by Sam Mariano
I have no idea where to look, though. I don’t want to go to his bedroom, and I don’t know why he would go back there anyway; he was already up for the day and dressed in his perfect goddamn suit and tie.
Maria is the next person I see, and I stop her. “Do you know where Mateo is?”
I’ve rarely interacted with her outside of the kitchen, but Maria studies my face, then advises, “Why don’t you go to your room for a bit, have a rest.”
“Do you know where Mateo is?”
“You seem angry. Best to go to your room.”
“Oh, my God,” I say, giving up and walking away from her.
After storming through half the house, I come to the largest wing—the master suite. I stand at the center of three separate halls, all leading to rooms of his.
Common sense leaps out at me, telling me to turn back. He’s not up here, and even if he is… I don’t want to go in.
But I’m too fucking angry to listen.
I want to set him on fire.
I need to know he did it. It had to be him, but I need to know.
This wasn’t part of Vince’s tour though, so I don’t even know which hall to walk down. One is the bedroom, one is probably a sitting room… maybe the third is an enormous bathroom? I don’t know.
I go left.
It’s a sitting room, and there’s no one inside. My heart beats faster—I’m not sure if with relief at not finding him, or if it’s because one door down means only two to go.
I go with the middle door next, since I approach it first.
It’s a bedroom, but clearly not used, and possibly for children? There are a few boxes scattered around, one of them with a pink sparkly sweater on top.
Frowning, I back out of that one.
I’m just about to try the third door when I feel him. Not physically, not touching me, but he’s near enough I can feel his presence.
Then he speaks, his voice husky with expectation. “Looking for me?”
Suddenly my body trembles and I feel it all down my spine. My stomach pitches as I slowly turn around and see him standing there at the opening of the hall, where I was just a couple of minutes ago.
My words suddenly dry up and to my absolute horror, tears well in my eyes.
Mateo walks toward me, a predatory glint in his eyes.
I’m supposed to be the one confronting him, but it suddenly hits me as he moves closer, faster, not apologetic, not retreating, not remorseful, but… stalking me.
I chased my rapist to his bedroom.
Launching away from the wall, I go to move past him but he catches me by the arm, his grip rough, not light like it normally is.
“Get your hands off me,” I say, my voice shaking through every syllable.
“Oh, but you like my hands on you,” he says, a wicked smile grazing his lips.
“No, I don’t,” I say, feeling as if he just slapped me.
“Sure you do,” he says, using his body to move me backward. “You liked my hands when they were playing your pussy like a fiddle, making you scream with pleasure. You liked my mouth, when I was devouring you like my favorite dessert. You certainly seemed to enjoy my cock, when I was fucking you in Vince’s bed.”
A noiseless sob escapes me as my back hits the wall, and he presses his body against mine.
“You like me a lot more than you let on, don’t you, Mia?”
I struggle to get my arm away from him, but he’s holding it too tight. I raise my other hand to hit him, but his reflexes are too fast and he catches me, pushing both arms over my head and pinning me against the wall.
I can only shake my head, trying for words that won’t come, gasping for breath when my chest feels like it’s about to cave in.
He doesn’t even have the decency to be ashamed. He looks straight into my eyes with no trouble—and they’re dancing with something. Amusement?
“You’re a monster,” I whisper.
He tilts his head as if considering it, then shrugs.
My words are finally coming back. “You raped me.”
“You were pretty willing,” he tells me.
“I thought you were someone else!”
“Yeah.” Making a face that would seem to indicate ‘this is awkward’ he inhales through his teeth. “I probably wouldn’t go with that. I feel like Vince wouldn’t be terribly pleased that you couldn’t tell when you were having sex with him, and when you were having sex with me.”
“I didn’t have sex with you,” I say, jerking my arms, rabid at his wording. “That wasn’t sex. You manipulated me. You tricked me. You snuck into my boyfriend’s bed in the dead of night when I was asleep, for fuck’s sake. Why would I think it was anyone but him?”
