His (A Dark Erotic Romance Novel)

by Dark, Aubrey

  I stepped back into the bathroom and closed the door behind me, locking it. I exhaled.

  Now. It was my chance. I grabbed up my old underwear and bra and pulled the razor from its hiding place. I set it on the counter. I would have to try to kill him now. I couldn’t have planned it better. He would be distracted.

  I tugged on the lingerie. The bra was a smaller band than I normally wore, but the cup size was half a size larger. Surprisingly, it fit better than my normal bra. With shaky fingers I tucked the razor inside the lingerie. I didn’t bother slitting the fabric to hide it inside. If I was going to do this, I needed easy access to my weapon.

  My weapon. Jesus. I was actually going to do this.

  Sliding the green dress over my shoulders, I smoothed down the fabric. My cleavage peeked out from under the fitted bodice, the curves casting soft shadows on my skin. My hair, half-dry, curled over the back of my shoulders. If it hadn’t been for the white bandages covering my arms and hands, I would have looked like I was going to an executive cocktail party.

  I opened the door and found Gavriel sitting on the bed in a clean shirt and pants. He looked up at me with such awe that I began to tremble. His eyes swept down over me, and I swear that he could see my soul. I worried that the razor was obvious, that the outline would show through the fabric. No, of course it couldn’t.

  The way he looked at me, though... it was as though he was more open than ever. And what was hidden behind the mask scared me even more: he desired me.

  He came and stood in front of me. His eyes looked more green than gray, maybe from the reflection of my dress fabric. His hands touched my shoulders, his fingers sliding up and down lightly. Framing his vision of me. I wondered what he saw. A helpless girl, a willing victim. I would show him that I would not go gently.

  “Beautiful. Thank you for wearing it for me.”

  He paused, looking into my face, then spoke in a low voice that hinted at flirting.

  “What do you want from me?” he asked.

  “What do I want?”

  My voice was shaky, and I swore that he knew what I was planning. But he only looked at me calmly, the look of a predator who had his prey trapped. Playing with me, that’s what he was doing.

  “Yes,” he said. “Thank you for dressing up nicely for me. Now what do you want in return?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I want you to let me go. You won’t do that?”

  In my heart I prayed for him to say yes. Then I wouldn’t have to hurt him. I wouldn’t have to kill him. I wouldn’t have to escape on my own.

  “No,” he said, equally calmly.

  “Then I don’t know. I don’t know what I want.”

  His hands squeezed my shoulders gently, above the bandages. His voice whispered into my ear.

  “I do.”

  One hand trailed down my hand, his fingertips feeling their way down to my hip. I held my breath as he passed over the place in my bra where I had hidden the razor. But he did not stop until his hand was resting on the curve just below my waist. My heart beat fast.

  “I know what you want.”

  With his other hand he tilted my chin up. My lips parted willingly as I let him kiss me.

  Only pretend, my mind screamed. That’s all this was. It was only a game, all of it. But my body urged me on, enjoyed the kiss, wanted more, wanted it all. And the small voice inside of me murmured encouragement.

  Yes, it said. This is what you want. This is what you need.

  My tongue met his, hot and wanting. He cupped my cheek in one hand, cupped my ass in the other, pulled me toward him with his heat and his desire and every dangerous wonderful thing that I never had before.

  Adrenaline pulsed through me, sending every nerve to high alert. He clutched me tight and I felt the razor’s edge cutting into my skin. His hands moved over my back, ran through my hair, and all the while he kissed me and I kissed back, palms against his chest, in that hopeless position of wanting more and wanting it all to be over.

  Then he reached down. His hand crumpled the green gauzy fabric, pulled the hem up until it bunched at my waist. He sought the place between my thighs and found me wet and burning down there.

  It was true, I wanted him. The attraction that shamed me made him believe me. He suspected nothing, because the moan that shuddered me was real when he touched me down there, let his fingers graze my swollen sex through the silk panties. Under my bra the razor was cutting me and still I pushed further, letting him kiss me harder, touch me harder.

  “I’ve wanted you so badly,” he murmured, his voice catching on the words. It was the first time I had heard any emotion in his voice. “It’s never like this. It’s never real.”

  It’s not real now, I thought. Nothing was real, not the desire that burned in me and made me soak through my panties. Not the kisses he pressed down on my mouth, my neck. Not the thrill of his fingertips against my bare skin. It was all pretend. All pretend.

  He lifted the dress up, and I dug my hands under the top to help lift it off over my shoulders. He couldn’t see me reach down into the bra where I had the razor hidden. Quickly my fingers found the blade and pulled it out.

  It was the pause that did it. The moment of hesitation when his arms were lifted over my head, helping me out of the dress. The split second where I was uncertain.

  No, it was the blood where the razor had cut me. The red blade slipping in between my fingers, even though I clutched it tightly.

  No, it was my own conscience. Every moral, every rule I’d followed for years, coming back to tell me not to do this, not to kill, not to murder.

  No, it was none of these and all of these that made me fail. I don’t know, not even now, not even looking back on it with clear eyes.

  A breath of hesitation, and then I lunged forward with the razor, slicing it at his throat. His arm was already blocking my path, and he saw the red-silver glint of the blade, and he swatted my hand down. The razor sliced across his chest as he jumped back, cutting him. A shallow cut. Not enough.

  He leapt backwards, his face snapping shut on the emotions I had been surprised to see. Blood trickled down his chest from the cut I’d made just above his left nipple. We faced each other, predator and prey, and I knew that it was over.

