Lost Petal

by Linnea May

  I don’t want this.

  Please, don’t do this to me.

  The expression on his face changes when he sees the first tear rolling down my cheek. He catches it with his thumb, cupping my face in a gesture that’s supposed to provide solace, even though he’s the one causing me this pain.

  “Oh, Petal,” he says, affection lacing every syllable. “You have nothing be afraid of, nothing to grieve.”

  Yes, I do, you bastard.

  Another set of tears wets my face as I close my eyes in an attempt to save myself from him.

  He’s still holding my face in his hand, gently caressing my tear-drenched cheeks when he whispers, “Come. Up.”

  Chapter 16

  Petal

  I follow with my eyes closed, unwilling to face what awaits me. He helps me up on my feet, guiding me with tender patience as he holds my right hand in one while placing his other hand on the small of my back.

  I’m sobbing when he gives me a gentle push, moving toward the bench. I don’t have to open my eyes to know that’s where he’s leading me, that’s the place where it’s going to happen. He doesn’t stop until my knees meet the edge of the bench and we both come to a halt. I freeze, waiting for him to push me down so he can have his way with me.

  But nothing of the like happens. He lets go of my hand and lets the tips of his fingers move along my arm in a compassionate journey that makes my skin prickle. I let it happen, standing tense and with my shoulders up to my ears.

  A feeble whimper escapes my lips when he places both of his hands on my shoulders, lightly squeezing as if he wanted to massage me.

  “Relax, Petal,” he says in a soft voice, leaning forward so that I can feel his warm breath on the back of my neck. “You need to relax.”

  “How?” I burst out, biting my lip to stop further exclamations that could be seen as defiance in his eyes.

  “Trust me,” he says matter-of-factly, as if it were that simple.

  My question remains the same. “How?”

  His dark chuckle sends a cold shiver down my spine, only intensifying my anxious tension instead of relieving me from it.

  “I won’t hurt you, Petal,” he promises, still massaging my shoulders. “I only want one thing: Honesty.”

  My chest tightens at the sound of that word. Honesty. It’s as if he’s looked right into my head, seeing the betrayal spelled out right in front of him.

  I could fake it. I don’t really have to come for him. It’s so easy to make him believe what he wants to believe.

  And now he’s asking for honesty.

  “I don’t like to be lied to,” he adds, worsening my predicament while his hands travel down the sides of my body, taking the straps of the white gown with him. Another sob echoes through the room when he exposes me in front of him, moving with agonizing slowness as he pulls the thin fabric down over my tits, subjecting them to the cold air before he moves farther down, pausing above my hips.

  I can sense him tensing up behind my back while his breathing speeds up. He moves closer, the warmth of his body providing me with eerie consolation as his chest meets my back. I flinch when something pokes me at the small of my back, just above my ass.

  He’s hard. Rock-hard.

  My first instinct tells me to move away from him, to remove myself from his intrusion.

  But I don’t. And it’s not because I fear being punished for it, or because I expect him to pull me back right away.

  It’s something else, a feeling of familiarity, of warmth, of actual comfort.

  Right in this very moment, he doesn’t feel like a stranger. It doesn’t feel wrong to have him this close, it doesn’t feel wrong to be touched by him like this.

  However, it doesn’t feel entirely right either.

  My contradictory thoughts are cut off when he continues to undress me, pulling the gown down over my hips before he lets go of the material, letting if fall to the floor, where it gathers in a cloudy pool around my feet.

  He lets out a heavy sigh while I close my eyes in shame, feeling so vulnerable as I stand before him completely exposed.

  “Fuck, Petal,” he hisses right behind my ear, grabbing me by the hips to pull me even closer as he grinds his steely length against my back.

  “This is what you do to me,” he breathes. “And we haven’t even started.”

  My chest is heaving under heavy breaths while my heart stutters in confusion. What is this? I should feel nothing but repulsion. I should be scared, terrified, disgusted even.

  But right now, I’m none of those things.

  I’m dazed, breathing rapidly while my cheeks blush as I stand naked before my captor, the man who’s about to rape me.

  This is sick.

  Was there something in the food? Did he drug me without me knowing?

  A gasp flees my lips when he turns me around to face him, and again I expect him to push me down on the bench, to spread my legs and take from me without asking for consent.

  And again, he doesn’t act according to my expectations. Instead, he locks me in a tight embrace, grabbing a fist of hair at the back of my head to force my gaze to meet his. His cock is pressing against my mound, reaching up to my belly button with a promise for pain. He must be big, massive even.

  His dark hazel eyes are hazy with lust, lacking the tear-filled terror of mine. Greedy desire is written all across his handsome features, yearning for me, wanting so much more, while he’s tormented by restraint.

  Why this restraint, though? Why doesn’t he just get it over with?

  “Listen,” he hisses, the expression on his face tensing as if he were in pain. “I’m going to touch you now. And, my dear Petal, if you’re wet...”

  He pauses, a dangerous flicker scurrying across his face before he adds, “May God help you.”

  I feel inclined to tell him there’s no way in hell I could get wet from this. From being treated like a caged animal, a possession that can be kept and trained to its master’s desire. He must be insane if he thinks I—or anyone—would ever enjoy this.

