Chapter 9
Grace
He’s not carrying a tray when he enters the room this time, but a black plate. I lift my head to see what’s on it, but I’m not sure what I’m looking at. It looks like large rice balls, but shaped in a triangle and with a sheet of seaweed wrapped around them.
“O-nigiri,” he enlightens me. “Don’t worry, they’re vegetarian. I stuffed them with Umeboshi and marinated avocado.”
I frown at him. “What?”
He chuckles, and I hate how endearing he looks when he sits down next to me with a smile on his face. He’s still dressed the same as before, but his sleeves are rolled up a bit higher than before and his hair is a little messier.
“Umeboshi. Pickled plum,” he explains. “You never had it before?”
He places the plate in his lap and I flinch when he reaches out to touch my face. I tense up, unsure what to expect, and am left confused when he simply moves a strand of hair out of my face with the tip of his index finger, barely caressing my skin as he does.
“Why do you know that I don’t eat meat?” I ask him, choosing to ignore his odd gesture.
“I know everything I need to know about you, Grace,” he answers vaguely.
Is he working for the ward after all? How else could he know about this? He must have seen my file, where it states that I’m a vegetarian. It’s the only logical explanation for any of this.
“Are you hungry?” He wants to know.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Well, I don’t care, you have to eat something,” he insists. “You need your strength.”
“For what?” I retort. “For lying around like a naked starfish for the rest of my life?”
A short-lived laugh escapes him, and he shakes his head.
“You amuse me, little girl. But don’t take it too far.”
“Or what? You’ll get the teapot?” I let out a dismissive huff.
“I told you, there are other means at my disposal,” he reminds me. “And you remember my rules, don’t you? If I want you to do something, you’ll do it.”
He looks at me through narrow eyes, an obvious attempt at intimidation. Maybe it would work if he wasn’t so damn handsome, or if there was any apparent threat—like a surging hot teapot in his hand—but I’m not in the mood to be pushed around like this. I’m in a vulnerable situation, alright, but I’m not weak and I won’t make this easy for him.
“Fine, go ahead, hurt me,” I tell him. “If you want me to eat this, you’ll have to make me.”
He shakes his head, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows.
“Grace, I’m warning you, you’ll regret this,” he says. “I’m giving you one more chance. Eat, or things will become very unpleasant for you.”
What is he going to do? Shove the rice balls down my throat by force? I mean, he could, with the way I’m tied up. I have no way of defending myself. It would be easy for him to stuff my face with those things—but at least I wouldn’t be the one to give in to his will out of fear.
“Are you sure you want to play this the hard way?” he asks again. “I’d be very careful with that if I were you.”
I want to remind him that I never agreed to playing anything with him to begin with, but he stops me in my tracks by placing his hand on my left knee.
My entire body stiffens when he begins to move his hand along my inner thigh, slowly traveling upward and closer to my exposed core. I start to tremble, unsure whether it’s out of repulsion or excitement. How could it be excitement, though? Nothing about this should be exciting. I should be repulsed and scared for my life. I should yell at him to stop touching me like this. I should fight and reject his intrusive behavior with everything I have.
But, for some reason, I don’t. Instead I just lay there, while a thrilling warmth spreads throughout my body, curious to see what he’s going to do next.
He moves slowly, sliding across my sensitive skin with the palm of his hand while applying a gentle pressure that only elevates the allure of his touch.
My pulse speeds up as the tips of his fingers approach my sex, sending me into a confusing frenzy.
But then he stops, his hand still resting on the inside of my upper thigh.
“I told you, we all have something to lose, Grace,” he says in a hoarse whisper. “Do you really want me to take what I want from you?”
“Oh, you mean my virginity? Is that what you want from me?” I hiss back. “So, you’re going to rape me after all...”
Yet another thing I shouldn’t have said. I close my mouth shut, firmly pressing my lips together while I await his response.
He looks startled for a second, and a thin line pops up between his brows, giving the impression that he doesn’t believe what he just heard. It’s true, though. I really am a virgin—but that is something I should have kept to myself, especially in front of him.
“Maybe,” he says eventually, the incredulity gone and replaced with a nonchalant smile.
“So you are going to rape me?” I implore stupidly.
He shakes his head. “If I ever fuck you, it won’t be against your will, little girl.”
Our eyes meet and I’m sure he can see the violent hiccup my heart did upon hearing those words. This was a threat—wasn’t it? I should not be the least bit thrilled about the prospect of getting fucked by him. I shouldn’t.
But I am.
“That will never happen,” I whisper, but even I don’t believe myself.
An amused chuckle is all he replies to that, and his hand moves a little closer to my core. If he really wanted to, he could touch my bare lips with the tip of his index finger. He’s so close, the promise of contact already playing with my senses.
