night.” Her voice small, she whispered, “People say stupid things when they’re drunk.”
“You’re lying.”
She squirmed, but she couldn’t move a damn muscle. “Blade,” she clenched her teeth. “Get off me.” Sweat trickled down the sides of her face, and air slowly sucked out of her lungs.
He moved her hair out of her face, his fingers sending chills down her spine. “Tell me what I want to know and I will.”
“Nothing happened,” she said.
“Red, I could stay here all day.”
His tone couldn’t have been more chilling. He’d hold her prisoner until he got his answer.
Panic shot through her. She twisted and arched her back but couldn’t even move one inch off the bed. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Try me.”
She moistened her lips. “It was a long time ago. I just want to forget it.”
“I know you do,” he whispered. “But pretending like it didn’t happen won’t make it disappear. Tell me, Red.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“No!”
He sighed and lowered his forehead, his thick silky hair caressing her. “Because I care about you.” He kissed her cheek. “Please tell me.”
Abigail swallowed, not sure she wanted to tell him, but she didn’t want to stay here all day either. His soft touch and firm body set her blood on fire. She was afraid of what would happen or what wouldn’t happen. It had been so long, so very long since she had been with a man—trusted a man.
She tilted her chin. “If you get off me, I’ll tell you. Otherwise, I won’t.”
“Don’t even try and escape,” he warned, as he slid to the side. As his warm body left, cold rushed over her. She was surprised at a wave of disappointment rushing over her. What was it about this man?
She took a quivering breath and stared at the ceiling. He was right. If she tried to move, the panther would spring on her, and she’d be a trapped doe again. He ran his hand down the side of her arm, and she trembled. Ignoring the desire pumping through her veins, she stared at the ceiling, not able to look into his eyes. “It was stupid really. I went to a frat party in college.”
She closed her eyes. The memory of girls laughing, the live band blaring, and the crowded dance floor rushed over her. She had held a plastic cup of Everclear and grape Kool-aide. She had brought it to her lips, wrinkling her nose at the pungent and sweet alcohol concoction. Tangy grapes had trickled down her throat, masking the one hundred percent grain alcohol. She opened her eyes. “I was so stupid.”
Blade rested his head in his palm, his eyes watching her, and his fingers continuing to stroke her arm. Tingles rushed over her. She wanted to snuggle closer to him and block out the memory. But instead she clenched her fists and turned away again, staring at the ceiling.
“Relax, Red,” he whispered.
She inhaled and exhaled slowly. “The guys in the frat house were giving all the girls their Purple Potion—Everclear and grape Kool-aide. Like an idiot, I was on my second glass.” She glanced at him. “You saw what happens when I drink.”
He gave her a knowing smile and nodded. “Go on.”
“My friends wanted to go to another party, but I had a crush on a guy at the frat, Martin.”
“He was giving you the Purple Potion?”
“Yes, I was so stupid. God, I deserved what happened.”
He stopped rubbing her arm. He clasped her chin and turned her face to look at him. His somber eyes stirred buried feelings within her that she didn’t want to name. “No, it’s not your fault. It’s his fault.”
She sighed. It was easy for Blade to make excuses, but she went over the scenario twenty million times. Each time, she came to the same conclusion. It was her fault.
She should have known what Martin was doing. The stories of Sigma Chi’s parties were legendary of all night drinking fests, girls participating in wet T-shirt contests, showing off their tits, and people partying until dawn, but there had been rumors, dark rumors, secret rumors about Martin that she refused to believe. Martin Kinsey was beautiful, a Greek God with his flowing blond hair, wide shoulders, and a charismatic smile. He was captain of the football team, quarterback, every girl wanted him, and he wanted her.
“I should have known.”
“Should have known what?”
“The first Purple Potion went straight to my head. I was hanging all over him like a little fool. He had on this white muscle shirt and tight jeans. I couldn’t keep my hands off him.” Heat rushed to her cheeks. Why had she said this to Blade?
