Page 27 of Pose for Me
Slowly, I sit up, looking at my surroundings. When my eyes land on the man in the chair, everything rushes back to me, though my body doesn’t respond to the sudden burst of adrenaline.
“Did you sleep well?” Ryell asks me with a grin that is more evil than anything I’ve ever seen.
“Did you…” I clear my throat so my words don’t come out garbled. “Did you drug me?”
“Yes.”
“Yes? That’s all you have to say?” I struggle to my knees and have to take a break because my head is spinning. My stomach roils, and I rush over to the toilet and vomit. Tears stream down my face from the force of purging my stomach.
When I’m empty, I roll to the side and wipe my mouth. After I flush the toilet, I crawl around the floor and feel for the baby wipes, trying to clean myself up as much as possible. I wish I had a toothbrush, but since I don’t, I run a wipe through my mouth to rid myself of the taste of vomit. The water bottle Ryell brought with my meal still has a bit of water left in it, so I gulp it down, feeling drained.
“Why did you drug me? Why did…” I swallow past the bile that threatens to come up.
He flips his sketch pad around so I can see what’s on the paper. A sketch of me, laid out and posed for him. Just how he wanted me. My shirt is lifted to show my belly, and my pants are undone so the band of my underwear peeks out.
With a jolt, I sit up and check my body. I still have on my clothes, but that means nothing. Thinking about him manipulating my body when I wasn’t aware of it makes me sick.
Ryell scoffs, catching my attention. “I’m a murderer, Lane, not a rapist. I can promise you, when my dick is in you, you’ll know.”
I scoff in return. “Yeah, because I fucking trust a murderer.”
“I’ll probably be the only person thatwill neverlie to you. I have nothing to lose by telling you the truth.”
“Until I get free.”
He smiles darkly. “Ifyou get free.”
I continue to assess myself, especially my hole, but it’s free of lube and doesn’t hurt to the touch. There is also no semen on or around my cock and no precum as if I got hard.
After my assessment, I grab another wipe and clean my hands, then clamber onto the bed. “I’m sure you’ve fucked plenty of your captives,” I sneer. “Why would I be any different?”
Ryell tsks at me. “Oh no, Lane. You’re special.” I glare at him, and he laughs. “Think about it, Agent. When your forensic techs inspected my victims, did they notice any signs of sexual assault?”
Although I don’t want to, I recall the victims we’ve found over the past few years I’ve been on this task force. None of them had any sexual activity in the days leading up to their bodies being found.
That means nothing. “You could have?—”
He holds his hand up, silencing me. “I only kept my victims for three days at the most.” He shakes his head. “You know that. You’re a part of the investigation. You know when they went missing and when their bodies were found. I don’t have sex with my victims. Just you.”
“Why?” I ask, though I feel almost ashamed for my moment of weakness.
His smile grows. “Because I wanted to. Imagine the man you’re hunting making you come on his dick.” My stomach drops as I grasp the implications of what he’s said.
Even though it’s been a thought in the recesses my head, Ryell puts it out there bluntly. I wasn’t smart, I didn’t think about what it meant to go home with a random man. While I had no way of knowing a serial killer would be my hookup, my guard was down when it shouldn’t have been.
Ryell pays absolutely no attention to my existential crisis. He leans back in his chair and gets a faraway look in his eyes. “You were perfect that night, you know that? I’ve never had someone so responsive. Want me like that again?” His gaze drops to mine.
“No,” I growl, meaning it with my mouth, but my body heats as I think about how he fucked me. My dick gets hard, andthere’s no hiding it. With how I’m sitting, it’s obvious. If I adjust myself, he would still notice how I responded to his words, so I don’t move.
Just as I thought, he sees. Ryell hums as his eyes drop to my crotch. “When you’re ready to admit it, let me know,” he says as he stands and walks closer to the cell. “I’ll fuck you so good, you’ll forget your name.”
“That. Will never. Happen,” I say, glaring at him.
He hums again, rips the page from the sketch pad, and slides it through my bars. I watch it flutter to the ground. “We’ll see.”
Then he leaves. I don’t shout at him this time. I’m too shaken by what just happened to do more than look at the sketch.
Closing my eyes, I try to get the room to stop spinning and for my stomach to stop protesting. I’m not sure how he drugged me—probably something airborne since I didn’t feel groggy until he’d left the room—but it has my stomach out of sorts. I’m hungry—since I vomited up my only meal—but I don’t think I’d be able to handle sustenance right now.
