Chapter 13 OLIVIA
OLIVIA
“Please,” I murmur against Trace’s hand, hoping he can hear me but not really sure what the hell I’m begging for.
“Please, what, Olivia?” I can feel him tilt his head as he leans over me. I wonder if he can see how hard I’m breathing, but then I realize that would mean he’d have to be looking at my naked chest which is also displaying the evidence of how my body betrays me.
I shake my head. Why am I like this? I refuse to let him do this to me; to bring out this version of me.
I know he feels it, because I have to believe that he would stop if he knew I was really fighting to flee him. But he notices the way my body is going against all common sense. Fight. Run. Be afraid. And maybe I am afraid. But that’s the problem. I am afraid.
“Now,” he starts as he moves the gun a little, letting it skate across one breast to the other, resting the muzzle over my other nipple.
“What were you thinking about to cause your need to touch your pretty little cunt, huh Olivia? Were you thinking about our first time together? How I took my time with you. How much pain you were experiencing from how tight you were but you begged me not to stop.”
I tense up. My first time was perfect. Not many girls get to experience it like that.
I don’t think I could have imagined it better than what Trace gave to me.
And he did; he took care of me. He went slow and eased up when it felt too painful.
But then he made it feel so good. He kissed my body and held my hand.
He moved my hair out of my face and made me look at him as we came together.
He was soft and gentle and protective and intentional.
It was the best night of my life. But it was also the worst night of my life.
I bring myself back to the present. I’m not really sure what the point of this game is or how I can get out of it. Despite how my body might be reacting, I know I need to get the hell away from him. How does he win and how do I lose? What happens if I lose?
“I don’t see you answering me, Liv. It’s either yes or no.
” His tone is menacing, a harsh punishment to something I’m not even sure I deserve, and the grip he has on me hasn’t loosened a bit.
I don’t know how he intends to play this out but I can at least be honest. If that’s all I can do to hopefully survive this, then I’ll do it.
I shake my head no and he lets out a curious sigh.
“Hmm.” He lifts the gun and moves it behind me. I can’t make out what he’s doing but the motion I can feel causes me to think he’s scratching at his temple with it while he thinks of another question.
“Shame. Those were beautiful times weren’t they? But no, that’s not what my little flower was thinking of. Maybe it was the time you were sitting on the couch with your ex-boyfriend watching that slasher movie together. Do you remember that night, Olivia?”
I freeze. How the hell…
“That’s right. I remember. I remember watching how he fell asleep mere minutes into the movie and left a beautiful little toy like you to go to waste.
I remember how annoyed you looked, frustrated that he couldn’t stay awake for you.
” I close my eyes at the memory, recalling it exactly as he’s retelling it while he whispers against my neck.
“But while he was snoozing away, you continued to watch didn’t you?
And you were getting restless. I believe it was the scene where the helpless female was getting chased around naked by a killer, wielding a bloodied butcher knife.
And the moment the killer caught up to her and well .
. . let’s just say you had to sneak out to the privacy of your bedroom.
” His tone is taunting, of course. But he speaks with an intense understanding of my actions.
A justification for why I did what I did and…
He’s not judging me?
“Do tell me, Reckless. Were you thinking about how that pink vibrator of yours did the job your boyfriend couldn’t? Were you thinking about how fucking hard you came that night just from feeling the adrenaline alone of watching your favorite scary movie?”
I’m ashamed. What the hell is wrong with me?
How could I allow myself that kind of release?
I wasn’t lying when I said fear sometimes has a different affect on me.
Pleasure of fear, fear-driven arousal. I don’t know what the fuck to call it, but whatever it is creeps inside of me like a hungry beast, eager to pounce and I can’t control it.
Just like now. Hearing Trace talk to me dirty and unfiltered like this—recalling exactly what was going through my mind when I fucked myself to a goddamn slasher scene—even now arousal greets me and I hate that my body reacts this way.
I’m humiliated by the admission and simultaneously it turns me on.
