5. Eve
5
EVE
T here’s a soft breeze blowing against my cheek, but my insentience keeps me locked in a dreamscape. It’s a mosaic of pictures and sensations, of billowing white linen drapes, heavy dark eyes, the soothing sound of waves breaking on a distant beach and warm sunshine.
My eyes flicker and then open. Right away these images shift to form my new reality. It’s nighttime. I’m lying in a large, ornate four-poster bed that’s been carved from some dark exotic wood, the air is thick with an evening humidity that is unfamiliar to me, and the white linen drapes are mosquito nets drawn tight around my opulent cage.
And those eyes?
My gaze shifts upward. He’s sitting in a leather chair next to the bed, with his large hands clasped together in front of him. He’s watching me, and not even the lightness of the net can dull the burning heat of his gaze.
Instinctively, I pull the bedsheets closer. The expensive cotton is cool against my skin, but something’s wrong. I shouldn’t be feeling this sensation on every intimate part my body…
Oh my God, he’s removed my clothes. I’m not even wearing panties. I pull the sheet even tighter as my heart explodes with fear. I’m aware of a faint ache in my forehead, and the left side of my face is tender and bruised.
Where am I?
I jump at the sharp sound of wood scraping against the ceramic tiles. He rises from the chair and approaches the bed. His huge body seems otherworldly behind the gauze. He’s not wearing black anymore. That much I can tell. The devil has chosen blue denim jeans and a white tee to torment me with today.
“What happened?” I croak. “The hospital…”
“You’re safe now.”
With him? Never.
“Where are my clothes?”
There’s a pause. “You won’t be needing them tonight.”
The breath catches in my throat. His words need no explanation. He means to fuck me, whether I consent to it or not.
He draws the net to one side and stands there, looking down at me. The evening humidity has gifted a soft sheen to his olive skin, accentuating the thick muscles in his forearms. His dark hair is slightly damp and slicked back, and a generous shadow of stubble grazes that powerful jaw and the sharp contours of his face .
Glancing down, I see the silhouette of definition beneath his T-shirt. That’s when I recall a bargaining—some sort of hasty exchange—back in the hospital room.
My father’s life for my body.
Is this why I’m here? To whore myself out to him in the hope that he’ll honor our agreement? Is there any proof that my parents even survived?
To my horror, he starts to undress, starting with his white T-shirt. The material is carelessly dropped to the floor, and I’m left to appreciate an upper body that is carved from golden stone. Broad shoulders, a tapered waist, a trail of coarse black hair all the way from his chest down through his rock-hard abdomen, and finally disappearing beneath his belt buckle. I swallow quickly. I never knew such physical perfection existed. Perhaps a black heart is the price you pay for such flawless masculinity?
“What is this place?” I mutter, drawing my knees up to my chest. I’m frightened and disorientated. I’m a long way from home—from my mother, my father. Safety. Please, let them still be alive. I need to get out of here. I need to see them again.
A low hiss escapes from his lips. “We talk later.”
His words are terrifying. ‘Later’ means that a now and present has to happen first, as rough and painful as it might be. There is no tenderness in this man’s eyes, only lust and hunger.
He sits down on the edge of the bed to take his boots off, snapping the mosquito net shut around him as he does. His frame makes a deep indentation in the mattress, and the movement sends ripples through my body. He’s still wearing his jeans, and I can see the strain of his erection against the thick material .
Lightning-quick, he turns and jerks my white sheet away from me.
“No!”
I try to scramble out of reach, but he catches my wrist and pulls me back to him.
Bastard! Does he really think I’ll submit to him that easily? My chest rises and falls with indignation as I fight to free myself, pounding my fists against his chest.
“Let me go!”
He just chuckles. “There it is,” he muses, gazing down at me with a curl of his lips. “There’s that fire I covet so much.”
“Fuck you!” I slap him hard across the face, the ugly sound ricocheting off the white walls of his cavernous bedroom.