“And?”
“He gave me this sinister smile. I remember thinking it reminded me of the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland, but instead of teasing Alice, I thought he wanted to eat me.”
She stared out the window at Mount Royal. The wind blew the tops of pine and aspen trees. One pine tree struggled to survive on a rocky ledge just like she was trying to form the words to tell Blade about Martin, a story she wanted to forget, to bury, but she felt compelled like she had to tell him. She had never wanted to tell any other man. Why him? What was it about Blade?
“I was drinking my second one when Martin urged me to go upstairs with him. I had been hanging all over him all night, kissing him on the dance floor. All of a sudden he wanted to get upstairs. I was nervous but went with him. I didn’t know what the rush was. Dumb, dumb, dumb. I should have. I should have been wondering why my head was spinning so fast and why my legs weren’t cooperating.”
“Were you a virgin?”
“No, but I hadn’t had a lot of experience.” She didn’t want to tell him that her first time had been in the back of a pickup at her prom with a defensive end of the football team. Football players with their tight asses and muscular bodies always turned her into a pile of desire, but the defensive end hadn’t even taken his time with her, just did it quick so he could get into the dance with his friends. She came into the dance with her purple taffeta dress crumpled, stickiness between her thighs, blood dripping down her legs, and her hair escaping from the pins in her hair. She wanted to die.
The next time with him hadn’t been much better at the end of the year party, but this time, they had done it in his parents’ bed where she couldn’t relax. They broke up soon after, and Abigail hadn’t been with anyone since until that dreaded night.
The walk to Martin’s room had been a blur. People dancing and talking bumping into her, but all she recalled was Martin pushing his shoulder through the sea of people and leading her. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and sipping her drink. He led her into his room and quickly shut the door.
She wrinkled her nose at the smell of sweaty gym clothes and spilled beer. Martin loved the Chicago Bears and had a giant size stuffed grizzly bear with a Chicago Bears T-shirt on and a baseball cap on its head. One of the bear’s paws was over its head as if it was going to swipe her. Posters of bikini clad women hung on the walls. Jeans, T-shirts, and Playboy magazines were scattered on the floor. A made up queen size bed had a blue quilt and she thought it odd that the bed was so neat compared to the disheveled clothes, magazines, and books scattered onto the floor.
She had trouble keeping her eyes open and stumbled. He caught her, his arms wrapping around her waist. “Now, you’re mine,” he said.
Like an idiot, she thought he meant those words as an endearment. Eager to believe it. Wanting to believe it. Desperate to believe it. Pushing back the warning blaring in her head.
He had taken the drink out of her hand and maneuvered her to the bed. He released his arm, and she fell back on the bed, knocking the wind out of her. She had trouble gasping for air. “Martin, I can’t…I can’t breathe.”
He smiled again, and this time, chills ran down her spine. He was a spider looming over a helpless fly caught in its web. “Good, i
t’s taken affect.” He glanced at the plastic cup and laughed.
She bit her lips as the dreaded memory continued to grip her. She would have thought after all these years, the pain and humiliation would have lessened, but it never did.
“Red, are you all right?”
All right? She hadn’t been for a long time, not just because of Martin, her whole life, she had never been all right, but she had been a survivor. “Just give me a minute.”
Blade wrapped his arms around her. She snuggled against his chest, listening to his beating heart, a steady rhythm, relaxing her muscles. His scent of leather blocked out that night in Martin’s room of beer and sweat.
She began to tell her tale, her voice matching the beat of Blade’s slow heartbeat.
Martin had yanked off her boots, not bothering to remove her socks, and unbuttoned her jeans. Her panties had ripped in half. Cold air rushed over her trembling legs. Her plea stopped in her throat as if her muscles closed her voice, refusing to even allow the simple word no to escape. Her heavy arms lay at her side, and she couldn’t move. Not even a single finger would move. Her heart beat hard, and her lungs exhaled and inhaled. She was afraid if she didn’t concentrate on breathing, her lungs would collapse and she’d suffocate.