He’s holding me hostage and pressing a fucking gun to my body and I can’t do anything but need more.
But I’m also embarrassed he saw me like that. Or at least l think I am until he presses his lips against my ear and whispers, “You look so fucking pretty when you come, you know that, Olivia?”
A moan slips free and I berate myself for it immediately.
Trace brings the gun back down and this time, he rests the barrel between my breasts and it’s so wrong of me to want the cold tip of his weapon back on my nipples but I can’t deny the craving.
I shake my head, giving him the truth. I wasn’t thinking about that moment. But the call back of the memory causes me to fully register the fact that he’s been watching me for a lot longer than I can fathom and I think he senses that realization in me.
“You think I just left town and simply moved on from my sister’s death?
Oh no, Olivia. I might have stayed in the shadows all this time but I was hunting down my fucking prey.
Watching everyone I needed eyes on and lurking; learning their secrets and what makes them tick.
And I learned something very special about you.
” The cynical tone in his voice makes my veins turn to ice.
My distorted vision and dizzy head work together to cause me to want to panic.
Trace lowers the gun, letting the muzzle trace a messy and crooked line down the front of my sternum and over my belly button, but he doesn’t stop there.
I start to struggle against him, not wanting him to continue further but it only causes his hand to drop a little quicker and I gasp.
This time, I’m not sure if I’m scared or turned on.
I feel concerned for my well being but I keep finding myself wanting to chase pleasure.
I know that this can’t be normal and I don’t want to find out how my body is willing to betray me if he does decide to continue.
“I learned that my little reckless likes a little thrill, don’t you?” Trace’s words wreak havoc in me, my body going haywire when he says exactly what I’ve known about myself. What I hate about myself.
I groan in pleasure, or whimper in fear. I can’t tell which one. I try to use my feet to stomp on him, anything to get him to stop, but my attempt does nothing to prevent him from continuing the descent of the weapon he’s pressing against my skin, near seconds away from sliding into my pussy.
“Terror turns you on doesn’t it, Olivia? You suffer from a paradox of pleasurable fear. That’s why you were practically soaking my fingers as I held you against that tree earlier? Am I right?”
I don’t answer. I refuse to let him know that he’s figured out something about me that I can’t even understand myself.
But he goes lower and something wicked stirs in me.
I push my head back further into his chest, his hand not giving up its power against me and another tear escapes when I realize just how fucking weak I am.
But then I remember that my hands have been free this whole time, I’ve just been paralyzed for fear of making the wrong move and causing the gun to go off.
Would he really let that happen? Shoot the gun?
For some reason, I think he might. But I have to believe that there is something inside of him, a small light still lit with the protection that he once provided for me, that would prevent him from allowing his darkness to disperse and dismantle me.
But I can’t risk it. I don’t think I want to find out what would happen if I tested him, or worse . . . what if provoking him entices him more? Entices me.
“I need a fucking answer, Reckless.”
That stupid nickname. Why the fuck does he keep calling me that?
Trace’s tone is threatening, but the way my body reacts to him and his assault on me is even more concerning.
The gun starts to press into my pussy, sliding between my folds and gliding down slowly. The heat from the pressure is consuming even as my body quakes with a chill from the freezing cold water still spraying at my lower half.
“Why are you doing this?” I breathe behind the enclosure of his hand, shaking my head.
But he continues and I have to remain completely still; the gun could go off. How could he do this to me? Why is he doing this?
“Answer the question, Olivia. Did you find yourself aching in agony over the pleasure that I gave you earlier? Pleasure caused by fear. Maybe even a little hint of masochism taints your blood. Did you find yourself wet even as I nearly choked you into oblivion?” His tone is creating chaos in the neurons that pass between my body and my mind.
He is a drug personified. You know it might be bad for you. But you just want more.
The barrel of the gun is now rubbing against my core, pressing lightly over my clit, and though my brain is doing everything it can to decline the way this feels, my body is proving to be a fucking glutton for his wrath. I need it.