“Well, he did warn you,” Mateo points out.
It’s like another slap to the face, and I physically rear back from the force of it.
“And… Cherie. And… well, everybody, isn’t that right?”
He lets that land, giving me enough time to fully process the truth of that statement. To relive myself fighting with Vince, telling him how sick I was of being warned about Mateo. Telling him he was being paranoid.
“Even I told you I wasn’t a good guy,” he adds, that time looking a little apologetic. “I mean, you just didn’t want to believe any of it. I have this nice house, I bought you pretty dresses and fucking stories about how good triumphs over evil—it doesn’t, I could’ve told you that, but… you were warned, Mia. And still here you stand, a few feet from my bedroom.”
I feel like the biggest fool in the whole entire world. Humiliation swallows me whole as I recall feeling sympathetic toward him, feeling sad because he seemed to lead an ultimately lonely existence.
But he deserves to be lonely. He deserves to have no one.
And me, maybe I fucking deserved this, because he’s right, every single person who knows him tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen.
With no pride left, I break down in tears, right there in front of him. Between sobs, I ask, “Why? I was nice to you.”
Sighing heavily, he says, “You’re right, you were. It’s not your fault. You just saw something you shouldn’t have. It was just rotten luck, and I’m truly sorry for it. I don’t know if I admire or pity your ability to see good in people where none actually exists, but I don’t want to snuff that out of you. I didn’t even want to know you—really, this is Vince’s fault. I could’ve finished it quick, it would’ve been painless, we could have all moved on with our lives.”
“You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” I remind him, even while realizing how foolish it is to remind him of anything he said like it holds any weight.
“I said as long as Vince wanted you,” he responds, correcting me. “If he doesn’t anymore… well, your fate’s left to me then, isn’t it?”
It’s profoundly embarrassing to have been this wrong about someone, but it’s worse that Vince was so right, and I’ve been so goddamn sure of myself.
“You planned to kill me all along, didn’t you? This was just a game to you.”
“I’m not going to kill you,” he replies. “Not yet, even if Vince comes home today wanting to kill you himself.”
“Why would he…?”
“He knows. A little birdie told him some things, so… well, that’s not going to be a fun time for you.”
I can’t stand up anymore. My legs wobble and I try to sink down the wall, but he’s still holding my arms, so I can’t.
“Why don’t you just do it now and get it over with,” I whisper, tears flowing freely down my face now.
He rearranges his grip on me, pinning my arms at the wrist to free up a hand. Then he runs it along my jawline in a gesture that would be tender, except it’s coming from him. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
I can only stare at him, empty, broken, alone.
Then he adds, “Not to mention, you could be carrying my child.”
Chapter Twenty Three
I feel nothing as Mateo takes me into his be
droom. I try to break away, I use my body weight, but he’s too strong and I’m too depleted. When he throws me down on his bed, I try to crawl away, but he’s on me too fast, slamming my arms down against the soft pillow top and straddling my body. His eyes gleam like a lion about to consume a gazelle, like he’s won. I wonder if it’s a relief not to have to pretend to be nice anymore.
“Get off me,” I cry, angrily throwing my useless body.
“Oh, no. This is the fun part,” he tells me, leaning in to kiss my neck. “Do you know how hard it was not to speak when I fucked you, Mia? It was torture.”
“Stop saying that—it wasn’t sex.”
Rolling his eyes, he says, “Fine, when I raped you. Is that better? Do you like that word? Does it turn you on?”
“You’re sick,” I hiss, glaring up at him.
“Well, if you like that word, you’re going to love what happens next. What we did before, whatever you want to call it, that was sex. You wanted it. Now? Now I’m going to take your sweet little pussy while you beg me not to. Now I’ll give you rape.”
It’s not fair that he’s cheating me out of the anger I have every right to feel, but speaking so plainly about his intentions, he’s pushing me over into fear.
