by Bella Jewel
I throw my legs over the side of the bed and tiptoe to the doors. They’re not locked now, but it doesn’t matter—we still couldn’t escape. The entire property is secured. I step out and into the hall, and I make my way down to the library. Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I come down here and I read. It soothes me. It helps me to sleep. When I reach it, I wrap my fingers around the handle and slowly push it open.
The minute I step in, I realize I’m not alone.
At the window, wearing nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms, is William. He’s staring out, silently. His hands are by his side, and his back is illuminated in the moonlight shining through the glass. I open my mouth and take a ragged, deep breath. He looks...breathtaking. I can see every muscle in his back. I can see the way they run off his broad shoulders and narrow down to his hips. His skin is flawless, and lightly bronzed. I take a step closer, and the floor squeaks.
William turns slowly, and I see he’s not wearing his patch. Seeing his face again, seeing the damage there, has my heart aching once more. I’ve already figured someone hurt him; it explains why he needs this kind of control, and it also explains his need to help other broken people. He was helpless to help himself, but it hasn’t stopped him from being able to heal others.
My heart softens just a touch more towards him.
I let my gaze travel over him, staring at his face. His long, dark hair is falling loosely around his shoulders, and he’s got a hard expression on his face. His jaw is tight and his body is rigid. I let my eyes move lower, staring at his beautifully defined chest. Cords of muscle form some of the most defined abs I’ve ever seen. His pants sit low on his hips, allowing me to see how his abdomen trails down, making a V shape.
“Why are you here?” he gruffly asks.
I lift my eyes, meeting his again. I shake my head, unsure why he would ever think he’s not perfect. The small part of his face that’s badly damaged is not enough to take away from the rest of him. He’s breathtaking. Only a shallow person would allow something like that to cloud their judgment. My body is urging me to move closer to him, like it’s desperate to know him, to feel him.
Something is changing inside me.
If I’m honest with myself, a good part of me is craving his touch.
Craving him.
“I wanted to read. I couldn’t sleep,” I whisper in a small voice.
He narrows his eyes, but nods and turns, walking over to the couch and sitting down, lifting a book. He’s not kicking me out. He’s letting me stay. Feeling my heart pound, I walk towards the shelves and take an old romance off the shelves. I’m about to go and sit on another chair, when I catch William watching me, and I find myself moving towards him.
Since I’ve been here, he’s sat us on his lap, craving our trust.
I’m about to give it to him.
I stop when I reach him, and he stares up at me, his expression slightly confused. I reach down, and I take the book from his lap, and then I climb on. He stiffens for a moment, and I wonder if he’ll throw me off.
He doesn’t.
And when I hear him take a sharp breath, I know he’s realizing what I’m doing. I’m giving him the part of myself he’s been seeking. I’m opening up. I’m allowing him to show me what it is he really wants to do here.
He doesn’t touch me for the longest moment, but after a few seconds, he lifts his arms, and places them around me.
Warmth floods me.
“I trust you, William,” I murmur, and then I open my book and I rest my cheek against his bare chest and start reading.
He doesn’t move.
He just holds me.
Eventually he starts stroking his hand over my hair, occasionally bringing it down over my back. My heart begins to pound, and I find myself turning into him, inhaling him, relishing in the warmth of his skin. He’s becoming familiar to me, like a comfort that I need to survive. I know a big part of me wants him. I want him to give me something...a piece of himself. I think about his lips on mine, and I tilt my head up to stare at him.
“William?” I whisper.
He looks down at me. His jaw is tense, and his breathing is labored.
“Yes?”
“If I asked you to kiss me again, would you?”
He sucks in a breath, and for a moment he looks confused. He quickly covers it and murmurs, “Do you want me to kiss you again, Number Thirteen?”
“Yes.”
There is a moment where I think he will push me off his lap and tell me to leave. He just sits there, looking down at me, his gaze intense. Then, before I can think anymore about it, he’s moving his lips towards mine. The minute they connect, I let off a little whimper. I drop my book, and lift my hands up to curl around his biceps as I deepen the kiss. A rumble shakes his chest as he tangles his fingers into my hair, tilting my head back and kissing me with a deep, greedy want.
He shifts our bodies, and I find myself pressed against the couch with his large frame over mine. I shift my leg, bringing it up and around his hip. I can feel his erection pressing into my stomach, and just the idea that he’s aroused by me has everything tingling. I run my fingertips down his smooth back as he moves over me, kissing me with that breathtaking ferocity.
His fingers travel down my sides, grazing over my breasts. The feeling is quite daunting for me. I don’t ever recall someone touching me like this. I part my lips with a moan, and he takes the chance to slide his tongue into my mouth. Oh my. The kiss deepens as his fingers play down my sides until he reaches my panties. An electric bolt runs through my body, and I find myself arching up to him.
Then his hands are slipping beneath my panties.
“Tell me this is what you need,” he breathes against my mouth.
“Yes,” I plead. “I need it, please, William.”
