On the marble top I find everything has been set in place, toothbrushes, soap, towels. Locking the door, I shower as quickly as I can before washing my underwear in the sink and hiding it behind the used towel on the rack to dry. Regretfully, I have to put my old clothes back on, which smell of onions and sardines now. Unlocking the door, I return to the bedroom. There is another door in the room. Out of curiosity I try it.
Inside the walk-in closet are rows upon rows of clothes hung on display for me. There are shelves with dozens upon dozens of designer purses, some of them I already own. Underneath them is an impressive assortment of high heeled shoes.
I find it impossible to believe that they are really meant for me so I quickly grab a shoe to check its size. Six and a half: my exact fit. I check some others and they are all the same size. There is a dresser by the corner so I hurriedly pull out its drawers to see stacks of underwear and bras all in my size.
My eyes take in the underwear present and as I slam the drawer closed a bone chilling fear fills my belly. They are all of different patterns and colors, but there is one similarity between them all. They’re all thongs. I take a step back and cast my eyes over the shoes and the clothes and I notice something I had missed before: they are all what a hooker would wear.
He wants to turn me into a prostitute.
His words the previous night come back to me. It doesn’t matter I’ll fuck your corpse, I don’t need you to be alive. I collapse on the floor as every ounce of strength I possessed dissipates into nothing.
Someone knocks on the door and I whirl around and run back out to my room. The knock comes again. The sound is respectful so it must be one of the maids with my tray of food. I shout out that I am not hungry and wait until I hear her footsteps fade away. Slowly, I walk back to the bathroom. My underwear is dry and with a small sob that I cannot contain I pull them on and walk to a corner in the room. From here I can safely survey the whole room.
You’ll be fine, Liliana, I console myself, but even I don’t believe this. The tears come harder and harder until my throat turns sore, and my head feels like it is being pounded with a hammer.
Chapter Eight
Brand
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=My2FRPA3Gf8
I find her crouched in a corner, her head down and her shiny hair covering her face, shoulders and arms. A voice screams with horror in my head. What have I done to my dream? Bile surges into my mouth. I take a deep, painful breath, my heart is pumping so hard I hear the blood rushing in my ears. I loom over her, angry and confused by my reaction to finding her in that condition. I tell myself I have no feelings for her but revenge. I will only have sex with her, because she owes it to me, but after that I will discard her with less emotion than a man flushing away a used condom after he has lain with a prostitute.
I watch her for a few seconds. She looks fragile and pitiful. I immediately harden my heart. It is just a trick of the light. She was a spoilt brat then, and now she is nothing but a rich bitch whose legs I will be spreading. There is an armchair by the window. I pull it with me, the wooden legs dragging against the hard wood floors.
The sound jerks her awake.
I station the chair about ten feet away from her. As I take my seat she jumps up and stands with her feet planted shoulder length apart in the flight or fight mode. I don’t miss the terror in her eyes. Good. It strokes the part of me that needs to see her groveling and without of an ounce of dignity. Just as my father had been years ago.
Yes, it is befitting she should fear me. I hold her life in my hands. I could just as easily stroke her delicate white neck, as break every one of her goddamn fingers.
Brushing her hair out of her eyes, she straightens her clothes and leans against the wall. She has cleaned up, I can see. Her face is completely devoid of makeup from the previous day, and it strikes me how much she still looks like she did nine years ago. Fresh eyed, pale, and fiery. Once I had thought her as beautiful as an angel.
But I was a boy then. A fool who didn’t know better.
I keep my eyes on her, and watch her confidence begin to slowly dissolve into nothing. Still, she puts steel into her spine, lifts her chin, and speaks. “What do you want?”
I smile slowly. “I heard you wanted to become a novelist. I have a story for you.”
She says nothing, her brow furrowing with confusion.
“Don’t you recognize me, Liliana?” I ask pleasantly.
She regards me, searching, her scowl deepening. My hands close into fists. She must remember me. She must. Then the light of recognition comes to her eyes. They widen in disbelief. Her jaw drops.
Time slows down for me. The seconds tick with excruciating slowness, but she refuses to give me any satisfaction. She doesn’t admit remembering me. What a bitch! I grab the ash tray on the table and fling it across the room. It misses her head by a few inches and shatters into pieces.
She screams.
“I asked you a bloody question.” This through gritted teeth.
“I don’t,” she yells.
I know that it is a lie. What did I expect from Jake Eden’s daughter? Like father like daughter. I unclench my fists. I have to control myself. I can’t let her get the better of me. With a soft laugh I lean back into the chair and stare mockingly at her. “Alright then. I’ll tell you my story, perhaps it will help you … remember.”
She clasps her hands together so tightly her knuckles show white.
“Once I too had a family,” I begin, spreading my knees and making myself comfortable. “One no less precious than yours. My father was a gardener and we lived in a caravan, like all the gypsies before us. We never stayed in the same place for more than a few months at a time.” My face curls into a sneer. “If we did the pigs would come and move us along, anyway.” I stop. “Wait … that’s not poetic enough, is it?”
Even from across the room I can almost hear her breath quicken with tension and anxiety.
