Page 25 of Sinful
“The food was really good,” I bleat out.
He leans in closely. “Not that question, Sinful. The one I asked you about earlier. Do you make sounds like the woman on the TV?”
She’s still moaning away. I can honestly say I’ve never made any noise comparable to her, but I can’t say that to Mercier. I don’t say anything at all.
“Let’s see for ourselves then, shall we?”
My body freezes as he lifts up the bottom of my pajama top and his hand snakes down into the pajama bottoms. “What are you doing?”
“It’s science, Sinful. I’m testing a hypothesis. I’m doing an experiment to see if I can make you make you scream.”
Terror fills my lungs and I want to scream now, but his next move has my throat closing up. He inserts a finger inside of me. I whimper, more in shock at how easy it is for him to invade my body than any kind of physical feeling.
“That’s a start, but I think we can do better.” He inserts another finger pressing into my core. I want to cry out with the shame of it and with the new sensations, but I can’t because then I’ll be giving him the satisfaction he craves. Total control over my body.
I won’t let him. I’ll endure what he gives, but I won’t make a sound.
His thumb presses between my folds, and when he finds my clit and begins to circle it, I have to clamp my teeth together to keep from making any noise. My hand finds the back of the sofa and I grip it tightly, trying to stave off the sensations that are building in my body.
“You are so fucking tight. I thought with all the men you’ve had, you wouldn’t be so tight.”
I shake my head as another jolt wracks my body. Just like before, my body is reacting to him, making it harder and harder to pull away. My blood heats up as he moves his thumb more quickly and I find myself pressing toward him instead of pulling back.
“That’s right,” he breathes, “Don’t fight it, Sinful. I’m going to make you scream out my name.”
I can’t help it. I let out a whimper as he thrusts his fingers into me all while working my clit. I squeeze my fingers into the depths of the plush sofa as my hips begin to buck toward him, urging him on despite myself. “No!” I hiss out, but the word is lost as my body is wracked with sensation, pulsing out from my core. I bite down on my lips as he gives one final thrust of his fingers, hitting a part of me I didn’t even know existed. The sweet secret he found pushes me over the edge and I cry out, in tandem with the woman on the TV.
“Say my name,” Mercier demands. My brain is full of fog and his words are the only thing I can process in the newfound sensation. “Mercier.”
“Nolan. Say Nolan.”
“Nolan,” I repeat in a breathless whisper. I’ve never felt so addled, so ashamed and so exhilarated in my whole life. My head flops back on the back of the sofa as he pulls his fingers from me.
“Such a good girl, Sinful. See what you can do?”
I didn’t do anything. It was him. It was all him. I stand from the sofa and feel my way across the room, not trusting my senses to get me there without guiding myself. I close the door and stand behind it, blocking it so that he can’t come in.
My body feels like it’s been shattered, splintered into a million pieces, and I’ve never felt so aware of it. What other parts of me are there that I don’t know about? What secrets does my body hide that men I hate have the key to?
When he doesn’t come to my room, I fling myself on the bed and will sleep to come. Tonight I’m getting out of here. Tonight I run away.
21
NIX
The sense of anticipation is overwhelming as Dacre and I ride up the elevator to his parents' apartment. There’s been no word from Mercier since our phone call, which is suspicious in itself. I know him well enough to know that having someone go through his shit will fuck him up like nothing else. So it’s a surprise to find him watching TV when we walk through the door. Mercier doesn’t watch TV. He can’t sit still long enough to enjoy anything and trying to watch anything longer than twenty minutes with him is a nightmare. Despite never watching a single movie, he knows every fact about every actor and actress and insists on telling us all about them, thus spoiling anything we watch with him.
“Where is she?” I grind out, expecting the worst. The air stinks of food, though I can’t see any signs of a meal.
“She went to bed. What are you doing here? I thought you’d washed your hands of her.” I hear the accusation in his voice.
“I didn’t wash my hands of her. I needed to think. Besides, we don’t have anywhere else to live now so you’ve lost your master suite privileges. Dacre’s taking the room back.”
His face crumbles as he takes in my words. He’s off the sofa faster than a cheetah after a wildebeest. “They turfed us out today? They aren’t letting us stay until graduation?”
“My father’s a dickhead,” Dacre states before heading into his parents’ bedroom.
“What the fuck!” Mercier runs his hands over his bristled head. He’s never been a pretty boy like Dacre, but now he looks damn well scary. He doesn’t blow up often. But when he does, it’s a sight to behold.
