Page 21 of His Black Onyx

"Trust me," he interrupts. "You won't get hurt if you obey my commands."

"But you’re going to rape me."

Thick silence stretches between us, filling the room with a heavy, foreboding atmosphere. I feel sick to my stomach, my vision blurring as I try to cope with the prospect of a man taking from me what I'm not willing to give.

But he shakes his head.

"No," he says, his narrowed eyes fixated on mine. "It's not going to be like that. I promise that it won't be."

Now I'm the one shaking my head. How am I supposed to believe him? How am I supposed to trust this man? How can he even think I ever could?

My hand is shaking when I reach for the mug of steaming hot tea on the table. I'm not even thirsty. It feels as if my throat has closed up, a wrench tightening around it that won't allow any liquid to pass. But I need the distraction. I need to do something to take my mind away from this harrowing conversation, this moment, this man.

But as strong as my yearning for distraction may be, my heart still jolts with terror when I hear a sudden ruckus outside the house and then the main door is forced open viciously as if someone has kicked it in.

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