  But my convictions are being refuted when his hand finds its way between my legs. He pinches the inside of my thighs, beckoning me to widen my stance and grant him more leeway in my most intimate place. I close my eyes in shame, only to evoke a harsh response from him.

  “No. Look at me!” he hisses. “You keep looking at me, Petal. Don’t you dare hide away from me.”

  My lashes flutter nervously when I give in to his command, meeting his dark gaze while I feel his fingers at my core. I jerk when his fingertips meet the soft skin on my bare lips, gently spreading them apart. He draws in a deep breath before moving further, sliding between my lips with ease.

  Because I’m wet. My body’s betrayal makes me blush, robbing me of any excuses when a sinister smile spreads across his face and he asks, “What’s this, my little Petal?”

  I’m trembling, trying to find an explanation for this, anything. How is this possible? How can my body refute my mind in such a demeaning way?

  “You’re dripping,” he adds, stating the obvious as he lets one finger glide between my folds. The motion is accompanied by a treacherous slick sound, emphasizing my body’s betrayal.

  He tightens his embrace, pulling my chest against his while his fingers find my sensitive center, drawing circles around my clit. I can’t suppress a moan, unsure whether it’s out of pleasure or repulsion. It could be both. My mind is so foggy, so weakened and lost, I don’t even know what to feel anymore.

  “That’s a good girl,” he whispers into my ear as I melt into him, giving up the fight I was so determined to lead against him and his perverted actions.

  I close my eyes, and this time he lets it go without warning, just like I let him push me down on the bench. The leather is cold against my back, but so much softer than the concrete I’ve spent too much time on. It cushions my strained body, aligning with the shape of my back as I lie down.

  His fingers never leave my core, not for one second, con
tinuing their soothing massage while still sparing my clit. A scare jumps through my chest when he spreads my legs apart, but the intrusion I fear doesn’t come. Instead, he moves next to the bench, staying close while his massage now includes my sensitive nub. The sensation is so unexpected, so fierce and sudden, it causes me to arch my back and my eyes open in shock.

  He’s at my side, still caressing my wet center, while his eyes rest on me. I meet his gaze, trying to read the expression on his face to understand what’s happening. He’s not smiling, but displaying an expression of tense focus, and when he lets a finger slide inside me while still caressing my clit with his thumb, we both groan in unison.

  “Come for me, Petal,” he hisses. He’s breathless, and his face is just as flushed as mine.

  I’m so confused. At all of this.

  Why is he doing this? Why does he stop here?

  Why am I moving my hips in rhythm with his strokes?

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

  I try to fight it, to hold on to that last piece of sanity that I hold so dear. But when I lift my head, about to rip myself apart from this unwelcome bliss, he tenderly pushes me back down, placing his hand on my right boob and squeezing it gently.

  “No,” I breathe in protest.

  In response, he intensifies his pressure on my clit while adding another finger to spread my channel. I can’t ignore the wave of pleasure that comes with his motion. I just can’t.

  His touch on my boob tightens, adding another spark of ecstasy through my trembling body when he takes my nipple between two fingers and pinches it. Hard.

  I repeat my former exclamation of objection, but it’s too late—and he knows it. He can feel the spasms before I’m ready to admit they’re there.

  I’m coming. I’m climaxing on this man’s fingers, robbed of any chance to betray him. I wanted to trick him, to lie to him and stand my ground while I only pretended to follow his demand.

  He took that away from me. He made me climax against my will, relishing each and every single wave of pleasure as they steal control away from me, making me squirm and groan with relief beneath his intimidating gaze.

  It feels so wrong.

  So twisted.

  So breathtakingly perfect.

  Chapter 17

  J

  I’ve been standing outside the store for an eternity, watching. Just watching her as she goes about her business, moving through the plant-filled room with an elegance that’s unique to her.

  She hasn’t changed much from when I last saw her, even though it has been more than four years. She was a teenager then, so young and pure, the epitome of innocence and suppressed will. Some of it still holds true to this day. Her face is just as immaculate as it was then, porcelain skin and green eyes that are surprisingly dark in contrast to her ash-blonde hair. It was shorter back then, when she was still in school. Today, the heavy waves don’t stop just above her shoulders, but fall down her delicate back almost all the way to her hips. It looks like she hasn’t cut it once since the last time I saw her.

  I can still see it in her. That craving, that dark need no one but me knows about. It’s still there, and I bet it’s still scaring her just like it did then. I bet she hasn’t acted on it ever since I laid my hands on her.

  The memory has been haunting me ever since.

  The green apron that’s tied around her slim waist stands out in stark contrast to the light-colored dress she’s wearing underneath. The dark color doesn’t suit her and neither does the outfit itself.

  She shouldn’t be here. I know she never wanted to be here.

  A shadow of sadness is cast across her face, slowing her every movement and weighing her down, keeping her gaze low, glued to the work at hand.

  Work that she never wanted to do.

  She looks unhappy in every aspect, and it gets to me even worse than I expected. It shouldn’t affect me this much.