With another hiss, he yanks me closer, and I cry out as his fingertips brand my skin with his fury. There is no scenario here that will end favorably for me. The next few moments will define my life forever.
“At least tell me where I am first!” I gasp out.
“I said, later! ” He grasps my jaw between his fingers and wrenches it upward. I’m terrified by the expression that greets me, daunted by the sheer physicality of him. I have to calm this man somehow. I have to get out of this alive.
Trembling, I place my free hand on his chest. His skin is like burning embers beneath my fingertips. “Not like this.”
He doesn’t respond. Did he even hear? I try to take my hand away, but he moves swiftly, imprisoning it there with his own. I try again, but his grip is too strong, so I just kneel there facing him, his rich scent intermingling with my fear, trying to appeal to whatever compassion still lingers behind those jet-black eyes. Hoping it might lessen the amount of pain he wants to inflict on me.
“Stop fighting this, mi alma ,” he murmurs, his endearment rolling smoothly off his tongue. “Let me show you what true pleasure is.”
My core starts to pulse—hard and insistent—awakening a base need deep inside me. To my disgust, I find myself torn between lust and hate. How can I want him after all the things he’s done to me? After the terrible things he could still do?
He goes to kiss me, catching me off-guard, inclining his head and pressing firm, warm lips to my own. They part instantly, ignoring all my thoughts. Encouraged, he releases my wrist and cups the back of my head to deepen our connection, deftly stroking his tongue in and out of my mouth and giving me no option but to accept him.
Instinctively, I return his touch with a heat of my own. My arms curl around his neck, and he roughly cups my bare breast, trapping my nipple between his finger and thumb and twisting. I cry out as the sensation shoots straight to my core, intensifying the burning ache. I want to grab his hand and force it downward to the place I need him the most.
“Where am I?” I repeat breathlessly, tearing my mouth from his.
“Paradise,” he growls, unbuckling his belt and ripping open his zipper as he guides me back down to the bed, never breaking contact with my body for a second. Trailing rough, hungry kisses all the way across my jawline.
I force my eyes open, gasping in surprise as he tips my head to look at him again. Up close, I can see the flecks of gold around his irises, but there’s no warmth there, only a need to claim what he thinks is his…
Something shatters inside of me. I’ll do anything to save my father, but if this man takes my body like this, I know a part of me will die forever.
I wrench my head away. “Please… Don’t.” At the same time, my tears start falling, tearing the breath from my lungs, and blinding me to the fury that has descended over my captor’s face. I sense every dark part of it, though. The atmosphere in the room has switched from heavy and charged to black and menacing, breached only by the broken sound of my despair.
His body weight is unbearable. His hips are still pinning me to the mattress. I want to push him away and scrub my face clean of his kisses. I feel dirty and violated. I hate myself for allowing him inside my mouth, for letting him steal inside my defenses all over again.
He stares at me for the longest time before releasing me and rising from the bed. I hear the swish of the mosquito net as it’s angrily pushed to one side.
I try and compose myself, swiping the heel of my hand across my face, over and over.
Is this a reprieve?
Is there a trace of kindness still left in this man?
“Look at me,” he orders suddenly. “Turn that pretty face to the side, Eve Miller, and give me the benefit of your full fucking attention.”
The tone of his voice is a warning. The heavy burden of consequence is right there, waiting for me. What horrors have I set in motion by refusing him my body tonight?
I do as he asks, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on anything other than him.
“You’re tired. You need rest.” There’s a pause and I wait for the killer blow. “You will never reject me again, do you hear? You will submit to me. You will uphold your side of the bargain. One call, that’s all it takes, my angel. One call. One bullet that has your father’s name written all over it.”
Silence follows as I struggle to comprehend his cruelty. He turns to leave.
“Where am I?” I plead weakly, my voice shadowing the sound of his footsteps as he strides towards the door. If I repeat the same words, over and over, maybe one day he’ll answer me with the truth.
“Home,” he says harshly, slamming the door behind him.