by Sweet, Izzy
To prove my point, I tip the glass a little. Just enough for some of the water to slosh out and splash against his keyboard. Then I make an exaggerated ‘oops’ face.
Simon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
Such self-control. I’d admire him if I didn’t hate his fucking guts.
“Just let me go, Simon. We both win if you do, and we both get what we want. This could all be over right now. Unlock the door and I’ll walk away,” I suggest reasonably.
“No,” Simon says firmly and his eyes flash open as he takes another step towards me.
What the fuck is wrong with him? I don’t understand this stubbornness. He’s a smart, albeit very fucking annoying, man. Surely he can see the futility in this little game we’re playing?
“Then I’m afraid you give me no choice…”
He pounces on me as I tip the glass over, upending the contents all over this desk.
“Fuck!” he roars out, slapping the glass out of my hand, but it’s too late.
Torn between me and the damage being done to his beloved computer system, he hesitates before shoving the chair I’m sitting in away.
The chair rolls towards the wall and I nearly tip over as he makes a mad scramble to unplug the device. Squatting down, he curses harshly as he fumbles around then yanks a cord out.
When he straightens, he jerks the keyboard away from the desk and holds it away from him.
I can’t help the giggles that bubble out of me as a stream of liquid leaks out from between the keys.
It’s petty, so petty, but still amusing.
“You,” Simon huffs as his attention returns to me. “Are going to fucking regret that.”
Yes, yes, I probably will, and now would probably be a good time to make my escape...
I jump up from the chair then spin it around until the back is facing him.
Simon tosses the keyboard to the side. It lands against the floor with a loud crack as he stalks towards me.
With a scream of anger and fear, I charge forward with the rolling chair, knocking it into him with every ounce of strength I have.
Simon stumbles backwards as I use the chair to shove him into the wall.
Once he crashes into the plaster with a thump, I let go of the chair and run for the door.
“Meredith!” I hear him roar behind me, then there’s a loud crash.
I manage to make it halfway through his bedroom and around his bed before I feel arms wrapping around my waist.
“No!” I flail. Kicking, punching, and screaming as he picks me off of my feet.
I know it’s futile, but I’m not going down without a fight, dammit.
He’s hauls me up with surprising strength and then slams me down on his bed.
“No!” I wail again once I connect with the mattress.
Clawing at the covers, I try to crawl away then his hands grab me by the hips.
I kick at him, nailing him in the chest, as he tries to drag me back down the bed.
“Goddammit,” he curses.
His hands release me and I manage to scramble away a few inches before he grabs and yanks viciously on my leg, taking my knees out from under me.
I collapse on my stomach.
Pushing up with my arms, I kick at him with my other leg. But he manages to grab it and trap it before my foot connects.
Gripping my ankles, he uses my own legs against me. With a hard yank, he forces me to flip on my back.
I blink up at the ceiling in surprise. Then I start to kick at him with everything I’ve got, hoping I somehow manage to nail him in the balls.
His grip on my ankles tightens, going from uncomfortable to crushing. I scream at the heavens and start to sit up as his knee hits the bed.
I can’t let him pin me, I can’t. I know a repeat of what happened last time will completely destroy me. And besides, I’m not even sure what he plans to do… He might just very well kill me.
His other knee hits the bed and our eyes meet. His face is flushed but set with determination. Behind his glasses, I can see something dark stirring.
My fingers curl with anticipation.
This is it. Either I prevail here or it’s all over…
Suddenly he drops my legs and lunges forward. I slap and punch at him. I get a few licks in on his cheeks. I even manage to knock his glasses off of his face.
“Enough!” he roars, shoving me down by pushing his hands into my chest.
“Fuck you!” I scream back as I continue to fight him. I claw at his arms, raking my nails down his flesh. My legs kick at his legs.
Not only do I want to escape, but I want to fucking hurt him.
“Just let me go, Simon!”
His hands move up, wrapping around my neck. Fingers flexing, they tighten and tighten until he’s squeezing the air out of me.
My head fills with pressure as my breath is suddenly cut off.
Seriously? What the fuck is up with men choking me? Am I like asking for it or something?
“No. I’m never fucking letting you go,” he declares as little dots start to flash in front of my eyes. “You’re mine.”
I try to shake my head, try to deny it. The lack of oxygen though is quickly taking its toll on me. My nose tingles and my eyes feel like they’re swelling.
My lungs burn.
Aching for breath, for life, with every second that passes.
I focus what strength I have left on trying to dislodge his hands. Tugging, yanking, and clawing at them.
Using his grip on my neck to pull my face up, Simon’s gaze bores into me.
“You’ve always been mine, Meredith.”
Staring into his eyes, I finally realize the true hopelessness of my situation.
He’s never going to let me go. Never. I can see it right there, the possession burning in the depths of his irises.
How the fuck did I miss that? Has it always been there, or is he just now finally admitting it?
I give one last weak kick at his leg. The edges of my vision blurs with a darkness that is slowly, but gradually, consuming me.
