“Do not forget again,” he mocked me, and left me in the room.
**
Hours later he returned with a poignant salve. It smelled strongly of herbs and old medicine.
He rubbed it over my wounds. His touch was so soft, so gentle, so caring, that I could not believe this was the same man who hurt me.
My body opened up to him. I desperately wanted more.
Sadly, that brief moment of tenderness was all he was willing to give.
He came back in the morning of the third day. He lay down on the bed. He bade me to him.
That’s where we are now.
“So soft,” he murmurs as he strokes my cheek. “So soft, so smooth, so lovely.” His fingers run through my hair. “You have wonderful waves, did you know?”
I look at him. I see in his eyes that the compliment is genuine.
Tears fill mine. Not from pain… there is no pain, no pain exists when we are like this, but from… longing.
I long for him to let me in. I know it’s early still. But I can tell, I know that beneath the mask of darkness lies another man.
I want to be the one he shows that side to.
“You’re hungry, yes?” he asks. “You’re allowed to say ‘yes,’ Dani. There will be no punishment.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Louder,” he commands.
“Yes,” I try again. My voice quivers.
“Once more.”
“Yes!” I tell him, forcing the word out my throat.
He smiles. “Good,” he tells me. “I have a meal waiting for you. It is downstairs. Would you like to come?”
I bob my head up and down.
He sits a little straighter. “You have to earn it, though.”
His hand slips through his pants. He starts to stroke his cock.
My eyes widen. Excitement comes on a heavy wave. All thought of food, of pain, of punishment is forgotten.
I’ve waited so long to see him nude.
“Lie over there,” he directs. “Across from me. Open your legs wide. Let me see your pussy.”
I crawl to the other side of the bed. I catch a whiff of my own urine on the floor and gag. For a second I’m pulled out of the moment. I hate the smell.
“Dani…” Sylvain’s voice pulls me back to the present. “Do as I say, sweet girl.”
I meet his eyes as I lie back. My head is propped up. I run a hand down my body, over my breasts, past my stomach. I cross my legs, draw them up, and then spread them slowly.
I start touching myself.
Sylvain’s hand is buried in his pants. I cannot see his penis.
But the ferocity with which he works his hand is immense. The thick outline of his girth fills me with the greatest excitement.
Good thing I’ve done this before, I think as I rub my pussy. I circle a finger along my clit. I sink my own fingers in, as deep as they can go.
I utter a hollow moan.
Sylvain’s eyes are fixed on my hand. He strokes himself harder. Faster. His breathing quickens.
As does mine. Together, we connect on a level unknown to me before. As we masturbate to each other, the only thing I wish were different was that his clothes were off.
At least I can still see his face. That’s most important.
I feel the growing orgasm in the distance. My fingers make moist, wet sounds. They combine with his labored breathing. I bite my lip hard to prevent myself from crying out.
I do not want to accidentally say another word.
The orgasm builds. The waves increase. I feel it coming… it’s coming…
Sylvain stops. Without warning he pulls his hand out.
“No,” he says, his voice strained. “No more.”
His cock is still large and prominent behind the fabric of his pants.
No? I think.
With great disappointment, I let my hand drop.
Sylvain pushes himself up. I can see the effort it takes him not to do more.
I can see the power with which his cock stands against his pants.
“You don’t move,” he tells me. “Stay right there. Just like that.”
He adjust himself and climbs off the bed.
“Close your eyes,” he whispers in my ear. He places a blindfold over my head. He ties it tight. “Now give me your hand,” he tells me. I reach back. He kisses the palm.
Then he ropes a tight knot around my wrist.
Before I know it, he’s tied both my arms to the bed. Then he does the same to my legs.
I am now spread-eagle on the mattress, blindfolded, constrained, and throbbing with need.
I hear something like a zipper. I turn my head. Sylvain’s hand grabs my cheek.
“No, no,” he whispers. “You are not to move.”
Suddenly the bed shifts. He climbs onto it. He lifts a leg and straddles me.
My breathing picks up.
I feel his pants fall away. He’s taken out his cock! But I cannot see, the effect is ruined, I can’t—
He grabs my breasts. With his free hand he strokes himself. I can tell from the jerky movements. He grabs and squeezes and lets go. He slaps them. He takes hold of my face again. His fingers circle my lips.
He strokes himself faster. His free hand is moving all over me. Touching, grabbing, doing whatever he wants. His breaths are fast and heavy. I can tell he’s getting close.
I moan for him, instinctually knowing that it turns him on.
And then he roars, and in a single hot blast shoots his cum all over me. On my breasts, on my neck, on my face—everywhere.
His breathing slows. He lowers his lips to my ear.
I can feel the heat of his cock. It’s so close, so tantalizingly close, but he hasn’t let me touch it yet.
He takes care not to let that change.
“Thank you for that,” he says softly.
He unties me, but leaves the blindfold on.
Just before he closes the door, he adds, “I’d like for you to swallow my cum.”
I hear him leave the chamber.
I peer down at my breasts. My heart is pounding. I know what he told me to do.
