I Know What Love Is Page 4

  I sat back on my haunches, waiting to see if he was going to be satisfied with the job I'd done. He was already well on his way to training me. He smoothed his hands around to my cheeks, slipping his thumbs between my lips. I couldn't resist—I bit down on his right thumb, hard, between my molars. He sucked in a sharp breath, but didn't remove his hands. His fingers caressed my cheeks as he ran his thumbs over my tongue. Water was splashing on my face and stinging my eyes, so, despite the danger, I closed them. My mouth was being explored by the crazy man who'd kidnapped me, but that was far from the worst thing that had happened to me that night, so I went with it. He was being gentle, so I didn't fight.

  His calloused fingers were light but rough against the sides of my cheeks and the roof of my mouth. I shivered at the bizarre sensation. Why the hell was he touching the roof of my mouth? I opened my eyes when he removed his thumbs and slipped two fingers inside. He plunged them in slowly, and my tongue rose to meet them. His dick was still soft as he thrust his fingers in and out of my mouth. Without being told, I began to suck on them.

  Now, I can't tell you why. Maybe I was trying to fuck with him. Maybe he was trying to fuck with me. I don't know. All I know is, I sucked on the man's fingers for a good five minutes as he plunged them harder and harder into my mouth. As I ran my tongue over their calloused tips, my nipples hardened. My hands circled his wrist as I licked and tasted him.

  We had a moment. A bizarre moment, but a moment nonetheless.

  Before I knew it, he pulled away. He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, leaving me on my knees and embarrassed. If there was any more doubt as to who was in charge, he'd just given me a heads up. I was way down on the fucking totem pole. I pushed myself to standing, the muscles in my legs protesting. I wrapped one of his black towels around me, shivering despite the heat.

  I was about to spend the night with my rapist. I wondered what he was going to do to me in an actual bed. I wondered how much more trauma would I be able to take? How much more pain? With a shudder, I realized I didn't have my birth control pills. I didn't even have a damn toothbrush or a comb. My hair was dripping down my legs, the water pooling on the tile floor beneath my feet. I bent at the waist, opening the cabinet below the sink.

  And, as if the night couldn't get any worse, the man didn't own a hair dryer.

  *****

  After I prepped the bedroom for us, as quickly as I could, I made my way back to the bathroom. She hadn't tried to run; she stayed in the bathroom like a good girl. From the darkness of the hallway, I watched her drying off with my towel, her eyes on the ground, her long legs glittering with droplets of water. The memory of her hot mouth softly licking and sucking my sensitive cock did something to me. It twisted an invisible cord buried in my chest. It was strange, but the shift was already starting.

  I wanted that night to be the beginning of something real good. She could be my girl forever, I reckoned—on her knees, on her back, on her stomach with her face in the dirt. However I wanted her, I could have her. She would fight me, but eventually, she would relent. I would make her relent. I could make her do anything.

  Hot liquid warmth reared up in me. I basked in the glow of my strength. Of my prowess. Of my power. I'd never, ever felt so powerful in my whole life.

  It was an addictive feeling.

  I was so focused on what I could take from her, and the power that I could wield, that I didn't realize that she wasn't weak at all.

  It never occurred to me that she could take something from me. Something that would force me to my knees and rip my guts out at the same time.

  That night, I was blissfully unaware of the agony that was headed my way.

  *****

  I knew he was standing in the hallway, just out of my field of vision. I took as long as possible, drying off without actually unwrapping the towel from around myself. My hair was impossible, so I gave up on it. It was going to dry into mangled, matted curls, but that was the least of my problems.

  It was hard, but I avoided my own eyes in the mirror. I didn't want to see what he'd done to me. My face ached and felt heavy in places, the bruises swelling under the skin. I desperately wanted to look between my legs, however, as if I would be able to see what exactly had been damaged and if it was repairable. But there was no way in hell I was going to do that with him watching me.

  At least I wasn't bleeding anywhere. I took that as a good sign.

