by JA Huss
“Is that what you want?”
“Why do you need to know?”
“Because I matter. You’ve got me—”
“Ivy,” he interrupts, his voice stern. “Relax. Enjoy.” And then I see what he’s holding in his hands.
“What’s that?”
“Paper. And charcoal pencils.”
Oh. I forgot. Jesus Christ. I take a deep breath and try to shake off my fear.
“You still want me to draw you?”
“Yes.” I have a million little justifications for this want. I don’t believe him. I think there’s more to it than what he’s saying. I think he’s sick, that he and his friends raped that girl, and then somehow, some way, the five of them got her killed.
At least I should think those things. Nothing Nolan Delaney has said to me is convincing. And I probably do think them. Do believe them, at least a little bit.
But that’s not why I want him to draw me.
I like the way he’s looking at me right now. No man has ever looked at me like this before. Nude. Stretched out on his bed. Pretending to be helpless, even though he just told me I’m not helpless.
“Then relax.” That grin again. It says a lot. It says he does have secrets. Deep ones. Dark ones. And he’s right. Once I know them, I can never unknow them. “I’m gonna pose you, OK?”
Nolan steps forward, kneeling on the bed, and sets the pad of paper and the charcoal pencils down as he crawls forward and wraps his hand around my ankle.
I nearly come undone. By a hand on my ankle. Has anyone ever touched my ankles before? Is it supposed to feel this way?
“Shhh,” he says when I jerk my foot away from his touch. “It’s not time to be afraid yet, Ivy.”
My eyes widen at his words. Yet?
“I just want your foot here.” He pushes my foot towards me, making it slide on the smooth cotton comforter, until my knee bends slightly. Then he angles it so that the knee is resting on the opposite thigh. His fingertips flitter up my shin, then slip around to the long muscle of my calf, caressing the soft skin behind my knee.
I gasp. I can’t help it.
“It feels nice, right?” His green eyes are bright and his smile is big. “Most men want to lick pussy and bite lips. But they forget about the little dent behind the knee.” He dips down to my leg, softly kissing before nipping the inside of my thigh.
I gasp again. But he doesn’t pay any attention to me. Just continues to kiss his way up my leg, skipping over my pussy, and resting his lips on my hip bone. “And the hips,” he breathes, his breathy words fluttering across my skin. “Defiance is defined as open resistance. But a seductive man knows how to turn resistance into reluctance into acceptance.”
I bite my lip as I let all these new feelings flood through me. “Is that what you’re doing? Turning my resistance into acceptance?”
He stops his soft touch and kissing to look up at me from beneath his unruly brown hair that falls over his eyes. “What do you think?”
“I think… I think I have no idea who you are, Nolan Delaney.”
“I’m Mr. Romantic, Ivy. Didn’t you want to meet him?”
I get another chill when he refers to himself in the third person. Is he sick? Is he as dangerous as Claudette said? Was she really just trying to protect me? Is Nolan Delaney some kind of psychopath?
“You should be scared,” he says, sitting up and backing away from me until he’s at the foot of the bed where he left his paper and pencils.
“Why?” My heart is fluttering now, and not in a good way. I think I’ve made a mistake. I think I need to get the hell out of here. I think Claudette was right.
“Because when this date is over you’re going to know things about me and wish you didn’t.”
“Is this a date?” I ask. I want to get up. I want him to untie my hands. I want to put clothes on, and get my carry-on case, and walk out of this house.
“It is in my mind.” And then all the seductiveness about his actions recede when he picks up the pad of paper, opens it up, and reaches for a pencil.
“Hold still,” Nolan says, beginning to sketch before I even understand we’ve moved on. “Not perfectly still,” he says, looking at me briefly over the top of his paper. “I’ll tell you when I need that. I’m going to do your legs first.”
It takes a long time for me to get a hold of the fear he caused. And he never talks again as he draws. Every once in a while he moves my legs or positions my arms. He makes me tilt my head way back on the pillow at one point. And he rips off paper after paper after paper. Like he’s making mistakes and starting again.