With one shaking hand I scoop his cum off my body and place it in my mouth.
Chapter Nine
Another two days I spend there, for a total of five, before I’m finally released.
“You did marvelous,” he praises, as he carries me down the steps.
I cling onto him. I’m too weak to stand on my own.
I’m also frigid cold, starved half to death, and very, very tired.
“You are a true jewel,” he continues. “You are a beauty. You are so strong, Dani. Don’t you feel it? Don’t you see? Do you grasp the strength building inside you?”
All I feel at the moment is an overwhelming thinness, a wretchedness, and disgust at the state of my body.
“Marvelous,” he repeats. “Absolutely marvelous. There has never been another like you.”
Well that’s good, I think.
Finally at my end, I close my eyes.
The world quickly shifts to black.
**
I wake up hooked to an IV drip.
What the hell? I wonder.
I touch the thin, clear tube running into my arm in confusion.
Sudden fear greets me when I see the men in the room.
Sylvain is seated on the opposite wall, watching me. His eyes are dark and hooded.
Beside him is a newcomer. A grey-haired, older man. His face is creased but his eyes are sharp. He has a short beard and disheveled hair. It gives him a slightly wily look.
He is watching me even more closely than Sylvain.
“How long…?” I begin.
“Just a few hours, you’re all right,” Sylvain answers quickly.
Too quickly?
He stands and looks at the man to his left. “Thank you, doctor, for coming on such short notice.”
The second man takes a longer time rising. His eyes crawl over me.
I f
eel, for a frightening second, like I’m about to become his meal.
“Doctor?” Sylvain prompts. “Your work is done.”
“Yes,” the other man says. He has a thick English accent. “Ensure she gets plenty of fluids.”
They both walk to the door. “You know your way out,” Sylvain says.
“Yes,” the doctor mutters. He takes one more look at me over Sylvain’s back. “I do.”
“Thank you, once more.” It sounds like a dismissal.
“Anything for…” he pauses, crooks his head, and changes what he was going to say. “…an old friend.”
He walks out. The door shuts. I’m left alone with Sylvain.
“Who was that?” I ask. I try to push myself up, and wince.
The needle in my arm stings.
“A trusted acquaintance.” Sylvain comes to my side. He lowers himself to the edge of the bed.
“What happened?”
“You didn’t drink enough,” he says. His voice goes stern. “There was a mix of electrolytes and essential minerals in the water I left you. But you…” his eyes sear into me, “…did not drink enough.”
I waver under that gaze.
Truth is, I used some of the water to flush away the stench of my urine.
“I’m sorry,” I say in a small voice. “I thought—”
“And that’s where you went wrong,” he cuts in. The back of his hand comes up to touch my cheek. “You mustn’t think, Dani. Not when I am Alastair. Not when you are with me. Not when you are mine. You must put your trust in… maybe not in me, maybe not this soon, but at the very least, in the… process.”
His touch becomes tender. “Don’t you see?” he asks. “I have to break you first. I must, Dani. I must. You must falter, you must become pliable, and only then can I make you whole. That rise—” he grips my hand tight, “—will be the crux of our journey together. It is where we will truly discover ourselves, you and I.”
Why do I feel like he already knows me? What is so wrong with me that his words appeal to me so much?
“Okay,” I tell him. “I do trust you, Sylvain. I do. I trust you more… more than I have ever trusted anyone before.”
“Oh yes,” he says. “But you do not yet trust me with your life.”
Chapter Ten
My recovery is quick. It really was just a mineral imbalance.
My fault for wasting the water. I should have known better.
Well, now I won’t stray far from what Sylvain tells me again.
That night, I spend in the same bed I woke up in. The next morning, Sylvain arrives early.
He opens the blinds. Sunlight streams in.
“Good morning, Dani,” he murmurs. He looks fresh and handsome in a richly-tailored suit.
In contrast, I feel like a bum in my bedclothes.
“I thought you might appreciate a swim with me today,” he says.
My gut seizes up. “Oh no,” I say. “I—”
“No?” He cuts through the protest. He pulls a chair to my side and sits. He lays his hand on mine and rubs his thumb along my knuckles. “You don’t like the water. I remember.”
I swallow uncomfortably. If he remembers, why did he ask?
“How about a bath then?” he asks. “Upstairs. By my room. I can set it up for you. I’ll make it hot. You can close your eyes and relax, without a worry about…” his voice hitches a tiny bit in a curious way, “…sinking.”
“I almost drowned when I was a girl,” I say. I don’t know why I’m volunteering the information. I haven’t told anyone this—not Min, not my parents, nobody.
Maybe I want him to know my dislike of water is no frivolous thing.
“I was seven. My uncle had a cabin. We went there every summer.” My eyes flit nervously to Sylvain’s. “I’m not boring you, am I?”
“No, no,” he assures me, patting my hand. “Go on.”
“There was a lake on the property. Actually it was more of a pond. But to a seven-year-old, it looked very much like a lake.”
I take a shuddery breath. I hate reliving this memory.