She had dreamed of being with Martin, fantasized about it, but not like this—being powerless and at his mercy. “He undressed me, nearly ripping off my clothes. I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t even scream. I wanted to, God, I wanted to so bad. But all I could do was breathe and look at Martin’s stupid stuffed life-size Grizzly bear.”
Martin loomed over her and kissed her, not like Blade’s that had been tender and possessive, his was a punishing kiss. He forced open her mouth. Her tongue lay motionless, but that didn’t seem to bother him, his erection pushed against her naked thigh. His hand pushed up her shirt and shoved her bra above her breasts, his fingers pulling and pinching her nipple.
“For the next hour, he did what he wanted. I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t fight—all I could do was breathe. In and out. Hoping he’d finish.”
Blade massaged her back. “I’m sorry, Red.”
She swallowed. Sorry never eased the pain, it was only a word. After Martin had finished, he had kissed the side of her cheek. “Thanks for a good time.” He glanced at his watch. “This should wear off in about an hour or two. I didn’t give you that much.”
Not able to look at Blade, she murmured, “He rolled off me finally, jerked on his jeans, and left.”
Blade stroked her hair and wrapped his arm tighter around her. “What happened after he left?”
“I lay there in his bed naked for an hour. I was so frightened another guy would come in and I’d be powerless to stop him.” She shuddered, remembering the terror gripping her when she heard male voices outside Martin’s door and footsteps moving along the hallway. Martin hadn’t even bothered to cover her with a blanket. Cold air brushed over her flushed skin. All she could do was cry silently, praying for the effects to end.
“It’s all right, Red. You’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you.”
She sniffed, refusing to shed one more tear over Martin. “I was lucky. No one came into the room. After an hour, I quickly got dressed and ran out of there.”
When she had opened Martin’s doors, a couple of guys were in the hallway talking. They gave her sheepish looks, and she avoided looking into their eyes. She didn’t know if they knew about the drug or, worse, even cared. She had raced past them, hoping not to run into Martin.
“What happened after you left the house?”
“Do you mean did I go to the police?”
“Did you?”
“No. It was a frat party, Blade. I was drinking Purple Potions and part of me wanted to sleep with Martin. Just, just not like that.”
“So, what the hell does that mean?”
She lifted her head and glared. “Meaning part of what happened was my fault. If I hadn’t been drinking so much and falling over him, none of this would have happened.”
Blade blinked. “You’re kidding, right? You actually think this was your fault?”
“I knew you wouldn’t understand.” She squirmed to get out from underneath his arms, but he pressed harder, pinning her to him. “Blade, let me go. Let me go this instant.”
“Abigail, stop.”
“Let me go. I want to go home.” Her voice choked. She tried to hit him with her fists, but she couldn’t move her arms.
He rolled on top of her, his weight flattening her to the bed.
“Blade, no. Don’t do this to me.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.” He put his elbows on either side of her face. “Red, look at me.”
She twisted her head back and forth. “No, get off me.”
“Red,” he lowered his voice. “Please, look at me.”
Tears threatened to betray her, and she cleared her voice. “Fine.” She glared up at him and her chest rose up and down.
His brown eyes held her gaze, and there was something about his eyes that mesmerized her, kept her captive. “What happened to you was not your fault.”
“Yes, it was. You weren’t there. I was acting like a fool over him.”
“Abigail, it wouldn’t have mattered how many drinks you drank or how you were acting toward him.”
“But—”
“There is no but. Martin is a predator, a sick one. I have seen his kind before and believe me, he’ll pay for what he’s done.”
She rolled her eyes. “No, he won’t. He’s a highly paid lawyer in Denver.”
“I didn’t say it would be here on Earth. But he will pay for what he’s done.” He pushed a lock of hair out of her face. “I’m sure you were not the first one he’s done this to you. Nor were you the last.”