  Fuck, I barely know her. She might not even want to remember me. She might just greet me like any other customer once I step through the door. She could look at me with those sad eyes and ask how she can help me.

  And it would fucking destroy me.

  That’s why I’m still standing here. Watching. Observing. Waiting. Waiting for a decision.

  Her hands are dirty, and moist soil drips down to the floor when she lifts her hand to wipe the sweat from her forehead. Dark crumbs of soil linger on her temple when she continues to repot another set of plants.

  I take a step back, away from the store window, reconsidering.

  She never contacted me when she came back to town. She must know that I’m around. She must know what I do and where to find me. It’s impossible not to. Everybody in the region and beyond knows about me. Ever since local and national news started to become aware of my talent and my business, I’ve been featured all over the place. It’s impossible to pick up a newspaper without seeing my face in there, without reading about me and the things I do. Things that no one understands, things that terrify some people and mystify others.

  Things that have made me a rich man. People are willing to pay vast amounts of money to take advantage of my skills.

  She must know, if not for the fact that she was my first. I know she doesn’t have access to that particular set of information.

  She doesn’t know what I did for her all those years ago.

  But I want her to know. And that’s the problem.

  I want her to come to me, to thank me, to talk to me like she used to back then.

  I want so much more from this girl than I’m ever allowed to take. And it’s killing me, slowly but surely.

  It was easier when she was gone, far away at the other side of the country. I knew she was doing well. She was pursuing a dream she’d had since junior high school. I knew she was happy, or at least content. And that was all I needed.

  But now she’s back with that sad look on her face, those slouched shoulders and a lack of hope that’s agonizing to witness. I never wanted her to return, because I knew it would be for the wrong reasons.

  I know that he’s to blame for it.

  Robert steps out of the back room carrying a pallet filled with pansies that he places right next to her on the working counter. Unlike her, he has aged a lot in the past few years. It’s been even longer since I’ve seen him, but I know that his hair wasn’t as gray back then, the lines on his face were not as deep and his belly was a good size smaller, too. Time has marked him in the most unpleasant ways, making it so much easier to hate him.

  I’ve never liked the guy, not after what he did to her, and right now I feel nothing but burning rage as I see him talking to her. He’s not a very tall man, barely taller than her, but his entire presence speaks of control and a claim of ownership that’s dysfunctional. She listens to him, nodding along without looking at him, never stopping her work for even a second. Such a dutiful girl, so good, so obedient.

  So naturally submissive.

  A faint smile plays at the corners of her mouth when he ends his most likely instructive monologue, pointing at the plants in front of her as he snarls one last command before he turns around, disappearing through the same door that spit him out just a few minutes earlier.

  I hate him. He’s the source of all her sorrow. And yet, here she is, working for him just as he always wanted her to.

  “I’ll never end up in that store. I’ll never grow old in this godforsaken city.” I can still hear the words, spoken by her soft voice as she dreamily looked up at the clouds.

  I was sure I loved her then, despite our young age. Maybe I did. Maybe I still do to this day, even though we haven’t exchanged a single word in more than four years.

  Until today.

  I’m not a man who lacks confidence, never have been. It’s gotten me where I am today, higher than most people can even dream of. Still, I find myself taking a deep breath and clearing my throat before I summon the courage to open the store’s door and walk inside. A little bell rings, announcing
my appearance, and her reaction is as prompt as it should be. She jerks up, quickly cleaning her soil-drenched hands on her apron as she turns around to greet me.

  And when she sees me, her green eyes widen in recognition.

  Chapter 18

  Petal

  The fabric is thick and heavy, a black piece of velvet cloth that covers not only my eyes but my ears as well, at least in part. I can’t see a thing and my hearing is muffled, but not enough to drown out his heavy voice.

  “If you try to rip it off, we’re going straight back and I’ll let you rot in this cell for a week,” he threatens. “Understand?”

  I nod, remembering just in time to add, “Yes, master.”

  He barely gave me time to recover. My heart is still beating at full speed, my cheeks are still flushed and the alluring heat of excitement is still radiating from my body, the fabric of the white gown feeling cool against my hot skin. He told me to get dressed right away, not saying a word as he watched me pull the gown over my head, and therefore increasing my embarrassment.

  I haven’t looked him in the eyes ever since that unexpected elation, hoping that he won’t bark that dreaded command at me. The blindfold almost comes as a relief to me, because it shields me from a gaze I couldn’t stand right now. It protects me, giving me a feeling of security, as false as it may be.

  “Put your hands together in front of you.”

  My hands are trembling when I place them as he asked me to, my wrists locked next to each other as if connected by a magnet. I suck in a sharp inhale when I feel him wrapping something around both my wrists, tying them together in a tight knot with a piece of rope. The tie is so tight that the abrasive rope burns into my skin, leaving uncomfortable bites when he pulls at it to test his work.

  “Try to get free.”

  I’m not sure what to make of that demand at first, hesitating as I sense a test, something to trick me into disobedience just to find a reason to punish me. When he repeats his order, his voice now louder and laced with an exasperated undertone, I start twisting and pulling at the ties, trying to break my hands free to no avail.