Page 26 of Mine

“You’re the only one who’s ever commented on my sculpture,” he said. His mouth was right next to my ear. “Did you know that? Most people ignore it. I’m glad you can appreciate art, even if you didn’t understand what I meant by it.”

“What… what—”

“You thought I felt trapped, yes? Trapped in the glass globe. But I am the artist. I’m not trapped anywhere. You’re the one who’s trapped.”

“Rien, please—”

“Trapped here with me.”

His hand moved down and pulled the hem of my dress up. I gasped as he slid his hand underneath and pressed his fingers against my panties. A ferocious aching heat tore through my body at his touch down there. I wanted to twist away from him, but I couldn’t move. Worst of all, as his fingers began to slide up, I felt a terrible need for more, more pressure.

“Don’t—”

“No? You don’t want this?” He pulled his hand away, and a whimper escaped my throat involuntarily at the sudden departure.

He smiled. The gold in his eyes shone brightly.

“Don’t lie to me, Sara. Liars get punished. And you know what my kind of punishment is like.”

I made a choking cry as I looked away. This wasn’t me. I wasn’t here. This was only a character, I thought. I could get through this, as long as it was pretend.

Only pretend.

“This is new to me, too, Sara,” he whispered. “I’ve never made anyone feel… good like this before.”

He put his fingers back where they had been, stroking me through the fabric. I held back a moan. The strokes were setting my body afire, the spark of desire kindling an ache between my thighs that his fingers did nothing to relieve. His other hand grasped the top of my dress and pulled it down, exposing my breasts.

“Rien—”

“Hush. I know what you want. I can tell from your breath.”

I bit down on my tongue as he bent over and kissed the tip of my nipple. The touch would have made my back arch against the couch, if my muscles worked. Tears burned the backs of my eyes, but this time they were tears of frustration.

His tongue came out and licked me, curving around my nipple. His dark hair tickled my skin. I could feel everything, yes—the roughness of stubble on his chin on the underside of my breast, the softness of his hot tongue. And his lips—

“Oh!” I cried aloud as he sealed his lips around my nipple and sucked hard. The fire in my body roared to new heights. The hand under my dress slid under my panties. I nearly screamed as his fingers explored my folds.

“God, you’re wet,” he whispered. His breath chilled my nipple, making it harden. “You must want me so badly.”

No. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want—

“Ohhhh!” I moaned. He had plunged his fingers into me, and my body clenched around him. I wanted to buck against his hand, I wanted him to thrust his fingers deep into me, again, again, again…

What was I thinking? What was I feeling? My body was a traitor, making me ache for this man, this killer, this criminal who would think nothing of opening me up. But oh, lord, when his fingers touched me inside, all I could think of was him opening me up in a different way, doing it again, harder, faster…

Instead, he slid his fingers out slowly. The agony was unbearable, and I groaned. My panties were soaked now; I could feel the wet fabric against my skin. I needed him inside of me again, needed his touch.This!This was everything I had wanted. His hands possessed some magic that shuddered me down to the core. His eyes stared at me so open and desiring. He was real. His desire was real. And he wanted me.

“Tell me what you want, Sara,” he murmured. His lips traced a circle around my breast. I blinked back my tears. I would not give in to him, no, not now. I would be strong. I would get through this.

Without warning, he sucked my nipple hard. A jolt of pain shot through my body, and I cried aloud. He released my nipple, and the relief washed through my body, along with a terrible desire for more. My pulse quickened.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to read you,” he said, his whisper. “Try not to fake it too much. Otherwise, how will I know what you want?”

“I don’t… I don’t want—”

“No. No, of course you don’t.”

His fingers went back to stroking me on either side, not putting any pressure where I needed it most. The hollow ache of my core was so needy that I wanted to scream. How could my body be so responsive to this man? He was a crazy person, certifiably insane. A murderer. And yet, when his finger grazed my swollen sex, I nearly cried with delight.

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