“I wasn’t allowed close to it. I don’t know why. Every year we went, I was told not to play by the water. Well, you tell someone like me she can’t go and do something, and what do you think happens? I immediately want to do it.”
Sylvain’s expression remains uncharacteristically neutral. His eyes, however, show the tiniest spark.
Shit, I think. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.
“Anyway,” I continue, my words started to bunch together as I hurry to the end. Already this is the longest uninterrupted speech I’ve given Sylvain. “My uncle had a cat. We called him Blackie. Big fat old thing. He liked to climb trees.
“The pond was surrounded by oak trees. Some of the branches reached out over the water. I was playing with Blackie. He decided to climb up… probably to get away from me.”
Sylvain remains stoic. “And then?”
“He got up in one of the high branches. They weren’t very strong. Like I said, he was fat. I was probably tormenting him as only little kids can. He wanted to get away from me, so ended up there.
“When he got into the tree I freaked out. My parents, my uncle, they’d all know that I was playing by the pond. So I panicked and tried to get him down myself. I don’t know how I made it up that tree. But somehow we ended up on the same branch. I wasn’t scared of the height, only of being caught by my parents.
“I crept closer. And closer. And closer still. Blackie kept backing away, mewling at me the whole time.
“And then I heard a snap. Next thing I knew I was free-falling. I hit the surface of the water. I guess I thrashed and swallowed a bunch of it. I started choking, suffocating. I thought I was going to die. And then…
I trail off. “And then, I don’t remember.”
I look down. “I’m sorry,” I say in a small voice. “That wasn’t a very good story.”
“Childhood experiences give shape to who we are,” Sylvain says solemnly. He grips my hand tightly. “I had a cat when I was that age, too. When my father found me playing with her instead of doing my work…” he chuckles softly.
“He gave me a rifle and made me shoot her.”
Chapter Eleven
Sylvain leaves shortly after that little revelation.
He utters only a muted, “Excuse me.”
I watch him go, heart pounding,
I took so many words to tell him my story. He gave me his all in two quick sentences.
I look around me. The castle—I know it is not a happy place.
It never was a happy place, by the sound of it.
I get up. Damn, I stink. The first thing I want is a shower to scrub myself off. Maybe a bath?
If Sylvain’s offer still stands, that is.
I take the thin sheet covering me and wrap it around myself. I walk upstairs.
The door to Sylvain’s study is wide open. He’s inside, looking out the window.
He turns his head when he hears me. We make eye contact for a moment without speaking.
He looks away first.
I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder what he’s been through to make him so.
Is it the chance to uncover something hidden inside him that draws me to him so? The opportunity to discover a secret about the man?
Am I subjecting myself to his whims because I want to understand him more?
He does not invite me into the room. But neither does he protest when I take my first step inside.
I stop at his side. The window overlooks the gardens and the maze.
I can see the stone bench where his sister shot herself.
“My father,” Sylvain says suddenly, “used to call this his study, himself. He is the one who taught me to play the piano.”
“Oh,” I say softly.
I take an uneasy step backwards.
He grabs my arm and pulls me back in a tight vice.
“Are you scared?” he questions. “Do you want to get
away, now that you know more about me? Some of the pieces are falling into place inside that pretty head of yours, are they not?”
He grabs my hair and yanks my head back. I give a little yelp of pain.
He brings his face just inches away from mine. “Do I frighten you, Dani? Do you know the sort of monster I am? Look—Look into my eyes! Tell me they are not the eyes of a lunatic. Tell me they are the eyes of somebody sane!”
“Sylvain…” I whimper. “Sylvain, stop. This isn’t you.”
“Oh?” He laughs. “And so you think. Shows how little you truly know. Where do you think my sadistic impulses come from? Why do you think my father beat my mother, beat his daughter? Look!”
He shoves my head to the window.
“Look outside!” he rages on. “Look out there! See the bench? My father saw. He stood here, in this very spot, and he watched in utter apathy as his daughter took her own life. GAH!”
He hurls me away. I fall to the floor in a heap.
Sylvain glowers down at me. “Clean yourself up,” he spits. “Once you do, you and I will… resume.”
Chapter Twelve
The bath is forgotten. Instead I shower.
It is the most nerve-wracking shower of my life.
In his study… Sylvain lost control. Something snapped, and that rage came out.
Maybe it’s all a test, I consider. Maybe he’s acting out on purpose to see how I’ll respond.
I cling to that thought. It’s the one thing that makes sense. It’s the only one that lends me any comfort.
Because otherwise, I’ve put myself willingly into the hands of a madman.
No. I shake my head as the water streams down my body. Sylvain’s not mad. The more I think about it, the more I see.
The clearer the picture becomes.
He is testing me. He is, he is, he is. We lost a night together thanks to my dehydration. Thanks to my inherent stubbornness and refusal to follow his instructions completely when I was in the Black Tower.
That’s why he’s angry. Because I did this to myself.
He is the only one allowed to hurt me. That was his conflict. That was the source of his frustration. That because of my own idiocy, I put myself in harm’s way.
The Alastair Affair 3: Dani Page 4