Chapter 6 – Amanda #2
“I am,” he breathed. “But so are you, ragazza.”
Horror blazed hot inside me. I wanted to deny it, wanted to scream that he was wrong. But the truth was right there, staring back at me.
“Let’s play a game, shall we?” His hand disappeared, and he shifted his body. “Let’s see how twisted you really are.”
A knife snapped open in front of me.
He was going to kill me! I jerked hard, fighting for my life.
The man in the mask lowered the knife to skim the blade up my thigh. “Don’t move, Amanda. It would be a pity to cut something so beautiful.”
Every muscle locked tight. My heart hammered in my chest, and I couldn’t draw air into my lungs.
“Breathe,” he growled. “I don’t want you passing out on me.”
He slid the blade under the edge of my swimsuit, angled it up, and with a vicious twist of his wrist, cut it open.
I gasped, sagging forward. The humid air hit my exposed sex, sending a rush tingling over the sensitive flesh. I tried to close my legs, but he caught the attempt, placing a boot between my feet and kicking my stance wider. My head and chest fell against the window with an audible clang.
If it hurt, I didn’t notice.
That was what he’d reduced me to. A smoldering heap of need.
“That’s it.” He flipped the knife and caught the blade. “You’re learning your lesson so well.”
Breathing hard, my next attempt at speech was cut off when he pressed the flat side of the handle against my pussy.
Caught in this nightmare, my body turned traitorous. This man effortlessly tapped into the darkest places, discovered my most hidden secrets, and without mercy, extracted them. I would die of shame if anyone knew how aroused this scenario made me.
But the handle of the knife rubbing against my clit was enough for me to give in to the pleasure I denied myself. The rush was intensified, flavored with the pounding fear that it was a masked stranger who fed my deranged cravings.
As his touch slipped lower, a strange awareness crept over me.
I inhaled deeply, trying to place the familiar scent.
It was the same as the venom in his voice.
The tickling urge that this was from a long-lost dream.
The knife handle pushing into my body shattered the memory I was desperately chasing.
A low, masculine groan rumbled behind me. “Look at you, desperate and needy.”
“Fuck you,” I choked.
“Oh, ragazza mia, not now. You haven’t earned that.”
Italian—my brain scrambled with the piece of information as he began to slide the handle in and out of my sex. This man used Italian like a native speaker. But his English pronunciations were perfect.
The energy vibrating around me tugged at my subconscious. There was something in his presence that called to a deep, dead part of me. My brain leapt to a logical conclusion, but I dismissed the association. There was no way it was my Italian boy.
This man didn’t sound like him at all. Not that I would know what he sounded like. I hadn’t seen him in well over two years, and before that, he’d been locked away for almost a decade.
I was just a sucker for that culture. That part of my being—my soul, as my younger self would have called it—was buried six feet under for my own protection.
“You do like this,” he rasped, pulling the knife from me.
“I do not!” I hid my wince at the loss behind the sharp words.
The monster chuckled darkly. “You’re dripping on my hand.”
To prove the point, he brought it up between my belly and the window. Because I was looking down, I was forced to see the proof of my lie.
The sight sent a rush of heat straight to my core.
“But you didn’t listen,” he said, folding the knife closed and returning it to his pocket. “So now you’ll take your punishment, and if you’re a good girl, maybe next time I’ll let you come.”
Before I could argue with his demented logic, his hand was back between my legs. His fingers scissored over my clit with a sharp tweak that left me gasping.
Escape was impossible.
Even if I wanted to resist, he played me perfectly.
And my body responded on instinct.
There was a twisted melody to this situation. Somehow, this man knew that being chased, caught, and claimed were things I would never admit to wanting. Captured in the nightmare, I gave into the dark temptation, pleasure torturing me exactly where I needed it.
Since I couldn’t fight him, I embraced what he offered. The pressure between my legs increased. My body was more alive than I could ever remember.
His low rumble of approval only heightened the sensation. “Look at you, trying hard not to enjoy this.”
“I’m not.”
He pinched my engorged clit again, making me hiss. “Lying is already on your list of sins, Amanda. Don’t add to the count unless you’re ready to get on your knees and beg my forgiveness.”
I dismissed his insane observation. What was another demented musing in this whole messed-up situation?
His fingers slipped lower, pushing inside me. The delicious rush increased. My body coiled tight in anticipation. Every nerve sizzled along my bare skin. I panted as he drove in and out of me, pushing me to the release that was right there.
“This belongs to me,” he growled. “I have the power to ruin you or to save you, and don’t you ever forget that again, ragazza mia.”
I was too far gone to care about his mad ramblings. Stars burst across my field of vision. My insides convulsed as the orgasm rushed up to meet me.
But before I could embrace it, his fingers slid out. My yelp of protest turned into a scream as I was tossed through the air.
A hard sheet of water smacked my body before the liquid gave way, and I sank into the pool. The ache from the denied release was tempered by the survival instinct to hold my breath as I floundered to the surface.
I kicked up and sucked in a breath as my head emerged from the cool water.
The monster loomed over the pool. “I’ll see you soon, Amanda.”
My arms and legs tread the water as I bit my tongue to keep from screaming at him.
With a rough laugh, he turned and walked toward the exit. I stared daggers at his back, cursing him in my head because I was unable to find enough oxygen to form the words.
Gripping the edge of the pool, I sagged against the curved tiles.
I should be thanking my stars that he left me alone.
That edging me was the worst thing he did.
But my body revolted. My pussy ached, and my limbs trembled as I hauled myself up.
The bastard left me strung out and mad for all the wrong reasons.
The air was cold against my wet skin. Sitting on the pool’s ledge, I shivered and scrubbed a hand over my ponytail.
The electricity flickered on a moment later.
The sharp burst of light made me wince. The nightmare was over, and all that was left was me.
A huddled, freezing mess of flesh and frustration.
I should be horrified. Later, I would be.
But there wasn’t enough oxygen to give my brain the power to scold me for enjoying that as much as I had.
My damn mind, that thing that was so freaking hard to turn off, was finally silent.