“And now you’re right where I want you. Right where you’ve always belonged…”
His hands finally relax just enough for me to gasp in some much needed air.
“Beneath me.”
Before I even have a chance to catch my breath, his lips push against my lips in a crushing kiss.
I struggle against him, still suffocating as his mouth blocks off my mouth.
I need air… I need air… my brain screams. I’m going to have to bite him, he’s giving me no choice.
As if he’s reading my mind, he pulls back just enough to give me a breath.
“I swear to God if you bite me, I’ll bite you back,” he murmurs against my lips.
He’s so close I have no choice but to breathe him in, to suck his scent deep into my body. To fucking inhale him.
He smells clean, cool, and crisp. But there’s also something about his smell, something my brain associates with danger and violence.
One hand slipping behind my head, he grabs my hair and holds me in place. His mouth pushes into mine again. So hard my neck arches back.
My senses reel. My mind feels like it’s spinning. And I don’t know if it’s from oxygen deprivation, or simply madness.
I can’t tell what’s up or down. What’s left from right. Do I hate this? Do I love this? Do I want to stop it?
His fingers tighten in my hair, tugging on my scalp. His lips crush into my lips so hard, my lips feel like they’re bruising against my teeth.
One moment he’s trying to kill me, the next he’s kissing me like he can’t get enough of me.
And it’s confusing as fuck. But not as confusing as my own emotions.
I want more. I do. So much so that I can feel my body flaring to life with heat. It’s almost like some switch has been flipped inside me.
All the anger, the frustration, and violence I want to do to him is morphing into something else.
; Something that feels dangerously close to passion.
I want to slap him. But I also want to shove my tongue down his throat and show him exactly how much I hate him.
How much I fucking despise him.
How much I fucking want him.
Unintentionally, I make a needy sound and he shifts above me. His tongue suddenly thrusts into my mouth, forcing its past my lips as more of his weight comes down.
His body presses into my body, sinking me into the mattress.
The taste of him… fuck… the taste of him… I can’t seem to get enough of it. His tongue lashes at my tongue and I rise to the challenge, lashing right back.
We seem to duel for what feels like an eternity. Lips, tongues, and teeth fighting for dominance. I can’t give up yet, I can’t. If we’re going to do this, somehow I need to come out on top.
I put everything I have into the kiss. My entire being, my entire world focusing on winning. If I can just use my body to disarm him like I did to all the other men that came before him, I know I won’t have to break. I won’t have to lose another piece of myself.
Just when I feel like I’m getting the upper hand, that I’m overtaking him, I feel his knee nudging my legs apart.
He settles himself between my thighs and my stroke falters. A little thrill of excitement courses up my spine and I forget how to breathe for a moment.
It’s all the opening he needs. His tongue thrusts aggressively into my mouth and his hips rock forward.
I’m lost, so lost, as his tongue overtakes my tongue and the hard bulge in his pants rubs against my clit.
Once again my body is betraying me. A biological weakness poisoning my will to fight back. It doesn’t seem to matter that my inner angry bitch balks at the idea of submitting to him. Knowing that he wants me, that he’s fucking hard for me, fills me with this urge to give in.
To give up.
It’s like there’s this little evil voice inside my head whispering that it would be so easy to just let go… For once in your life, Meredith, just let go and enjoy it.
But what will I lose if I do?
The possibilities are too damn terrifying. Never have I let a man rule me. Never have I let another man have this kind of power over me. Why start now?
As if he can sense my resistance returning, Simon’s free hand roams down, stroking down my side.
The stroke is almost tender… until he pulls his hips back and yanks my shirt up.
My first instinct is to slam my knees together, but he’s still between my thighs, keeping me spread open.
I begin to twist, fighting his grip on my hair, but it only causes his hold to tighten.
His hand slips between my thighs and my entire body jolts as his fingers touch my slick lips.
Just as suddenly as he touched me, his hand jerks back as if he’s surprised.
His mouth tears away from my mouth and he growls, “Where are your panties, Meredith?”
Heartbeat in my throat, I try to regain some of my composure by giving him a smart-assed answer. “I don’t know. They’re around here, somewhere, Simon…”
“Around here, somewhere?” he repeats, as if it doesn’t make sense to him.
His confusion though doesn’t stop him from shoving his hand between my thighs again. His fingers find my folds. Pushing through them, exploring them.
I have to bite my lip and press my ass into the bed to keep from crying out as they brush against my clit.
“Have you done something malicious with them, brat?” he asks.
When I don’t immediately answer him, he pulls on my hair.
“Of course not…” I gasp.
His fingers suddenly press down on my clit and I can’t stop the jerk of my hips. “I don’t believe you.”
“Fuck,” I groan as he begins to rub against my sensitive little bundle of nerves in tight little circles.
“Can’t... a girl… get sick of wearing… dirty underwear…” I pant out as I try to fight back the liquid heat that’s flooding my core.
“I suppose so…” he draws out as his fingers move faster. Pushing me closer and closer to the edge of losing complete control.
Sinking my teeth back into my lip, it takes every ounce of resistance I have left to keep from thrusting my hips up. To keep from chasing his fingers and the orgasm he’s offering me.