My entire core is erupting with need. I feel like I’m going to explode. Little bolts of pleasure are shooting deep into my belly, and I ache in places I don’t ever remember aching in before. William slips his fingers inside my panties, and I hear his throaty groan as he finds my wet sex. His finger slips easily into my depths, and he takes the time to run it up and down, stopping occasionally to flick the hard little nub at the top.
The pleasure is too much.
“William,” I whimper. “I...oh, God...”
“Veni împotriva mea, frumusețe,” he murmurs into my ear. Come against me, Beauty.
His finger travels down to my entrance, and gently he slides it inside. There’s a sharp pain for a second, enough to cause my body to freeze.
“Hush, it will ease soon,” he soothes, sliding his finger deeper.
After a moment, the pain subsides and the pleasure returns. William keeps a finger deep inside my body, while the other one finds that nub once more. He begins lazily circling it with his thumb while he thrusts his finger in and out of my body. The feeling is out of this world. It goes far and beyond anything I could have ever imagined.
It feels so good.
“William,” I cry out, clutching his shoulders.
My release takes me hard and fast. My screams fill the library as I lose myself for a second, shuddering beneath the man above me. William makes a pleased sound, and he slips his fingers from my depths. His finger moves up, and he gently presses it against my bottom lip, just staring down at me. My eyelids droop, and I find myself feeling content for the first time since I’ve been here.
“Rest,” he orders softly, before lifting me and pulling me back into his lap.
I can feel his erection straining against my bottom, but he doesn’t try and relieve it. He just holds onto me, stroking my hair, murmuring soft words into my ear. My eyes close, and my body begins to slacken in his arms. William shifts, and a moment later he’s carrying me down the hall. He takes me to my room and slowly lowers me to the bed. I keep my eyes closed, letting the warmth of sleep consume me.
His fingers stroke a piece of hair from my face, and then he murmurs something in Romanian. “O inimă frumos nu poate iubi o
inimă întunecată. Dar o inima întunecată poate tanjesc dupa un frumos, și așa va fi. Eu vă va aștepta cu nerăbdare, frumusețe.”
A beautiful heart can never love a dark heart. But a dark heart can crave a beautiful one, and it will. I will crave you, beauty.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
NUMBER THIRTEEN
“He’s giving us the chance to serve again,” Number Twelve says the next morning, tucking herself into my bed.
“I heard,” I say, reaching over and taking my mug of coffee. I sip the warm liquid.
“Can I ask you something?”
I nod, swallowing the mouthful of coffee. I stare at her, and I notice her face is almost...anxious. She peers around the room, and up at the cameras, and then she leans in close so she’s whispering into my ear. “Does he...touch you?”
What is she getting at?
“What do you mean?” I whisper back, though I suspect I know what she’s speaking about.
“I asked Number Seven, but she said he just speaks to her. I realized we all get different treatment from him, but we are the only ones that get to see him privately. There has to be a reason for that. I get the feeling, I mean...I think he’s looking for a lover.”
I snap my head up, locking gazes with her. “What?”
“I...I’ve thought a lot about it, and I think he picked us so he could get to know us, and then eventually pick a lover.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Well, the first night he put me on his lap, like he wanted me to trust him, but he never took it further. He always just let me sit there, getting to know him. Sometimes he would speak to me. Then eventually, he started easing up, answering me when I asked, and touching me more.”
Jealousy burns inside my chest.
He’s touching her too?
I recall how it felt to have his body over mine, to have his fingers inside me, and a deep anger bubbles in my chest to think that he’s been doing that with her too. I felt something there; I thought he did, too. I thought we had developed a bond that wasn’t shared with the other girls.
Why does it matter? Why am I even letting this affect me? I should have never allowed myself to give in so easily. I swallow, and take a deep, steadying breath.
“Go on,” I whisper.
“I think that he’s narrowed it down.”
I meet her gaze.
“Between me and you,” she continues.
“Okay,” I encourage.
“So, basically, I wanted to ask...what has he done...with you?”
“Done?” I say, narrowing my eyes.
“Yes, has he just held you on his lap? Has he spoken to you? Touched you?”
I look away guiltily as I think about his lips finding mine in the basement the other day before he punished me. I feel my hand lift up, and my fingertips graze my lips. My sex clenches as I remember how he brought me to pleasure in the library. Should I tell Number Twelve? Or should I lie? I turn and stare at my friend, and I know we have to be honest here. I, as much as she, need to know what he’s doing.
“The first day he held me on his lap. After that, we fought...a lot. I really put it on him every time we were together, arguing and abusing him. There weren’t really many chances to get closer, but then...”
“Then?” she urges.
“Then he kissed me, in the basement.”
Her face hardens, and it’s everything I needed to know.
She wants him. She’s falling for him.
“It wasn’t anything romantic,” I add in quickly, deciding I can’t tell her about the library, not right now. “It was like an apology.”
“An apology?”
She looks skeptical.
“He chained me up for twelve hours with a gag in my mouth, I think he was sorry for that.”
“So he kissed you?” she muttered.