Why? Why did I agree to this? What kind of magic does this man possess that he can talk me, Ivy Rockwell, pastor’s daughter and newly deflowered virgin, into posing nude for him?
“Getting tired of sitting still?” Nolan asks when I shift my bottom.
“Yes,” I say, my voice hoarse from the long silence.
He rips off another sheet of paper, throwing it down on the floor behind him so I can’t see it. His pencil is moving the moment the new sheet appears. “I’m almost done.”
“Why do you keep starting over?”
He stops drawing and looks at me, his wild green eyes glazed and zoned. “What?”
“Starting over?” I ask. “Isn’t what you’re doing?” I swallow hard, uncomfortable with his attention. Even though he’s been staring at my naked body for what seems like hours, I don’t like the way he looks at me.
“I’m not starting over, Ivy.” He chuckles, like that was the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “I’m drawing a story.”
“What kind of story?” My mouth is dry. I need a drink of water. And even though I am not tied down, I feel like he’s holding me captive.
“If I told you then I’d never see that surprised look on your face when I show you.”
I sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “Maybe I don’t want to see your story?”
He stops drawing and watches me. “You’re leaving now? After all this?” His hand pans behind him. To the discarded drawings on the floor.
“All what, Nolan? I’m tired, I’m thirsty. I’m cold. I want clothes and I want you to untie my hands.” He keeps perfectly still. “Now,” I say. “Untie me now.”
He sighs, gets to his feet, and walks towards me. “OK. But…”
“But what?” I can’t take it anymore. I need to leave.
“But you’re gonna miss it.”
“Miss what?”
“Everything that comes after.”
His cock is hard. It hasn’t been hard most of this time we’ve been here. And even though his soft touches in the beginning were very erotic, he hasn’t touched me in hours. I’m not turned on. At all.
I’m scared. He scares me.
“After I scare you with these drawings, Ivy Rockwell, I’m going to tell you something no one else knows and make it all better.”
“I don’t think so, Nolan. I really need to go.”
“Stop,” he says, taking a firm grip on my arm. “Just sit the fuck back and relax. I have five minutes left. Five minutes and I’ll be done.”
I don’t know if I should force my way out of this situation or just give in and wait him out. Not to see if he’s not crazy. This man is definitely crazy. I am convinced Claudette is right.
His kiss on my neck is what makes me wait. His soft lips and words. “Just please,” he says. “I’ve never come this close to spilling my secret before. I’ve never told anyone what happened that night. And you said you wanted to know. You can’t walk out in the middle of the story. It’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair, Nolan. You’re the one who said it.”
“I know,” he says. Still soft, more erotic, very insistent. “I know that. But this could turn into something good. Just… let me finish.”
I give in. He could force me to stay and I don’t want to push him. I’ll leave as soon as he unties me. I’ll make a break for the bathroom, get my phone,
call Nora, tell her where I’m at, and then have her call me back saying I’m needed at home. There’s an emergency. Something, anything to get the hell out of this man’s house.
“I don’t think your nickname should be Mr. Romantic.”
He laughs. Like a great, big, ceiling-echoing laugh. “You got that right.”
“What? What do you mean? You said it wasn’t ironic.”
“It’s not, I promise.” He takes my bound wrists in his hands and laughs again. “I swear. Just let me finish. No one ever fucking lets me finish. They see what they want to see and then they walk out. Don’t walk out, Ivy. I’ve got something to show you.”
I sigh, realize I’m not getting out of here, and give in. “OK, fine. Just hurry up, Nolan. I’m hungry. I want to eat. I want a drink of water. I’m uncomfortable—”
“I’m sorry. It’s just this story is longer than most. This is the last drawing, I promise. And then I’ll show you. And tell you. And then you can leave if you want.”
“You promise?” I ask.