  I jumped when he appeared in the doorway of the bathroom. I wondered if I was ever going to get used to the sight of his naked body. The perfection of him was fucking with my mind. Rapists were supposed to be disgusting, with bad teeth, beer guts, small dicks, and hairy backs. At least, that's how my innocent brain had pictured them. Men whose interior ugliness showed on their exterior flesh.

  Again, I used to be so naïve.

  The worst monsters are the ones that don't look like monsters, because they fool you into complacency with their beauty. While you're busy mooning over their six-pack or their dazzling baby blues, they sneak up behind you, hit you over the head with a club, and drag you back to their cave. It's been that way since the dawn of man. Since the age of the neanderthal. I know that, now.

  Cornered like a bunny in a trap, I made myself look him dead in the face. I was scared, but I didn't cower. I'd already been raped, beaten, used up. I wouldn't allow myself to be broken. He blinked down at me, his arms above his head, gripping the doorframe. He was so big, I almost sobbed out loud. He had all the power in our dynamic and I was so weak. Hopelessness flooded my chest, even as I told myself I would never let him break me.

  When he stepped closer to me, I instinctively took one step back. Making an impatient sound, he grabbed me roughly by the shoulders and whirled me around so that my back was to him. He yanked the towel from my body, and even though I tried to hold on to it, it fell with a light thump at my feet.

  I felt him running his hands through my hair, not-so-softly pulling the tangles out. I stood stiffly, my hands covering my breasts as he groomed me. The ends of my hair stopped just above my ass, and he didn't miss the opportunity to drop his palms to the soft skin. He hadn't yet abused me there, but I knew it was coming. How the hell I would prepare myself for that particular violation, I didn't know.

  “Your hair is perfect,” he said, like I cared what he thought. He massaged my ass cheeks in earnest then, his nose pressed against the back of my head. When he slid his hands around my hips to my lower belly, I clenched my thighs tight. He chuckled against my scalp, splaying his palms over my womb. “You're perfect, Daisy.” I could feel his cock stirring against my ass, and I immediately took back every mildly good thing I had thought about his dick.

  It was a nine inch devil, plain and simple.

  His hands were roaming again, his fingernails dragging up my forearms. I held my breath, knowing what was coming. The man was insatiable. In a quick movement, he hooked his forearm around my neck and clenched his bicep, like he was going to choke me out. Then he dragged me out of the bathroom, down the long hallway, my heels scraping against the shag carpet, and into a dark bedroom. He threw me on top of a soft bed and crushed me beneath his heavy, damp body.

  As he pinned my arms down under his knees and thrust his cock into my mouth, it dawned on me that I didn't know the crazy motherfucker's name.

  After everything we'd been through, he hadn't even bothered to introduce himself.

  Chapter Five

  I slept like the dead that night, surprisingly. When he wrapped his hateful self around me, I felt like there was no way I would be able to sleep. My jaw ached after he face-fucked me, my damp hair was twisted around my neck, and I was tied so tight, it was impossible to get comfortable. Despite all odds, his deep breathing lulled me to sleep and I fell into a dark pit of unconsciousness.

  I used to look back and wish I had never woken up. I used to wish that he'd accidentally pulled the belt too tight around my neck and I'd slowly choked to death before morning. Then it never would have h
appened.

  What happened that day changed everything. Even now, I don't understand why it happened. I know no one else will probably understand. It's my deepest secret, believe me.

  Maybe it was self-preservation. Maybe it was Stockholm Syndrome. I'm not sure. I've never talked to my non-existent therapist about it.

  Either way, there was no excuse for my behavior.

  When I opened my eyes on that sunny Saturday morning, my body sagged and tears welled up. It hadn't been a bad dream. I truly was bound to a bed with a naked stranger next to me. My body ached all over, inside and out. My hands were numb and electric jolts of pain were shooting from my shoulders to my wrists. He'd bound my arms behind me with a leather belt, and looped another belt around my neck, effectively binding me to the headboard. The skin of my neck felt chafed and raw, and my muscles felt stiff and rusty.