“Y-y-yes.”
“Is that all he’s done?”
I look away guiltily.
“This isn’t a competition, Number Thirteen. I’m just trying to figure out how and why he’s doing these things.”
“I get a feeling it is a competition,” I say honestly.
She shakes her head. “He kissed me too, Number Thirteen, only not in the way he kissed you.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Then how did he kiss you?”
She looks away for a second. “As I was saying, he was almost waiting for my permission. He was gaining our trust, holding us, letting us see that if we wanted it we could have it, but he wouldn’t push it on us if we didn’t.”
“And...”
I feel sick. Something in my stomach is about to erupt and show how much this is affecting me.
“Well, I asked. I told him I wanted it. I told him I wanted him. I thought he would just take me, but he didn’t. He just...pleasured me.”
Pleasured her?
Bile rises in my throat.
“H-h-how do you mean?”
“He gave me oral sex, Number Thirteen.”
I blink at her.
He gave her oral sex.
He gave her oral sex?
I try to stop my mind from spinning, but there is no holding back. Tears well under my eyelids, and I want to swipe them away angrily while cursing to the roof. I don’t even know why it affects me. I am weak for allowing myself to warm up towards a man that’s really given me nothing but pain. Yet it’s affecting me.
I’m jealous.
Insanely jealous.
“Well, okay,” I finally manage to rasp out.
“So, what I’ve made from all this is that he’s playing now with two of us. He’s kissed you, and he’s...well...you know with me. To me, a kiss is so much more personal, so I wonder which one of us he is warming towards.”
A kiss is more personal? Is she serious? He didn’t put his mouth on me like that. He gave me his hands, but he didn’t...He put his mouth on her...on her...God, I think I’m going to be sick.
“We don’t have time to analyze this now,” I mutter.
“The thing is,” she says nervously, “is that I figure it’s kind of simple. If you don’t want him, then you can step away, and make this easier. So, what I’m really asking you is, do you want him, Number Thirteen?”
I spin towards her and snap, “Have you seen him, Number Twelve?”
“Of course I have.”
“No, I mean really seen him. Without the mask.”
She shakes her head, looking completely confused. “No...but...”
“He’s disfigured. He’s got a ruined eye, and he’s missing an eyebrow. His skin is all burned...”
“What?” she whispers.
“You think you know what you’re doing here, but until you know all of him, then you can’t possibly want him. You want the idea of him. It’s two different things.”
“And you still want him, even after...you saw that?”
“That is a person, Number Twelve. A person who is damaged, and broken, and has a reason behind everything he does. That is a part of him, and it comes with the package that is William. So to answer your question with full honesty, yes, I do want him even after I saw that. Because he let me see all of him when he showed me that, and all of him is something I want to explore further.”
She stares at me for a long moment, and then murmurs, “I want all of him, too.”
“Well, then I suppose we’re in a bit of a situation.”
I’m angry with William, but I’m not going to show her that. I don’t want her to see she’s hurt me, because really, it’s not her fault. He’s the one playing around, and playing around is something I won’t give in to easily. I don’t want to be with a man who can’t choose, and I certainly won’t be fighting for him if he’s not interested in fighting back.
“We need to go get prepared. We have to clean up for tomorrow night,” she says, sliding off the bed and walking towards her.
I guess she doesn’t want to talk about it further.
I can’t say I blame her.
Where does this leave us?
~*~*~*~
WILLIAM
“Number Thirteen tonight,” I order George as I pull off my shirt and lean down, gripping my pajama pants.
“I’ll go and retrieve her.”
“Thank you.”
When he leaves, I strip off my pants and pull my sleepwear on, then I walk over and light a few candles before flicking off the lights. Number Thirteen and I haven’t spoken a lot. In fact, she barely looked at me today when I checked in on her group to make sure they were setting up right.
Something is off.
I’m going to find out what it is.
“Here she is, sir.”
I turn and see Number Thirteen walking into the room. She’s watching me, but her face is expressionless. Her long, blond hair is curling and dropping around her shoulders before trickling over her breasts. She’s wearing a white nightdress that sits just above her thighs. She’s only tiny, and it looks far bigger than her.
“Come, sit beside me.”
She looks at George, and he flashes her a quick smile before leaving. Slowly she begins to walk over. She stops next to me, and stares down at the couch. Realizing she’s not going to sit easily, I reach up and take her hand. I notice she flinches and pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, turning away. I tug her and she comes easily enough, falling onto my lap.
“Number Thirteen, something is wrong.”
“That’s not my name,” she whispers.
“Is that what the problem is?” I murmur, running my nose up her neck. She shivers.
“No,” she mumbles. “I don’t have a problem.”
“Do you remember what I said about liars?”
“I’m not lying to you, William,” she seethes, stiffening.
“But you are, because I felt it today. I felt that you were angry, and you didn’t look at me. I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong. I’ve opened up to you, Number Thirteen.”
She spins to me. “Are you serious?”
“Completely.”
“You’ve opened up to me? You’ve given yourself to me? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”