Page 31 of No Words
“You want to interrogate me?” Her voice has dropped to a whisper, thick with anticipation.
“I want to prepare you.” My hand cups her jaw, tracing her lower lip with my thumb, feeling its softness, the slight tremble that betrays her desire. My other hand settles at the small of her back, pulling her closer. “But I won’t lie, I’ve been thinking about having you at my mercy since the day we met. Watching you, learning your weaknesses, imagining the sounds you’d make when you finally surrender.”
Her breath catches, and I feel it against my thumb. The towel has loosened slightly, revealing the curve of her collarbone, beads of water still clinging to her skin. “When do we start?” The question is both surrender and challenge.
“Now.” I drop my hand, deliberately stepping back to break the spell, letting cold air rush between us. “Get dressed. Something easy to remove. Meet me in the bedroom in five minutes.”
She doesn’t argue, just turns and heads to her room. I watch her go, admiring the sway of her hips beneath the towel, the graceful curve of her spine. The predator in me savors this moment, the last seconds before I completely ruin her. I allow myself a small smile before moving to prepare what we’ll need.
When Molly enters the bedroom, I’ve transformed the space. Curtains drawn, shadows pooling in the corners, lamplight casting everything in amber. The items on the bed tell their own story. Rope. Blindfold, everything I need for what comes next. She pauses in the doorway, taking it all in. She’s dressed as instructed: tank top, leggings, no shoes. Her hair is still damp, pulled back in a loose ponytail.
“You came prepared.” Her eyes fix on the restraints.
“This isn’t just about surrender anymore,” I tell her, my voice dropping to its most serious register. “If Borsellini’s team takes you, they’ll use every method to destroy you, pain, pleasure, drugs. The works.”
“The information in your head could destroy Borsellini’s entire network. If you break under interrogation, twenty-three people currently under our protection will be dead within forty-eight hours.”
Her breathing quickens, but her eyes remain steady. “So teach me not to break.”
“I’ll push you past every limit you think you have,” I warn her. “Everything they’ll use, but controlled. Safe.”
She nods once, decisively. “Do it.”
“I like to be thorough.” I stalk toward her. “Safe word is ‘courthouse.’ Use it if things get too intense, and everything stops immediately. Understood?”
She nods. “Courthouse.”
“Good girl.” I circle behind her, close enough that she can feel my breath on her neck. “Interrogation isn’t about the questions. It’s about domination. The interrogator controls everything,your environment, your senses, your comfort.” I brush her hair aside, exposing her neck. “Your pleasure.”
She shivers. I continue circling until I’m facing her again.
“Hands in front of you.”
She complies, and I bind her wrists, rough rope scratching against smooth skin, snug but not tight enough to cut off circulation. Next comes the blindfold, plunging her into darkness.
“When they take your sight, you focus on other senses. Sound. Touch. Scent.” I inhale deeply at her neck. “You smell like fear. It’s intoxicating.”
I guide her backward until her legs hit the edge of the bed, then ease her down onto it. Her chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths.
“The key to resisting interrogation is finding an anchor,” I continue, my voice deliberately calm as I secure her bound wrists to the headboard. “Something to focus on, to ground yourself.”
My hands skim down her sides, feeling her tremble beneath my touch. “Focus on me, Molly. No matter what happens, focus on me.”
I reach for the knife I’ve set on the bedside table, letting her hear the metallic slide as I unsheathe it. “Sometimes, they’ll use fear before pleasure,” I trail the flat of the blade along her arm, careful not to cut her. “The anticipation of pain can be as effective as pain itself.”
I slip the blade under the hem of her tank top. Slicing upward carefully, the fabric tearing apart under the sharp blade. “They won’t care about preserving your modesty or your clothing.” I cut through the rest of her top, reducing it to scraps that I pull away from her body.
I set the knife aside and hook my fingers into her waistband. “Lift your hips.” When she complies, I slide them down herlegs in one smooth motion. “They’ll expose you, make you vulnerable, remind you they control everything.”
I keep my voice steady, professional; the facade cracking bit by bit. It’s just a training exercise, I tell myself; the words ring hollow even in my head. But my hands betray me, lingering longer than necessary. That’s what this is supposed to be, and I know she can hear the roughness creeping into my tone.
“The most effective interrogators don’t rush,” I trace patterns on her now-bare skin. “They build gradually. Create anticipation. Heighten sensitivity.” She’s already arching into my touch before I’ve barely begun.
“They’ll try to confuse you,” I continue, alternating between gentle caresses and firmer touches. “Pleasure and pain. Kindness and cruelty. Until you can’t tell the difference anymore. Until your body responds to both equally.” I trail my fingertips along the inside of her thigh, feather-light, then without warning, deliver a sharp slap to the sensitive skin. She gasps, her body jerking against the restraints.
“Your mind might want to resist,” I soothe the reddened skin with a gentle touch, “but your body will betray you. See how you’re already responding?” I brush my fingers over her center, finding her even wetter than before. “Pain becomes pleasure. Resistance becomes surrender. That’s how they break you. That’s how I’ll break you.”
I work systematically. A sharp pinch to her inner thigh followed by a soft stroke along her stomach, a bite at her neck eased by the soothing warmth of my tongue. Her breathing becomes ragged, her body arching toward me even after the sharper sensations.