And before I know it, I move my hips in his direction. It’s a subtle motion, but he notices.
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, and I burn with shame.
“You like that, don’t you?” He pokes.
I avert my eyes, biting my lower lip to stop myself from saying something I might regret.
“Look at me,” he demands in a firm voice.
I hesitate, before I decide to give in to his will. There are fights worth fighting, but this isn’t one of them.
“Oh, yes, you do like it,” he remarks when our eyes meet. “I knew it. What a good little slut you are.”
My chest heaves as I suck in a sharp breath of air when he continues to move further, just barely passing my soft lips while he travels along my left hipbone. His fingers dance across my skin, their gentle touch sending small electric shocks down my spine, while I try to remain calm.
He pauses just before he reaches my breasts, his gaze resting on me, observing, waiting for a reaction that I’m not willing to share. My nipples have turned into hard knobs, a treacherous sign that tells him more than I care for.
I gasp when he cups my left boob. He must feel my heart beating against the palm of his hand, while he begins kneading, squeezing ever so slightly.
I shouldn’t like this. I shouldn’t.
I close my eyes, a futile attempt to hide from him.
“No reason to be ashamed, little girl,” he murmurs. “Allow yourself to be who you are.”
His words are cryptic and feel misplaced, but I choose not to respond. It’s bad enough that I can’t suppress a moan when he takes my nipple between two fingers and begins twisting it. They are so sensitive, and so hard and erect between his tantalizing fingers.
The pain is just enough to be sweet rather than agonizing, and I can’t stop myself from arching my back as electric sparks shoot through my entire body.
“You’re so beautiful,” he sighs. “So delicious. I can’t wait to devour this body.”
My heart is raging against its bony cage, fueled by terror just as much as desire. He squeezes my nipple, harder this time and hard enough to evoke a stinging pain that evolves into a hot afterthought when he lets go of me. Kneading my breast with his palm, he repeats the motion, squeezing even harder this time. I yelp in pain and sigh with relief when he releases my tortured bud from his harassment.
“Are you wet for me, little girl?” he asks—and before I can even think of a response, his hand is back down at my core, threatening to touch me where he didn’t invade before.
I shake my head.
“You’re lying to me,” he asserts.
“No,” I insist, glaring at him. “I want you to stop.”
“And I want you to eat,” he says. “We can’t all have what we want, can we?”
I want to yell at him, but he stops me by placing his hand on my warm lips, cupping my vulnerable core with his entire hand.
“Your pussy is on fire,” he tells me. “And you still want to tell me you’re not wet?”
“I’m not,” I utter, my voice trembling.
“Liar,” he hisses—forcing a finger between my lips.
I gasp in surprise, and even my helpless mewling doesn’t cover the slick sound that betrays my words. He makes it worse by teasing my swollen clit, drawing close circles around it with the tip of his finger.
I squirm underneath him, yanking against my restraints as I try to free myself from his intrusion.
“Stop,” I beg. “Please stop it.”
“Oh, but why would you want that, Grace?” he asks, chuckling. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”
He intensifies the pressure on my sensitive nub, moving slower as his circles become smaller and smaller. It’s driving me insane.
“Please,” I breathe. “Please... stop...”
But he doesn’t. He keeps going, and I stop fighting. It feels good, way too good. Warm waves of pleasure fight their way to the surface as soon as I surrender myself to what’s happening to me. He keeps going, teasing, and playing with my senses while I turn into a puddle of lust.
“Look at that,” I hear him whisper. “So fucking beautiful. I should ravage you, and fuck this divine body like it was meant to be fucked.”
I mewl in response, meaning to protest his words, but I can’t even convince myself. It feels too good. How can it feel this good?
“Fuck, Grace...”
His voice is coming from far away, reaching my dazed mind as a muffled echo. I groan with need, leaning into his touch against better judgment. I’ve never been fucked before, but I’ve never wanted it more than in this very moment.
No. I can’t want this. It’s so wrong. He’s a psychopath, a rapist, maybe even a murderer. I must be insane—just like they always said I was.
All of a sudden, he stops. He withdraws his hand with one swift movement, and my eyes fly open, searching his with an array of unspoken questions.
He grins at me. “You want more, don’t you?”
My lips are quivering as I try to come up with an answer. Yes, I do. No, I shouldn’t.
But as it turns out, it doesn’t matter what I want, or what I say.
Because he gets up from the bed, taking the plate with him.
“Well, you’re not getting more,” he announces, looking down at me with a condescending smile.
“No food, no orgasm,” he adds. “You don’t deserve either.”
And before I can gather myself and react to his unexpected revelation, he turns around and walks out the door—leaving me behind as a heaving, needy mess.