“I’m not making my family sound very special. I apologize.” I raise my eyes to the ceiling. What can I say to make us worthy of an Eden’s attention?”
Her eyes are on mine, her attention complete, she is glued to my story. She almost doesn’t blink.
“My mother had long black hair and bright green eyes. She was very beautiful. The strongest best men in our clan wanted to marry her, but she chose my father. I remember she used to crush up the geraniums my father brought home, and use it to rouge her cheeks.”
She frowns. I thought that would get to her. “It is hard to forget such a woman. Would you forget her, little Liliana?”
She doesn’t respond, and my brow begins to crease, which alerts her that she is displeasing me. She immediately straightens and responds. “I … yes, I would. But what does she have to do with me?”
My gaze darkens at her dumb answer. I feign casualness, even though my gut is burning. “I thought I would tell you about her since you already know my father.”
Silence.
My hand tightens on the armchair, as I voice my next question in an angry snarl, more animal than human. “You do know him ... don’t you?”
Her hand moves to touch her head and she nods. Slowly.
My lips twist into a bitter smile. “Good. We’re getting somewhere finally.” Suddenly I don’t want to play games anymore. I can’t even look at her. There are things my heart misses that I can’t share with anyone. I stand. “Funny thing about this story ... I’m almost never able to tell it in one sitting. We’ll continue another time.”
She takes a nervous step forward, her eyes wide and sparkling like blue stars. “Please ... let me go. I was just a child.”
I frown. “Save your excuses I am not interested.”
“What do you want with me?” she asks fearfully.
“I’m not sure, yet,” I reply truthfully, as I turn and start to walk away. With the ghosts of my parents so nearby I have lost my desire for her.
“You’ve kidnapped me and hold me hostage in the middle of now
here and you’re not sure what you want?”
I stop and turn slightly. Her pose is defiant, but her eyes burn holes of fear in her pale face. The blood pounds in my ears. All these years I thought of her simply as a grain of sand in my eye. Easy to wash out, but she is not. She has disturbed all the devils and demons and ghouls that have gathered in my soul.
“All right, I’ll tell you what I do know,” I mutter. “I know between you and your father, I want one of you dead, and the other living with the guilt of that death over their head forever.” I suck in my breath at the tough dilemma as I stroke my chin. “I just don't know though whom should die and whom should be tormented with the fact. Could you help me choose?”
She snaps then. Screaming like a banshee and clawing her hands, she rushes towards me. I catch her small wrists easily. She tries to kick at my legs, but I rush her backwards until her back hits the wall and winds her. She gasps with surprise and pain. Her breath is like a hot wind carrying old memories of roses, greenery, and the dark soil my father dug up. I press my body into hers to stop her from struggling, and instantly I become as hard as a rock.
She feels my erection and becomes still. Neither of us move.
I stare into her eyes and smell the soap on her skin, her shampoo. I feel the precious life-force inside her body and the heat from her skin. I hear her heart beating and the blood rushing in her veins. The lust hits me like a sucker punch in the gut. The need to spread open her legs and taste her is unbelievable. I have waited for so long. Why should I wait one second longer?
“Why should any of us die?” she whispers. “What the fuck did we do that was so wrong to you?”
“Because I swore I would avenge their deaths.”
Her eyes pop open. “What is all of this about? I don’t even know what you are talking about.”
“It’s all about guilt. It’s about making you feel what I felt. I want to share my guilt with you, but how can I properly do that if you don’t know what it feels like to cause the death of someone you love?” I let go of her.
Her legs refuse to keep her up and she slides down the wall into a heap on the floor.
I look down on her. “I think that answers my earlier question. Your father should be the one to die ... then you, just like me, you will live with the guilt.”
She shakes her head, then looks directly into my eyes. “No, let it be me. It was my fault. Kill me instead.”
Chapter Nine
Liliana
Nine years ago
I looked at the grubby boy. He was tall and broad with fierce black eyes and straight black hair. He must have been at least a couple of years older than me. He was the son of one of the traveling gypsies. His father did some work for my father. He was standing alone and staring into the pond. His clothes are dirty and his hands are black with dirt, but for some strange reason I couldn’t understand I felt drawn to him. I decided to walk up to him and offer him some food.
“What’s your name?” I asked, as I drew up to him.
“None of your business,” he muttered, without even looking at me.
“What a rude little boy you are,” I said scornfully. “I only came over to see if you are hungry.”
“I’m not hungry. I don’t need your charity.”
I put my hands on my hips feeling angry at his rudeness. “I was only trying to be nice.”
He turned to me his eyes flashing. “You want to be nice?”
I looked at him, confused. “Well, I did. I’m not sure I want to anymore.”
“Then piss off.”
I gasped in surprise. I didn’t know why I didn’t just walk away and tell Daddy, but I felt compelled to stay and fight him. “Why are you being so rude?”
“Why are you being such a pest?”
I crossed my hands over my chest. “Fine, I want to be nice. What do you want?”
He grabbed me so fast I yelped like a kicked puppy. Then before I knew what was happening he kissed me right on the mouth! I was too shocked to resist. His mouth was firm and forceful and hot. The kiss went on and on and to my surprise a little butterfly started fluttering in my belly. Then he lifted his head and looked into my eyes. I couldn’t look away. I was too astonished.