  I sniffled, forcing the tears back. He stirred beside me and I froze. With a deep, raspy breath, he sat up, his broad back to me. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, not looking at me. He stood and stretched his arms over his head, muscles rippling all over the place. He walked around the edge of the bed, dropping his hand to caress my thigh. I held my breath as he leaned over me, my eyes feeling like they were going to bug out of my head, but all he did was undo the belt and free my neck.

  Swiping the sleep out of his eyes, he guided me down the hallway to the bathroom. His cat, a white and black spotted calico, watched us impassively from the living room, licking a paw. He pushed me into the bathroom, forced me down onto the toilet. I stared up at him as I peed, not bothering to be embarrassed. He hadn't unbound my hands though, which lead to an awkward moment when it came time to wipe. He assisted me, which was disgusting, but he didn't seem to mind. I wondered how many women's asses had he wiped in his lifetime to be so blasé about it?

  After I finished, he urinated as well, scratching his abs lazily as I kept my eyes to the floor. After flushing, he walked me back to the bed. I fought him as he tried to loop the belt around my neck again, but, after he tweaked my nipple hard enough to burn, I lay still, chastised. When I was bound again, he crawled onto the bed beside me, settled his head on my chest, and went back to sleep.

  The sun streamed through the faded floral fabric of the curtains, and I got a look around the bedroom. It was simply furnished, containing a dresser, a bed, two bedside tables, and one of those full length, hinged dressing mirrors that I'd always wanted as a kid, ever since I saw The Little Mermaid. My favorite scene was when the sea witch Ursula was disguised to ensnare the stupid prince. She changed form in front of the dressing mirror, revealing her true evil self. She was so deliciously devilish and smart. I never told anybody, but I wanted to be just like her when I grew up.

  Silly, huh?

  My eyes kept moving around the room and I wondered whose house we were in. It didn't seem like the evil man asleep on my chest really lived here. His clothes were tossed around, but other than that, it reminded more of my grandma's house than a place where a man lived. The furniture in the bedroom was all very old. Midcentury, I'd guess. And kind of... girly. All the pieces were painted white,with gold accents. Like a woman had picked out the matching set at Sears for her wedding registry in 1960 and kept them for the next fifty years.

  I strained my neck, looking around for any clues as to where the house was located. A piece of junk mail with an address, or a paycheck stub, or a magazine—anything. But I came up empty. I sighed jaggedly, resting my head back against the pillow. I stared up at the ceiling, telling myself I would be able to look around later when he unbound me. Maybe I would be able to find a cellphone and hide it until I could use it.

  I hadn't totally given up hope.

  If things had been normal, I would have woken up in my apartment around noon, dined on cereal in front of the TV, then headed out to the farmer's market. I let myself get lost in the fantasy for a minute, thinking about riding my bike down to the park in the bright sunshine. I could almost feel the breeze on my face.

  Then I thought about what would happen to my cute little apartment. My mother would probably trash all the brand new furniture I'd just paid off because the style wasn't to her taste. My clothes would be boxed up and given away. I wondered who would water my plants, now that I was gone? My mother had a black thumb, and they'd be dead in no time. The thought of their leaves, withering and brown, made me unbearably sad for some reason. Eventually I drifted off to sleep again, preferring the comforting nothingness of sleep to the nightmare of my reality.

  This is when things irrevocably changed. I let the line blur. It was totally my fault.

  He roused me from sleep with his head between my legs. I didn't have to open my eyes to know what he was doing. I felt his rough wet tongue sliding into me, his big hands on my thighs. I didn't move as he worked me over, licking me like he wanted to get me off. I jerked against him as he sucked my clit, tossing my head to the side. I kept my eyes closed, not wanting him to know I was awake. If he thought I was asleep, maybe he would get bored and leave me alone.

  It felt good. Despite the fact that he was a monster and my body had no business responding to him, it felt good. After a night of pain at the worst of times and discomfort at the best of times, it felt damn near heavenly. He dragged his wet lips up the skin of my inner thighs and I stiffened, expecting him to bite me. But he didn't. He sucked on my soft flesh, then returned to my pussy, dipping his tongue into me. He was breathing hard, his big hands spreading my thighs wide, his fingers digging into my skin as he devoured me.

