A Bedtime Story

by L. C. Moon

  He lifted a brow, seemingly taken aback as well, then offered her his most devilish, seductive smile. “What’s your question, Laura? You want to know how I like to fuck?”

  Blood rushed to her cheeks. She realized too late she had crossed the line. It wasn’t about sex slaves, abuse, and female solidarity anymore. It was about him, and he knew it.

  “No.” She shook her head vehemently. “No, I just… I just don’t understand… how any woman could want this… consent to it… That woman on stage, it was horrible… you said… you did this to her too…” Her voice trailed off, her courage long gone.

  “Hmm…” He reached for her foot.

  She instinctively tried to pull away. Her heart was racing, her nerves on high alert. In response, he wrapped his hand firmly around her ankle, though not hard enough to cause pain, his eyes conveyed the warning. She took short sharp breaths, panic overwhelming all other emotions as he calmly waited until she willed her body to relax and he could feel her foot loosen in his grip. Only then did he release his hold. He brushed the tips of his fingers against the bare skin around her ankles and the top of her foot, drawing little shapes on her skin.

  “Sometimes what you think you want and what your body wants are very different,” he finally said, his voice gruff as his eyes followed the little patterns he softly drew on her bare skin. He lifted his eyes to meet hers, but she remained silent, only her loud breathing being heard. “I think you can understand that…” he added, his eyes smoldering.

  She shook her head in denial, her eyes bewildered.

  “No…?” he taunted her, still playing with her foot. “Then tell me, Laura, why did you get so wet when I made you strip for me?” he goaded, his smile devilish.

  She opened her mouth, then closed it right back in the face of his intense gaze, daring her to deny it. He chuckled softly at her unvoiced indignation. His hand lingered on her ankle a little longer, then in a flash he grabbed them both and pulled her, wrapping one leg behind him, the other on his lap. He leaned toward her, pinning her wrists over her head to the arm of the couch. His upper body towered over her, he could feel her frantic short breaths against him and smiled wickedly. “So many things I can do to you right now…”

  She looked up at him, her frightened eyes silently pleading with him.

  How he admired his captive prey. With a hungry look in his eyes, he brought his face close to hers, his mouth hovering over hers. She closed her eyes and, with a bitterness contradicting her fluttering heart, surrendered to his kiss.

  He didn’t kiss her. Instead, he moved his lips away. Slowly, his mouth traced the lines of her jawbone, on its unhinging journey down and up her neck, his own breathing growing louder with arousal.

  “Would you stop me, Laura? Would you consent?” he huskily whispered into her ear.

  She felt her stomach knot, the feeling so familiar now, her breaths growing even faster and louder than before, unsure whether from fear anymore. “Please… Please… sir… let me go back to my room…” Her eyes began to water. “Please…”

  He pulled back, looking her in the eye, and shook his head, his smile predatory. If it had worked to her advantage before, she couldn’t have picked a worse time to address him as such. He felt himself harden and brought her wrists together without haste to lock them in his left hand. He brought his free hand to her face, the tip of his fingers tracing its outlines, then softly down her neck and over her collarbone. “Bet you wish you would’ve gone straight to your room…”

  He moved his fingers straight down the middle of her chest over her shirt, his eyes following the path his fingers traced. He lingered a little around her belly button. Then crooking his finger over the hem of her yoga pants, he caressed her bare skin with the back of his finger, following the hemline.

  She was panting and didn’t utter a word, overwhelmed with conflicting emotions dominating her. She could feel the moisture build between her thighs, her apprehension mixing with a very different feeling.

  He continued his way down over her pants, at a maddeningly slow pace, taking his time and savoring every moment. When he finally reached his destination, he didn’t touch her there, where she was aching for his touch and dreading it at the same time. His fingers circled around it, making her ache only grow. At last, he delicately rested his fingers there, barely touching her.