Even though it kills me to ask him for anything, especially something I should never have to ask for, I say, “Please don’t.”
“It can be a game,” he tells me, taunting. “You can pretend you have a choice, if it makes you feel better. Would you like a safe word?”
It’s obviously a trick, so I don’t speak.
“Go ahead, pick one,” he says, leaning down on my arms with more force as he kisses my neck again.
I hate this game and I don’t want to play, but I throw out, “Red light.”
“Okay, your safe word is red light.”
“Red light,” I say, immediately.
His hands shift again, holding my arms with just the one, and the second snakes up under my shirt. He lifts my bra, shoving his hand inside and squeezing my breast, ignoring my utterance completely.
“That was fun, wasn’t it? We should do that again sometime,” he states, his hand moving around to the clasp of my bra.
“Mateo, please,” I say uselessly, as he gets it unclasped. “Please.”
Squeezing my nipple until it hurts, he says, “Beg all you want; I like it.”
Eventually, he has to let go of my arms to get my jeans off, so I wait until he does to attack. Throwing myself at him with everything I’ve got, I growl, I scratch, I hit—and I end up wrapped in his arms, wrestled until I’m belly-down on the bed, my jeans around my knees.
Growling at the injustice of my defeat, I try again, rearing back against him, attempting to curl into a position where, even if he can get my clothes off, he won’t be able to rape me. Not easily, at least.
Finally seeming agitated, he gives me one more violent toss to the bed and sits up on his knees. I scurry, about to climb off, when I hear the metallic click.
One foot touches the floor, the other leg still bearing the brunt of my weight on the bed, and I come face to face with Mateo’s gun—again.
“Let’s try this a different way,” he says, finger on the trigger.
I’m not terribly confident, but I say shakily, “You’re not going to shoot me. I could be…” I pause, the words too horrible to come out.
“Eight hours pregnant?” he questions. “Become a big enough pain in my ass and I think I’ll survive without ever knowing.”
I won’t accept defeat—I won’t. That’s not what this feeling of a thousand bricks resting atop my lungs is—it’s not defeat. It’s not.
But I don’t move the rest of the way off the bed. I’m too afraid.
Using the gun to gesture, he says, “Back on the bed.”
I swallow, slowly easing back onto the bed, my eyes glued to the barrel of the gun. “You wanna hear something stupid?” I ask him, shakily, as I sit down.
“Sure,” he says.
“After we talked in the library that night….” I shake my head, seeing now how foolish I must have looked to him. “I thought you never would have done it. I thought you never would have actually shot me before, in your study. I thought it was…”
“A front?” he finishes, almost sympathetic.
I nod, choking on the acidic taste of my own foolishness.
“Sadly, no. I don’t make threats I’m not prepared to follow through with.” Nodding toward my lower half, he says, “Take off your panties.”
Lips turned down in a helpless pout, I steel myself, pushing down my panties.
Trying one more time, I say, “You don’t have to do this.”
“I’ve already been inside you, Mia. It doesn’t have to be so dramatic.”
Bastard.
Swallowing convulsively, I will away the nausea gripping me, threatening to make me sick. Mateo moves over me, the gun falling to the side for a moment. With his free hand, he jerks my chin until I’m looking into his eyes, then he leans down and kisses me.
I try to turn my face away, refusing to take part in this. When he gets nothing back, he lets the gun trail up my arm, bringing the barrel to a hard rest at my neck, just below my ear. A fearful sob escapes me but I open my mouth, letting him have access.
“Kiss me,” he growls, before his tongue pushes into my mouth, catching mine and overpowering it, just like he’s overpowering the rest of me. The gun is still pressed firmly against me, digging into my skin uncomfortably, so I do. I kiss the bastard back, just like he demanded.
The worst of it is, my blood races, my heart pounds, and even though I tell myself there’s only fear here, I feel a sudden tingle between my legs that fills me to the brim with self-loathing.