Rubbing and working my clit as if he knows just how I want it, just how I like it, he drives me higher and higher against my will.
And just when I’m there, reaching an orgasm I didn’t want but suddenly need, he pulls his fingers away.
Yanking his hand free of my hair, my head hits the bed as he reaches for my shirt. Before I can stop him, he’s grabbing it and splitting it open. The fabric spreads open so fast the buttons pop off like a chain reaction.
“Yet, you’re still wearing your bra…”
I stare up at him, trembling from the loss of my release, and the only thing I can think to say, the only word that comes to mind is, “So?”
Where is he going with this? Why the fuck does he even care?
“So?” he repeats and then his hands move to the little thin strip of material that holds the cups of my bra together.
“So?” he repeats more angrily as he grabs the connector and yanks his hands apart.
The material snaps and my breasts spill out.
“You keep trying to play me, Meredith, like I don’t know you. Like I haven’t been watching you.”
Simon stares down at my breasts with a dark gleam in his eyes, and for once in my life I feel utterly and completely vulnerable. Once again, I’m exposed and at his mercy. Yet somehow this is worse, so much worse, than when he had me draped over his lap with my ass in the air.
He looms above me. Confidant now that he has me right where he wants me. And I feel like prey pinned beneath a hungry predator.
I try to cover my breasts with my hands, shielding myself from him, but he just reaches down and pries them apart.
“Three months, Simon. You’ve only known me for three fucking months. Don’t even try to pretend you have me all figured out. You don’t know shit about me,” I snarl up at him as he slams my fists into the mattress.
I’m pissed because despite how much I try to fight him, how much I try to resist him, he keeps overpowering me. And, of course, because he got me all hot and bothered and didn’t finish the job.
My clit throbs, swollen and achy. Pulsing a heady need deep in my belly I can’t turn off.
“Oh, it’s been much longer than three months, Meredith,” he says, his head dipping down. His mouth dangerously close to the tip of my nipple.
“Fine,” I say softly, afraid to take a deep breath. Afraid of closing that last little distance between my breast and his lips. “You’ve been watching me for a little longer. So what? You still don’t know me. I swear, you don’t have a fucking clue.”
“Try years…” He draws out, his warm breath caressing my breast. My nipple instantly tingles and tightens into a hard little point.
This is fucking torture, and it’s obvious now that he’s just fucking toying with me. He has to be. There’s no way he’s been watching me for years. No way. I would have known…
“I don’t believe you,” I hiss and try to jerk my hands up.
The corners of his lips tip up in an arrogant smirk as he easily keeps my fists pinned to the bed. “Five years, Meredith. A little over five years to be exact.”
He gives my nipple one long stroke of his tongue then his head lifts, abandoning my breast.
He stares me down as my pulse starts to race. The implications of that confession fills me with cold panic. He could be lying, yes, but why the fuck would he lie about that? Why be so specific?
“Five years getting to know every little thing about you.”
I shake my head and again try desperately to jerk my hands free from his grip. If only I was bigger and stronger… If only I was a man, I’d kick his fucking ass.
He suddenly yanks my arm
s up, pinning both hands above my head. I arch my back and buck my hips, but his hips grind back into me, pushing me down. The pressure torturing my still throbbing sex.
“I know what breakfast you eat each morning after you’ve had a rough night…”
And… that would explain the breakfast he brought me this morning. Shit.
He looks over my head, his eyes searching for something.
“I know that when you sleep at night you always end up hugging a pillow tight to your chest.”
“Creepy fucker,” I mutter and his smirk sharpens. Of course he was watching me while I was sleeping.
His face lights up with pleasure and he reaches for something above me.
“I know of the game you’ve been playing, Meredith. I know that you’ve been preying on weak, foolish men…”
Shit. Shit. Shit. Does he know what I did to Ahmed? Was he somehow watching then too?
His fingers squeeze around my wrists and I glance up as he begins to wrap something soft around them. Dammit. Fucker found his tie.
“I am neither weak nor foolish,” he says as he wraps the silk around and around my hands, binding me.
“I know you never bed your prey. Which is a good thing, because then I’d have to kill them.”
The silk suddenly digs into my skin as he yanks hard on the tie to secure it in a knot.
He leans back, watching me as I attempt to wiggle and pull my hands free. I have to get out of here. He’s way fucking crazier than I ever thought…
He’s probably going to kill me after this and wear my skin or something.
“I know that you’re not due for your next period for fourteen more days. So it’s impossible to excuse your behavior as PMS.”
“Jesus Christ!” I exclaim and gape at him. He’s keeping track of my fucking menstrual cycle too? This is too fucking surreal to be real.
Satisfied that I can’t escape my binding, he sits back and begins to unbutton his shirt.
“Shall I go on?”
“Oh, please do… tell me everything about me,” I say sarcastically, but he must take it literally.
“I know your favorite color is black,” he says and his fingers move deftly down his buttons. Each one pushing through a hole as he states a fact he knows about me.