Page 69 of Teach Me
The urge to struggle, to run flared stronger than the fear of the knife. Jess bucked and twisted, desperate to loose her bonds.
A quick, hard backhand snapped her head to the side. “Be still. You don’t want to mess up my art, now do you?”
The first slice near the vulnerable bend of her elbow was a cold shock that morphed quickly into searing pain. Jess heard herself cry out, the sound loud in the hush of the room, filling her ears, mixing with the pound of her heartbeat to drown everything else out. Maybe that was the key. Wouldn’t someone notice if she made enough noise? She began to shout, scream, pleading for help, hoping someone might hear and come to see what was happening.
Brit laughed. Crawling over her, he settled his weight on her stomach, adding to the tension on her arms and legs until she thought her joints would separate from their sockets. Her skin shrank away in revulsion as he leaned down and put his mouth at her ear, forcing her to hear him. Forcing her to listen. She couldn’t get away.
“Go ahead and scream, little mouse. I like it.” He rubbed against her, his erection showing her just how farlikewent. “There’s no one but me around to hear your pretty screams.”
The slow slices began, one following the other, marching a line of fire up her arm as Jess squirmed and cried. Control was impossible. Escape was impossible. The pain jarred her, sending agony squeezing through every muscle. She struggled to breathe around the tears clogging her nose and throat, the shallow breaths just enough to cry but not enough to scream. And all the while he droned on, his voice like sandpaper along the walls of her mind. “My. Fucking. Mouse. Mine.”
Gathering what little courage she had left, Jess lifted her head to stare Brit in the eye. “I can guarantee one thing, you bastard. When I take my final breath, it won’t be you I’m thinking about.” God no. She wheezed, spoke again, defiance searing the words in her mind. “I willneverbe yours.”
Brit roared into her face, striking out with his fist. The punch knocked her head back onto the bed, and she let it stay there as he took up his knife again.
When the cuts became too much and she started to fade out of consciousness, Brit switched to his hands, smearing images, words, lines on her skin. Maybe he’d gone completely over to la-la land by now. Maybe he was just trying to drag the torture out even more. Who knew.
The pain was fogging her mind. She tried to focus, tried to figure out how long she’d been under him, how long she might have left. She couldn’t; everything blurred into what seemed like forever. The part of her mind that planned, that wanted to struggle, refused to work.Have to rest, just a little bit.
Closing her eyes, she allowed images of Conlan to play like a reel-to-reel movie across the screen of her eyelids. The sight of him as he looked at her over the sunglasses covering his eyes. The laughter when she teased him. The intensity of his desire as he worked to bring them both pleasure. That was what kept her sane. It was only the need to see him again, to touch his face once more, that kept her from giving in. Even when her heart stuttered and she knew she couldn’t last any longer, the need for Conlan wouldn’t let her go.
Her cries had diminished to low moans, all she could force out while her lungs struggled to function. She heard his hand grasping along the covers, knew he was seeking the knife. When she didn’t flinch at the next cut, Brit grunted with frustration and threw the weapon. The clatter as it hit the wrought-iron headboard, then bounced onto the floor, startled her.
The cuts down her legs burned like fire. They were shallow. Probably didn’t want her to die too soon. Nick an artery and his fun would be over real quick. At the thought, a barely audible, slightly hysterical laugh escaped.
“What’s so funny, bitch?” he snarled, rage contorting his face. There he was, the true Brit. The animal, the…beast…consumed by his growing insanity.
Just like she would be if someone didn’t…come…freakin’…soon.
When she just looked at him, refusing to answer, he pressed with excruciating force into the cuts on her stomach. Sizzling shock exploded along her nerve endings, and her body convulsed. Jess fought to hold on to consciousness.
“Is that what you need?”
He slapped her, a wetsplatin the silence of the bedroom.
“Answer me!” he shouted, spit and sweat flying.
Another slap, this one catching her lip and filling her mouth with blood.
“You need to know who’s boss?”
Another.
“Me, little mouse! Me.”
Red-faced, veins popping at his temples, eyes wild, he didn’t even seem aware of whether or not she responded anymore.
“You.”
Strike.
“Are.”
Strike.
“Mine.”
Strike.