He shifted his body, and she was able to move her arms, but instead of pushing him away, she gripped his shoulders, moving her hands over his back, feeling the slight movement of his muscles and feeling the strength. She stared at his mouth, hoping he spoke the truth, wanting to believe his words.
Chapter Nine
Abigail’s heart raced, and she couldn’t take her eyes off his pliable lips. Wanting to forget about Martin and that terrible night, she moistened her lips, edged her hands up his shoulders onto his neck, pulling him closer, and ran her fingers through his hair. She parted her lips, wanting to taste him.
He groaned. “Abigail, you’re killing me.” His lips captured hers, soft, gentle, but as she responded, becoming greedy for his masculine taste, his kiss deepened, turning possessive, dominant, alluring.
Martin’s ugly-face faded. Only Blade’s kiss mattered. She wanted more. She pulled up his shirt and slipped her hands underneath, feeling his smooth skin.
He shivered and pulled away from her. Hooded eyes stared down at her. “I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.” She boldly slid her fingers under his jeans, caressing his hard buttocks. He hissed and stiffened, but his cock hardened and pushed against her thigh. He panted. “You’re playing with fire. A girl could get burned.”
Although she trembled beneath him, not sure she could go through this, she tilted her chin. “Burn me.”
“Abigail.” He closed his eyes as she cupped and massaged his buttocks. “I don’t know if I can stop.”
“You mean if I said no, you would take me anyway?”
He opened his eyes and gritted his teeth. “No. Never. You say stop.” He sucked in his breath as she moved her hand lower, the tips of her fingers touching his balls. “Shit.” He threw his head back. “I’ll stop.”
She smiled and pulled her hands out of the back of his jeans. “I want control.”
Bewilderment filled his eyes. “You want what?”
“I want to…” She lowered her voice but met his questioning gaze. “I want to tie you up so I can control what does and doesn’t happen.”
“Jesus Christ,” he murmured. “You’re serious?”
“Yes, it’s not that I, uh, d
on’t trust you—”
He sighed. “But you don’t. Just admit it.”
“Blade.” She turned away. “Martin—”
“Don’t explain.” He slowly slid off her. “I accept, even if you bloody kill me.”
She blinked, amazed this biker-sized man agreed to her terms. Not waiting for him to change his mind, she scampered off the bed and stood.
Stretched out on the bed, Blade groaned, his cock straining against his jeans, and clutched the mattress. “You’re a sadist.”
She glanced down. Her shirt was bunched up over her loosened bra and her budded nipples peaked out. Wetness pooled between her thighs. She was giddy knowing she had power over this man.
“In the closet,” he directed. “I’ve got some belts.”
She opened the closet doors and found a black and a brown leather belt. Had he done this before? Two could play this game.
Slapping the belts in her palm, her legs shoulder length apart, she nodded. “Take your shirt off and lay on your back, hands stretched over your head.”
Her voice sounded more authoritative than she thought possible. He curled his lip but did as he was told. He slowly pulled the shirt over his head, revealing a sculpted abdomen and bold pecks. The strength emitting from him weakened her knees. He could overpower her any minute. In an act of defiance, he threw his shirt at her feet. She slapped the bed with a belt. He laid back on the bed, watching her, a panther waiting to attack a lion tamer.
He stretched out his arms to the side and stared at the ceiling. She took a hesitant step, waiting for him to seize her wrist and break his promise, but he laid still, only his chest rising and falling. As her hands shook, she looped the belt around his wrist twice and buckled it to the bed post. She hurried around the bed, not looking at him, knowing he could still grab her and be the master. As quickly as she could, she secured his wrist.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Don’t speak,” she ordered.
He shook his head but clamped his mouth shut.
She bit her lip, frozen in her spot, not sure what she should do. He was strapped to the bed, her prisoner. She wanted to run her hands over his stomach and up to his pecks, toying with his nipples, but heat burned her cheeks at the thought. Instead, she rushed over to the bottom of the bed and pulled off his socks. God, what was she doing? Stripping him naked? Then what would she do?