“I promise. But you won’t want to leave, Ivy. You won’t. If you do, you’ll miss it.”
“What will I miss?”
“Mr. Romantic, of course.” He smiles and points to the bed. “Get back in position. This is the one where I really need to concentrate. It’s the most important one.”
“Five minutes,” I say, scooting back up to the headboard and putting my bound wrists above my head.
“Turn to the side. And close your eyes. Like you’re sleeping.”
Or dead.
He moves quickly back to his paper and pencil, looking at me, then down at his drawing. His hand making long sweeps on the pad. One hundred percent of his concentration on the image he’s creating.
And before I can even count out five minutes in my head, he says, “Done.” He rips the final piece of paper off the pad and then bends down to pick up the rest of them, arranging them and sorting them into something only he is aware of.
“You’re going to freak out, I already know that. But I just need you to let me tell it from beginning to end before you do that.”
Chapter Twenty-Five - Nolan
I’m scaring the fuck out of her. Have been for hours. But I can’t stop. Not now. Not with her. I don’t why I’m fixated on Ivy Rockwell, but I am.
“First of all,” I say, scooting up on the bed with her so our bare shoulders are touching. She’s sitting up, leaning back on the headboard, and her hands are in her lap. She’s breathing fast and heavy, but that’s normal for the level of fear she’s experiencing. “It’s a fantasy, OK? Just keep that in mind. It’s just a fantasy.”
“I don’t think I need to see it, Nolan. Just untie me.”
“Just wait,” I say, holding the pieces of paper in my hand so she can’t see the first one yet. “It’s got a nice beginning. And a nice ending.” I wink at her, which elicits a tiny smile. “It’s the middle that people have a hard time with.”
“So you have shown other girls this?”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself. Be patient.”
I have the stack of drawings doubled over, not creased, just so she can’t see the first one until I’m ready.
“Mr. Romantic,” I say. “Just keep that in mind, OK?”
“Got it,” Ivy says, all her patience gone.
“OK.” I unfold the drawings so the first one is visible. “This is us. You and me.”
And it is. I always put a lot of detail in the first one. maybe because I’m nervous about the ones that come after. Or maybe I really am just a big ol’ romantic at heart.
Ivy is wearing a long dress that reveals her curves. Her large breasts, nipples pressed against the fabric because she has no bra on. My hands are the only thing of me in this picture and they are on her hips. “In my head, the dress is yellow.”
“Why yellow?” Ivy says, reaching for the picture so I’ll bring it closer.
“I like it. And it matches the rope.”
She looks at me with lots of questions but none of them come out of her mouth.
“We’re coming home from dinner. We had a nice night. This is our first real date.”
“What did we eat?” Ivy asks.
“Who cares?” I laugh. “We’re in New England, so let’s say lots of expensive seafood.”
“Fancy.”
“Well,” I say, “it’s a fantasy, right? Go big or go home.”
“What color is your suit?” she asks.
This is going well. I have a glimmer of hope. “Black. And my silk tie is yellow.”
“To match the rope,” Ivy says.
“Yes.”
“I have a bad feeling about this, Nolan.”
“Don’t give up on me yet, Ivy.”
She looks me in the eyes and swallows. “Go on.”
I throw that picture off the side of the bed and it floats softly to the floor. “Now we’re in the back yard of a huge mansion. We’re kissing.”
“I can see that.”
“It’s a good kiss, Ivy.” My palm is on her throat, my thumb pressing on her chin, like I’m taking control.
“It’s… OK.”
“OK? You look like you might come any second.”
“Why does my dress look weird?”
“It’s wet. I made you walk into the pool and then step out. You’re soaking wet.”
“Why would I walk into the pool, Nolan?”
“Because I asked you to. And I told you how hard it would make me to see your dress clinging to your body like it is in the picture. Every part of your body outlined by the wet dress. Your nipples hard and peaked. Your mind spinning with anticipation.”
She bites her lip. “Keep going.”