  As long as I kept my eyes closed, I could pretend it wasn't affecting me.

  He flicked his tongue against my clit, and I grit my teeth to keep from moaning aloud. My perception zeroed in on his thumb, massaging the flesh right beneath my ass. Every time he moved the calloused digit, a shiver passed over my exposed skin. He probably didn't realize he was even doing it, but he was undoing me. There was no way he could know. The flesh on the back of my thighs had always been extremely sensitive. His jagged breaths tickled the skin and goosebumps broke out all over my body. It seemed unbelievable that an erogenous zone still existed on my body, after my ordeal. I wished I could shut off all sexual feelings, and not respond to him at all. He didn't deserve my pleasure, but my body wasn't cooperating.

  Maybe another woman would have been stronger than I was.

  He was still licking me, soft, then hard, then soft again with his rough tongue. I could feel myself dripping down to the sheet below me. I didn't know how much more I could take. I fisted the sheet beneath my ass, the binding around my wrists driving me crazy. I wanted to pull free and shove his face away from me. I wanted to run from the room. His mouth felt good, but the pleasure was a new kind of torture.

  When he dragged his mouth away from my pussy and scored his teeth across the back of my thigh, my back arched and I hissed out a jagged moan, a sound between pleasure and frustration. I clawed at the sheet beneath my bound hands, needing something to ground me to reality. I almost came, and my pussy clenched, craving more attention. I immediately regretted losing control.

  A wave of pure, blood-red hatred hit me. I hated this evil motherfucker. Not only had he taken everything he wanted from my body, suddenly, he was fucking with my mind too. I dug my heels into the mattress, resolving to steel myself against him. His eyes were on my face now, and they looked wilder than I'd ever seen them. I was used to them being flat and unemotional. Now, his green eyes practically danced. He looked... excited.

  Shit.

  I turned my head, forcing my eyes to the opposite wall. I felt him crawling up my body, dragging his wet hot tongue over the ridge of my hip. I jumped as he sunk his teeth into the soft skin of my lower belly, but he didn't grip hard enough to break the skin. I blinked in relief, my eyes still on the ugly fabric of the curtains. I studied them, memorized the curve of the yellow flower petals on the pattern, wanting to busy my mind. Anything to stop my body from reacting to the feel of his tongue, which traced slow circles
across my exposed, unprotected skin.

  My hands were clenched so tight my fingernails were digging into my palms. My breathing was shallow, and a cold sweat broke out across my chest. He dropped a hand to my thigh, and I sensed his calculated gaze on me. He ran his hand all over my thigh, watching my reaction. I kept my face blank, praying that he wouldn't find the spot. But I wouldn't be so lucky. He pinched the sensitive area below my ass and I gasped.

  He chuckled and I cringed at his victory.

  He lifted my leg and my knee brushed my chest. Then his hand returned to the spot, pinching and teasing as his mouth continued to roam up my front. My brain was on the verge of shutting down. My eyes drifted closed, desire slowly drowning me, but when I realized what was happening, I snapped them open. I wished he would slap me or punch me. He closed his mouth over my breast and I felt the air freeze in my lungs. I waited for the pain. I prayed for it.

  Pain would destroy the lust. If he shed my blood, my body would remember what a monster he was. Pain was black and white. What he was doing to me existed in a gray area, and I hated the way he was making me feel. However, his mouth continued its seduction. His hand was drifting away from my thigh to my pussy. I was helpless to stop him as he began strumming my clit as his tongue flicked against my nipple. A rough moan forced its way out from between my lips. Again, I was on the edge of an orgasm that could destroy me. Just as I felt like I couldn't take any more, he reached behind me and unbuckled the belt that held my hands.

  My mind came back to life. As soon as my arms were free, I began to struggle. I pressed the heels of my palms against his shoulders and shoved him hard. His mouth released my breast, the skin puckered and swollen from his attention. Like a rabbit, I tried to dart away. I pushed off the mattress with my heel and slid upward toward the headboard. He grabbed me though, pulling me back beneath him. His body was as immovable as always, and he caged me in with his hands on either side of my face. His face hovered above me, his lips inches from mine.