  She unconsciously whimpered at the contact. Desperate for him to press harder, to move his fingers over and around her bundle of nerves and give her that release she wouldn’t allow herself on her own. She blushed with shame at her own animalistic thoughts, deeply disconcerted at her responses to his sordid ministrations. Her thoughts incoherent, she whimpered, “Please…”

  He began moving his fingers. At first, very slowly, unnervingly so, his fingers barely grazed her. Without will or awareness, her body arched to meet his touch.

  He let out a soft chuckle, applying more pressure as he picked up the rhythm. “Please what, Laura? Please… stop? Please… continue? Please… make me come?” he coaxed her, his voice hoarse, whispering into her ear.

  A soft and surprised “Oh” escaped her lips as her muscles contracted and quivered against his fingers. He pulled his head back barely an inch so he could have a better look at her. Enraptured, he watched her horrified eyes turn hazy with pleasure as her body slackened underneath his, and smiled triumphantly at her. She was still panting, distress gaining her eyes at the realization of what just happened.

  “You may be excused,” he leaned back close and whispered teasingly, just as she had asked him time and again before. He freed her wrists, watching with open amusement as she staggered to her feet flustered and disoriented. He caught her by the waist when she took a false step and lost her balance. She blushed, muttering a hushed impersonal “Thank you,” her eyes roaming in every direction to avoid his, then she rushed out of the room without ever turning back.

  “You’re welcome,” he called out after her, his troublesome snicker underlining what he was referring to.

  ***

  Kayne poured himself another drink. He stared at the TV blankly, his mind consumed with thought. He was still horny as hell, considered making a call but decided against it, feeling lazy and pensive. The girl surprised him. She was gutsier than he gave her credit for. He still couldn’t believe she had come to meet him on her own. Crazy girl, he shook his head with an amused smile. She had been terrified but still spoke her mind, he could respect that. Had he noted jealousy when she asked about Tanya? He wondered. It was almost too easy. I thought you were together… He laughed inwardly, that’s one way to put it.

  He thought back to his time with Tanya, when she was still his. He could still see her defiant stare as she’d obey unblinkingly his most degrading demands, crawling on all fours with her head held high. She was something else, brought out his most sadistic side. He felt himself stiffen. He had loved to hurt her, humiliate her, always pushing her further. But what he wanted most of all was just to make her bow her head, feel her break and crumble at his feet.

  He remembered when it finally happened. It was neither whips nor canes that ended the long duel. It was cruel words whispered softly in her ears that had sealed her fate. She was shameless and thick skinned, but like most women, her heart was her ultimate demise. He remembered how she had crawled to him, her belly flat on the floor, and latched on to his foot, kissing it, again and again. “Please, Master… I love you…” she had finally confessed, breaking into a sob. He stood over her, looking down with disdain at the dewy-eyed creature he could barely recognize. He knew it was over right then and there.

  “How incredibly disappointing of you,” he had callously answered, before shaking his foot free from her clutching hands. Then he walked away, leaving her heaving on the floor. Before exiting the room, he had turned his head back. “You’re free. Find another master.”

  He had received the courtesy call from Dimitri barely a week later. That was three years ago. She had come a long way since, even becoming
one of Dimitri’s favorites. Her status as the favorite had been further reinforced when Dimitri gave her permanent quarters in his second mansion. It was where he hosted all his parties, where Kayne had brought Laura barely two nights ago.

  Then his mind went back to Laura. He felt that same urge, that unwholesome need to dominate, to conquer and destroy. And yet the girl stirred something else in him. Unlike Tanya, she cowered and easily bent to his will, though unlike all the others, she managed to hold on to herself. What a fascinating creature, he thought. He wondered how much longer it would take. She would have let him inside of her, he suspected, but he wanted more, much, much, more. He wanted to get inside her head, to turn her against herself, to hear her utter the words Yes, Master. He wanted to break her apart so he could put her back together again, over and over again.