I toss that drawing aside.
“OK,” she says. “What the hell is this?”
“Me, slapping your face. See the spot on your cheek? You have fair skin, Ivy. It won’t take much to make it red. Your ass will be the same color.”
She shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Just wait,” I say. “It gets better.”
The next picture is me holding her face again, like the first, only this time I’m pushing my thumb inside her mouth. Her eyes are looking up at me. You can’t see me in this one either, it’s only her. My point of view.
“I’m crying, Nolan. This is sick.”
“Your pussy is throbbing, Ivy. Take my word on that. Throbbing. Because my fingers are inside you, pushing inside you. Strumming your clit in those tiny circles you like. If I had more time, I’d have drawn you sucking my thumb like it was my cock. I’d have showed you how turned on you were just thinking about what comes next. You want me to fuck you so bad right now, you’re begging.”
“I’m not. And I don’t.”
But her voice is weak. And not with fear. “Just keep an open mind. We’re not going to do any of this tonight. You’re not wearing the dress.”
She inhales deeply as she looks at me.
“Keep going?” I ask.
She shrugs.
I smile. Because I know she’s turned on.
“This one skips ahead.” She’s on her knees now, mouth open, my cock in her mouth. Her makeup is smeared so bad, it hides the mark the slaps are leaving. “What do you think I skipped, Ivy? Tell me, so when this date happens, I know what you want.”
Ivy is silent for a long time.
She stares at the drawing, studies it. Either thinking about what I asked her, or trying to plan her escape tonight.
“My dress is gone,” she finally says.
“I had to peel it off you because it was wet. We laughed about that and broke the scene.”
“Scene?” she asks.
“The… fantasy. It’s called a scene, but it’s private. I’d never want you to do this in front of anyone. For me and you it will always be private.”
“What’s next?”
I move on to the next picture, which makes Ivy gasp.
I’ve got her pushed down on the bed, face first. My han
d flat against her hair, her cheek pressed so tight into the covers, most of it can’t be seen. “Fucking, of course. My way, which is hard, like I told you.”
“You want to hurt me?”
“No,” I say, more sharply than I should. “I want to play out this scene with you. It doesn’t define me, Ivy. Or our relationship. It’s just a fantasy.”
“Why would I agree to this? Why on earth would I ever agree to this?”
“Because it turns you on.” I reach between her legs and finger her pussy. “You’re wet just thinking about it. Don’t lie, Ivy. You can say no and still admit it turns you on.”
“Can I say no?”
“Of course.” I’m still playing with her, my fingertip doing a little swirl against her clit that makes her close her eyes for a second. “It’s OK to like it. It’s playing. It’s sexual fun, that’s all. I don’t do this every day. No one I’ve ever talked to does this every day. It’s an understanding. It’s set up ahead of time so everyone knows the rules.”
“What are the rules?” she asks. “What exactly are you asking me to participate in?”
“Fantasy…” I hesitate. Unable to make myself say it out loud.
“Fantasy what?”
“Rape.”
She goes stiff and silent.
“Fantasy being the important word here, Ivy. You’re going to agree to it. So it’s not rape. You’re going to agree ahead of time. We’re going to have rules, and boundaries, and limits. And when this happens, we’re going to do it exactly how I’ve planned it. That’s why I need to know what you want me to do in between the pages. Fill in the blanks, so to speak.”
She shakes her head. “You’re sick.”
“And yet you’re still turned on.” I play with her a little more. “Get up and walk out if you’re not interested. But I’m not done with the story yet.”
She remains silent. Just staring at the drawing as I continue to stimulate her.
“Should I continue? And don’t just nod, Ivy. Say something. Make a decision.”
“Fine,” she whispers. “I want to see how it ends.”
“Oh.” I laugh. “We’re not at the end yet.” The next picture is me on top of her. My cock halfway inside her pussy. My silk tie in her mouth, tears streaming down her face. Hands tied together in front of her, just the way they are now.