“Liliana Eden, I’m going to marry you one day,” he declared, before striding away.
I touched my lips. They were still tingling.
He kissed me.
Ewww … Yuck.
The rude boy kissed me! I ran towards our house as fast as I can. I flew in through the front door and burst into the kitchen. Both Mummy and Daddy were there. “A boy kissed me,” I announced breathlessly.
“What?” Dad shouted. He jumped up, his face dark with fury.
Mum grabbed hold of his wrist. “She’s only eleven, Jake. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Fuck it doesn’t.” Dad swore furiously as he strode out of the house.
I watched him march up to the boy’s father. They talked, Dad gesturing angrily. The man called his son and slapped him upside the head. The boy said nothing. He just turned his head and looked at me through the window. There was no smile on his face. He just stared at me until his father slapped him again and pulled him away.
I touched my lips. They were still tingling. I wished now I had not told Dad about the kiss.
Chapter Ten
Brand
I narrow my eyes in feigned contemplation. “Hmm. The only thing your father is guilty of is treating my father and I as lesser than dogs. You on the other hand …”
I can never say it out loud, or even admit it to myself how much she affects me. My gaze roves down her body, at the full breasts accentuated by her posture on the floor and straining against the material of her blouse, the slim waist, and the gently flaring hips. The ache for her is almost painful. I lower my hand and grab the hardened rod between my legs.
At the sudden fear in her eyes, I smile slowly. Reaching down I pull her to her feet. “Look at you, all grown-up and at the mercy of the lowly gardener’s son.”
She does a strange thing then. She licks her lips. I’ve been around the block too many times to know it was not a dry mouth that made her do that. Astonished, I brush my thumb along her wet bottom lip. The flesh is soft and plump. “Have you ever thought of me, Liliana?”
For a second she hesitates, then she shakes her head.
What did I expect from the daughter of a criminal? I let go of her. “Grab that chair,” I order, jerking my head towards another chair close to her, “and pull it with you back to your corner.”
She stares at me red-eyed, as though not understanding me. When I don’t repeat myself, but my gaze darkens, she jerks into action. She drags the chair on the hardwood floors making the same scraping noise I had used to wake her up.
“That’s perfect,” I say, sitting down on the chair I had pulled to the middle of the room. “Now, take off your clothes.”
She stares at me in horror and for a split-second I expect her to fall to her knees and plead with me again. Instead, she lifts her chin haughtily and asks, “Will this save my father?”
I shrug. I’m glad she didn’t beg. “It’s a start.”
With her eyes on me she lifts her hands and begins to slowly undo the buttons of her blouse. When every button is undone, she shrugs it off her shoulders. Her movements unsexy, but unhurried as though she is either hoping her strip-tease is so fucking boring I will lose interest, or I will suddenly find my conscience and ask her to stop. Unfortunately for her there is no chance of either scenario happening. With every button that she releases my body becomes more and more taut with primal desire. By the time she is down to her dark lace bra I cannot take my eyes off her breasts. She pauses.
“Take it off,” I hear myself growl.
Swallowing audibly, she does as she is told. To hide her expression she lowers her head, before she reaches behind and unsnaps the scrap of lace. Her breasts are revealed—creamy red-tinged beauties.
“Carry on,” I urge thickly, my eyes movi
ng down her cinched waist and past her belly button. The panties she is wearing cover too much. I hate it. “There’s a whole drawer of underwear that I have provided. From now on you either wear those or nothing at all.”
She doesn’t respond.
Fuck her. I lay out my next instruction. “Take your underwear off, then spread yourself open and hang your legs from the arms of the chair.”
Now I have her attention. She gasps and opens her mouth as if to argue, but all I have to do is raise my eyebrows and say, “Is your body worth more than your father’s life?”
She closes her mouth with a snap and slips the offending material from her hips.
Ah, I knew she would be like this. Either waxed or freshly shaved, but as smooth as a baby’s butt. My mouth is dry. She turns towards the chair giving me a great view of her full, round buttocks. My breath catches as she sits down and lifts her legs, one after the other, and hooks them on the arms of the upholstered frame.
Her cunt opens up like a beautiful, dew-coated flower, glistening with arousal. It is exactly how I imagined it would be: pink, and wet, and undeniably seductive. I hold onto the chair to keep myself from diving straight for her. I want her in my mouth, then I want my cock stretching her out and fucking her brutally.
I lean forward in uncontainable excitement and raise my entranced gaze up to hers. “Do you ever fantasize about anyone?”
She doesn’t respond just as I knew she wouldn’t. Her gaze is blank and staring somewhere above my shoulders.
I go on. “Well, I have. Of you. Ever since I found you again two years ago. It was at a charity event. Your father was being honored and your whole family was there at the main table. Your skirt was so short you couldn’t bend down. I overheard one of your brothers mocking you for it. Your hair almost reached your waist, shame you went and cut it, and your lips were bright red. I’ve been fucking you in my head ever since. And now here you are before me, open and exposed.” I smile, teeth on full display.
A Kiss Stolen Page 4