  ***

  Laura cried all night long, curled in a little ball under the sheets. She didn’t cry from shame at what happened. She cried from despair at what was to come. This man had a hold on her. This man, holding her captive, hunting her brother. This man who’d most likely killed and tortured in cold blood. A man who stood by idly as women were being sold and abused. This was the man she knew would eventually have her. What if he had tried that night, could she have cried rape?

  She cried over the life he took from her, the life she would never have. She cried over Peter, not once blaming him for her ordeal. The betrayal was hers. She could no longer get his postcards and wondered if he had sent one, if it was still waiting for her in her mailbox. Wouldn’t they have sent someone to go through her stuff? If they had found one of his postcards, wouldn’t she have been interrogated? Was he still in Boston? Was he still alive, riding a convertible into the sunset, or huddled by a gutter looking for his next fix? Would they get to him first, or would life simply catch up with him? How long do junkies really live? She cried over what he had become, over what he had once been. She cried over the Peter she loved, the one that already died, long ago.

  Day-11

  She barely had a few hours of sleep and woke up with a start. It was still early in the day when Olga came in with her breakfast. She was already dressed in jeans and a warm grey sweater. Even with the sun shining bright outside, Laura felt cold, big circles under her eyes framing her vacant look. Olga, concerned, inquired about her well-being. Laura absentmindedly reassured her, confirming with a withdrawn smile she would attend supper at seven.

  She spent the day in the reading room, unable to read or even watch the television, just looking out the window, trapped in her mind.

  ***

  At seven, Kayne was already sitting at the table. His mischievous smile immediately dropped upon seeing her dejected expression. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice grave, his face hard.

  Laura advanced slowly and took the seat facing him. She looked up at him, her eyes weary, and her voice toneless. “I would rather not talk about it, if it’s okay.”

  His jaw tensed. “What’s wrong.” He wasn’t asking anymore.

  “Have you found Peter?” she asked, her voice strained.

  He sighed, then nodded his head very slightly a few times, as if confirming his inner speculations. “No, Laura, we haven’t.”

  She breathed in with relief. “Will you ever let me go?” she asked quietly, her directness not emanating from actual courage but with the carelessness of one who had nothing left to lose.

  This was not the supper he had in mind. He felt somehow rejected, a rather new and unpleasant feeling. She should be blushing and squirming under his stare after what he’d done to her last night, not stare him straight in the eye, her face haggard, asking about freedom, from him.

  “I don’t know,” he finally answered, his voice cold.

  She lowered her eyes, resigned. “What about my stuff, my apartment, my job…”

  “It’s been taken care of.”

  She nodded, her eyes still fixed on the untouched plate in front of her.

  “Eat,” he commanded.

  They spent the rest of the supper in silence. She played with her food with no appetite, tentatively bringing a spoon or two to her mouth every now and then.

  “Will you… will you let me go outside?” Her soft voice reached into his turbulent thoughts.

  “What?”

  “Just out in the backyard. I just thought I could read outside…” “No.”

  “May I ask why?” she asked, her eyes glistening.

  “So I won’t have to hurt you when you try something stupid,” he cautioned, his eyes penetrating.

  “I won’t. I swear… I mean, how could I even… there’s guards everywhere…”

  “You think you won’t, now. But you will, believe me, you will.”

  “No… I swear… I just wanted to read… You can’t lock me in here forever…” Her voice quivered, unshed tears filling her big grey eyes.

  “Try me.”

  They finished the meal in an oppressing silence. She waited until he finished his plate to ask to be excused to which he nodded, his expression inscrutable. As she picked up her plate, ready to bring it to the sink, he stopped her.

  “Leave it,” he barked.

  She jerked at the command, then quietly exited the room under his unnerving glare.