Willing it away, I remind myself he’s a monster. He tricked me and now he’s forcing himself on me—he’s threatening my life, for fuck’s sake.
Withdrawing from my mouth, he leans back. He holds my gaze as he unbuttons and unzips his black slacks, and I feel a throb of fear and arousal confused and mashed together. Befuddlement and resistance sweep through me, but there’s no time—free of his pants, he’s now running his hands over my legs, up over my knees and trailing up my thighs.
“Do you remember how it felt when I was eating your pussy, Mia? When you were clutching the bed sheets, crying out in pleasure, writhing as I fucked you with nothing more than my mouth?”
Another awful throb of arousal. “Stop talking like that,” I say.
“Why?” he asks, smiling as he enters me with a single finger. “Because you like it?”
I do my best to hold my body still while he touches me, first with one finger, then with two. I close my eyes, afraid of what he’ll see if he looks into them, knowing he will taunt me if he sees anything but loathing, and I can’t take that. Not when I’m feeling so uncertain about it myself.
Maybe I’m sick.
He brings the gun up my bare torso, and in a sickening twist, I feel relieved. Relieved at the reminder that I have no choice, that this terrible, terrible man is going to do what he wants to me no matter what I say, and that my body is just… experiencing physiological confusion. He has turned me on before, he has brought me to orgasm before, and he has been inside me, pounding into me until I cried out — even though I didn’t know it was him, it still happened. My body still knows he’s capable of bringing me physical pleasure.
I open my eyes and see him watching me. He withdraws his fingers from my body, bringing the gun down slowly, trailing lightly down my abdomen, and along the inside of my thigh. I hold my body still as goose bumps rise up, but I can’t keep from gasping when I feel the cool tip of the gun being pushed inside me.
“Mateo,” I say, gasping. Fear floods me, trying to remember if it’s still cocked. What if he accidentally fires it? “Please…”
“Mm, ask again.”
I hate that he’s enjoying this, but I can hardly breathe with the barrel of his gun pressing against my clit.
“Please. Plea
se, Mateo. Please.”
Instead of removing it, he moves it in and out, in and out, mocking me.
“Please,” I say again, my breath hitching. “You’re scaring me.”
The gun is finally pulled out of me, and better, he deposits it on his night stand. I can’t help staring as he sets it down, wondering if I could get to it….
“Don’t even think about it,” he says coldly.
My gaze jerks to his.
“You’ll miss, for one thing. You don’t know how to fire a gun, and you damn sure won’t be able to fire it when I’m wresting it away from you. And when you miss, or even if your finger never makes it to the trigger, I will finish raping you, and then I’ll kill you and your entire family. Trust me, it’s not worth it.”
I think he’s probably right, but I sure would like to try.
I’m not fighting now like I was when he first got me in his bed, but he still pins my arms over my head before climbing between my legs. I think he just likes it.
“If you stop now… we can pretend this didn’t happen,” I say, even knowing it’s useless. There’s no consequence for him. He isn’t afraid to do this to me—he knows he’ll be fine.
Smiling, he drops a little kiss on my lips, as if I’ve amused him.
Then he thrusts his hips forward and his cock moves into my unwilling body, sealing the deal.
Caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob, I try to rear up, forgetting I’m pinned. Uselessly I plead, “Stop!”
But he doesn’t.
I watch him close his eyes, experiencing pleasure as he moves, thrusting deep inside my body, then pulling back, thrusting deep, then pulling back. It doesn’t hurt like I expect it to—there’s a fair amount of discomfort as he stretches me, but not outright pain. I give up fighting altogether. I turn my head to the side so I don’t have to watch, but I can feel him everywhere—his breath when he leans in to kiss my neck, his cock battering its way inside me, his hands, still nailing me to the bed. The weight on my arms hurts more than the actual act, but I don’t bother complaining.
He finally releases my arms, hiking my legs up and fucking me from a different angle. The friction starts to feel less awful and I close my eyes, praying he’ll finish before he notices my body reacting to him.