Page 12 of Vicious

“I don’t want you to touch me at all.” But I know that’s not an option. He’s making it perfectly clear that I’m just a slave to him, and for all that he claims he chose me because I enjoy pain, that doesn’t mean I want it.

“Ah, the hard version, then.” Chase opens the scissors again, and I tremble as he takes them to the side of the bikini bottoms. “I’ll have to tie you down. Did you do that a lot, with your past lovers? Maybe they just gripped your wrists, and you wished they’d go at it harder, but you never dared to voice your fantasies.”

I hold my breath, not even daring to speak. I’m not going to tell him I’ve never had other lovers, that he’s the first person to touch me intimately—well. The first person besides those at Ntimacy who had grabbed and groped, and Chase hasn’t done much more than that.

Yet.

Chase pulls away the bikini fabric, and I’m left standing naked in ill-fitting sneakers. Chase gives me a once over, nodding. “Shoes off. And don’t try anything stupid. I’m the one holding the scissors now.”

He’s not going to let me grab them again, and even if he did, what would I do with them? Try to stab him again? If I managed to hurt him, he probably would turn me over to the corrupt-as-hell New Bristol police. And that’s only if he was in the mood to be nice.

I lift my shaking hands in the air in a gesture of surrender, then crouch down so I can untie the shoes. I probably could’ve just toed them off, but I need the extra few seconds this affords me.

“So, what’s the most you’ve done? Just so I know where to start your ‘education.’ A flogger? Some light spanking? Biting? You telling the guy to go harder just so you can actually feel something, only he ended up going even gentler?” Chase places the scissors back into the drawer.

I finish untying the shoes and stand up, slipping out of them. I don’t look up at him. He’ll be able to read it in my expression if I tell him a lie. I know that much. But I don’t know what to say or do, either. So I just stay silent, because it’s better than trying to figure out what’s too much or not enough.

Maybe he’ll hit me again.

Maybe I’ll like it.

Chase goes to the many torture implements hanging from a wall hook: whips and floggers and paddles, all proudly displayed, like that’s something you want out in the open. He takes one of the whips off the hook and runs his hand over the length of the coiled leather. “A few lashes for you, perhaps? Your skin would look delectable with red welts across it.” He eyes me and pauses. “Or is that too simple for my sweet May? Should I go harder?”

“No!” Panic surges within me at the thought. I don’t think I could stand it. It looks so heavy, so cruel, and there’s no way I could possibly enjoy something like that whip. “Please don’t,” I whimper.

I stare down at my feet again, my hair falling into my eyes. I can’t get out of this, and that realization is nearly enough to break me.

Chase cracks the whip, and the sound alone is enough to make me flinch.

“I take it you haven’t taken a lash before, then.” I hear him put the whip away, and he steps closer to me again. “So what have you taken? Or have you truly been trying to get by on vanilla sex alone?”

Trembling, I keep staring down at my feet, for all that I flinch again when he gets near me. “Yes,” I mumble. “I didn’t—I don’t—want anything that’s not… that’s not vanilla.” God, I sound pathetic even to my own ears, not convincing at all.

Chase places a single finger under my chin and forces me to look up. His eyes meet mine, and I don’t like the expression on his face—like he’s a shark who’s scented blood.

“How many vanilla boyfriends has my pretty May had?” he asks, his voice a little ragged.

He’s going to know if I lie. He’s going to know it whether I say anything or not. But I force myself to whisper, “Just one.” It’s better than him thinking I’m still a virgin. Right now, I really, really wish I wasn’t a virgin, just so I’d know what to expect beyond water cooler talk at work.

“Just one?” Chase’s lips part slightly, and he takes in a long breath. “In high school? Not in college, since you didn’t go to college. One high school boyfriend, then. Did he take you to prom? Did you hold hands? Make out in the back of his car?” He steps even closer to me, stealing that last bit of personal space. “Or maybe you’ve always held back. Maybe you’ve been so focused on all those part-time jobs, on paying off your father’s debts, that you didn’t have time for anything fun. So you ignored all those invitations, all the many lustful advances. Maybe you were saving yourself.”

“I wasn’t saving myself,” I say quickly, and just like in all of those horrible movies and books, I find that my back hits the wall when I try to move away again. I look up, and the gleeful look on his expression is so terrifying that my heart skips a beat. “I just didn’t have much time for dating.”

I should’ve said three. Or more than that. I shouldn’t have gone so low.

But would he have believed it if I’d tried to make myself sound like I’d really had time to do anything for myself?

“Fuck.” Chase shudders and gets one thigh between mine. “You’re a virgin? I didn’t even consider…”

I shake my head quickly, trying desperately to figure out a way out of this. “No!” I protest, but the way my voice cracks gives me away. “Please don’t?—”

He grips my jaw and kisses me forcefully.

My gasp is stifled by the kiss, and for a moment I remember that first time we met, when he’d cornered me at a party and kissed me just like this, making my body tingle in ways it never had before.

I don’t kiss back this time, knowing too well how dangerous this is. I can’t encourage him. I can’t let him think I want this.

Then again, it’s not like that would dissuade him. I think he wants me even more knowing that I’m unsullied, and what the fuck is wrong with men that they enjoy that thought so much?

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