  ***

  Laura fell into a deep sleep as soon as she shut her eyes, mentally drained, physically exhausted. She had a horrible nightmare about Peter. They were in a Roman arena. She was sitting next to a faceless king with a crown on her head, an uneasy feeling in her gut. There was a skinny daunted gladiator in the arena facing a lion. The crowds cheered and roared dementedly as the lion circled the defenseless gladiator shakily holding his blade up, turning around on himself in a futile effort to keep the lion in view.

  The gladiator then threw his blade to the floor and ran in the queen’s direction. “Laura! Why won’t you help me?” he screamed, his face distorted with emotion.

  She recognized her brother too late. The lion broke into a run and jumped in the air. She howled in pain, screaming his name over and over again.

  She woke up still screaming, her face wet with tears. Someone was shaking her awake.

  “Laura… Laura… wake up.” Kayne was sitting on the bed by her side, a darkness in his eyes contrasting the softness in his voice.

  She blinked a few times, slowly coming out of her dream-induced haze.

  “You had a nightmare. You were shouting in your sleep.”

  She brought herself up to a sitting position, her eyes looking deep into his. “But it wasn’t just a nightmare… Peter…” Her voice cracked, tears returning to her eyes.

  He held her gaze, remaining quiet.

  “Peter…” she repeated and broke into desperate sobs.

  He pulled her to him, carefully, as if afraid he might break her. Burying her head in the nook of his neck, he ran his fingers through her hair, making shushing sounds in her ear. She wailed against his strong chest, letting herself be caressed and comforted while he placed gentle kisses on her forehead.

  “I don’t want him to die…” she sobbed in his arms.

  With his lips still pressed against her forehead, he responded, in a hushed tone, a hint of affection softening its inflection, “I know.” She leaned back, turning her big grey eyes to his, the last shred of hope threatening to abandon them, never to return. “Help me…” They remained in this loose embrace for what seemed like an eternity, silently staring into each other in the middle of the darkness that surrounded them, which was slowly becoming a part of them.

  He finally nodded his head, slowly, resolute, his eyes boring into hers. Without another word, he got up and walked away.

  Day-12

  Kayne sat in his office across from his bedroom on the second floor. It was already past one in the morning. He had just returned home. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out the postcard. He turned it over in his hands pensively. He was already helping her. He just didn’t know to what extent he was willing to go and began to won
der if his intentions were still purely selfish. His talk with Dimitri had been tense but successful.

  Dimitri knew right away the girl knew more than she let on. He had questioned him about it, displeased. He felt the need to remind him what they stood for; it was far more than getting the information back. If Peter wanted to use it, he would have. It was about righting the wrong. Betrayal cannot go unpunished, he reiterated. He reminded him of his father’s teachings. Kayne did not take kindly to being lectured but remained quiet nonetheless. Dimitri wanted to take back the girl, have her interrogated right there and then. He had assured him the girl would be returned to him still attractive, still useful.

  Kayne had stood his ground then. It was about much more than the girl; it would undermine his position. If they took the girl from him, Dimitri would openly disgrace him, deem him incompetent in the eyes of all. He would not tolerate such insult. The mood got tense.

  Kayne made his arguments, carefully choosing his words. Peter had been on the run for over eight months now. He would be found, and his head, along with the information, would be brought to him, he assured Dimitri. He had never failed him before. Was Dimitri ready to jeopardize a lifelong relationship to gain a few days? If betrayal could not be forgiven, disrespect would not be tolerated, Kayne asserted. He drew the line in the sand and hoped for the best. Dimitri finally broke the strenuous silence that followed by waving him into an embrace, chuckling. So proud, just like your father you are. He’d given him one more week. That was four days ago.

  Things with Laura were unpredictable. One moment she was eating out of his hand, the next acting like a terrified prisoner. Then, just last night, he felt her shatter in his arms, looking up at him as a savior, Help me. Her desperate plea resonated in him. He’d never been the person you turned to for help. Hunt, track, destroy. Those were his talents, his very identity. But he had acquiesced. In that moment, he had meant it.