  Like any animal, though, I would not give up. I lunged again, and he caught my upper arm where the bandages covered my cuts. Pain shot up to my shoulder and I let out a cry. He squeezed, and the world exploded white with agony. Still I held on and twisted to get out of his grasp. He pulled me around and held me against his chest. I kicked, I screamed, I tried to reach behind me with the razor to cut him again. All the while, I knew that I had failed.

  Failed again.

  “Drop it,” he hissed in my ear. I whipped my head back to try and hit him in the face, but he only leaned back to avoid the blow. I sobbed, the razor biting into my own fingers from where I was holding it so tightly.

  “No!” I moaned. It was over. I could feel the blood from his cut soaking into the back of my dress. Still I held on.

  “Drop the razor, kitten,” he said, “or I’ll use it to cut your pretty little heart out.”

  I choked my sob back. That was it. I was done. It took every single ounce of effort to open my fingers, to let the razor fall from my hand. It made no sound as it landed on the carpet.

  Gav

  “You don’t think you can trick me that easily, do you, kitten?”

  She moaned in my arms. Beautiful, she was. Beautiful and cunning. I threw her down onto my bed with a force that surprised even me. She had threatened my life, and now she would have to pay.

  The rope was nylon, thick and red. She screamed as I tied her wrists with the thick loops. She kicked as I did the same with her ankles. Stronger than she looked, but not as strong as me. I secured the knots tightly to the bedposts. I’d practiced them for a long while, and the more she struggled, the tighter the rope would pull.

  Her arms and legs were spread apart, each one tied to its own bedpo
st. Like the man in DaVinci’s drawing, a perfect specimen of humankind. Her body arched against the bed as she twisted to try and escape, sobbing all the while.

  Would it be surprising to know that her cunning made me want her even more? Such a smart girl. Such a beautiful woman. She had brains under that soft delicious body, and I smiled as I stripped off my shirt, stanched the blood coming from my chest, and put on a bandage. When I came back to the bedroom, she had stopped struggling, her limbs stretched out tightly.

  “Please, no,” she said. “Please. Gavriel.”

  “You’ve been very naughty, kitten,” I said. It stung me that she had tried to kill me, stung me more than the time she’d tried to escape.

  “Please. I’ll do anything. Don’t hurt me. Don’t kill me. I promise I won’t try anything else. I promise I won’t try to escape. Please—”

  “You lied to me, kitten,” I said, sitting on the bed next to her. Her dress was torn at the top, exposing the black bra where she’d hidden the razor. I slid my hands over the fabric to make sure that she had no other surprises waiting for me. She bit her lip as my hands touched her body, cringing back from me.

  “I won’t—”

  “You tried to kill me. Tsk, tsk.”

  “Don’t kill me,” she sobbed. Fear brightened her eyes. It was good; the shadow was nowhere to be found. “Please. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I’ll do whatever you want me to do. I’ll be good. We can do a trade. I’ll—”

  “No more trades,” I said. I took hold of her dress and ripped it down the middle, tearing it off of her. Under the green fabric, her body was pale and beautiful as I had seen it before.

  “No more trades. No more begging. You tried to take what you wanted. Now I will take what I want.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Kat

  He stared down at my body, and I could see the reflection of myself in his eyes. They had gone dark gray, but there was no anger in them, only a horrible, terrifying calm. Blood was smeared across his bare chest where I had cut him with the razor.

  I was going to die.

  It had taken one second, one bad decision, one moment’s hesitation, and that was it. I closed my eyes and willed myself not to scream. Maybe he would end it quickly. The ropes bit into my wrists and ankles and my arm screamed with pain from where he had squeezed it.

  “Kitten,” he said. “Kitten, look at me.”

  I felt his weight shift on the bed, leaning over me. Terror seized me and I opened my eyes. He was there, hovering just above me, his eyes matched with mine.

  “Are you scared to die now?” he asked.

  “Please don’t—” I started, but he brought his finger to my lips and stopped my begging.

  “Do you want to live?”

  Another game? Or was this a real chance that he was giving me? I nodded yes, slowly.

  “Then I will let you live,” he said. “See? I am not quite the monster you thought I was.”

  I let go of the breath I hadn’t remembered holding in. He reached over and opened the drawer from his bedside table.

  “First, though,” he said, “I told you I was going to take what I wanted. You call it torture, I think. But I rather enjoy it.”

  From the drawer he pulled out his knife.

  I began to scream.

  I screamed at the top of my lungs, twisting away from him as he brought the knife up to my chest. I thought of the professor, of the pieces of skin stripped away from his body. Everything around me went black - the beautiful room, the expensive decorations. In the dim light my eyes could not stop staring at the point of the knife.

  “Stop moving, kitten,” he said, his voice calm under my screams. He pressed one hand down, his fingers spread across my collarbone. His leg braced against my leg and no matter how I tried, I couldn’t move.

  He slid the knife under the middle of my bra, between my two breasts. My screams turned ragged as I ran out of breath, trying not to let my chest heave. The air had been sucked out of the room, and there was no oxygen left. I would black out. I would—

  He twisted the knife up and cut my bra in half with a single quick movement.

  The noise coming from my throat now wasn’t a scream. It was a high-pitched whine, a keening while I tried not to move. The blade of the knife was cold against my skin, and he slid it down slowly, down over my belly. I imagined one more twist, my guts spilling out of my body.

  Instead the knife kept moving down, down, until he had slipped it under the fabric of my panties. It rested cold against me and then he moved again, yanking the knife up. I screamed again, once, but the blade only slit the fabric.

  “Darling kitten,” he whispered. He pulled off the scraps of silk lingerie, leaving me completely naked. I choked on my breath as he reached over me, but he only set the knife back down in the drawer and pushed it shut.

  I needed my medication. I could feel myself starting to hyperventilate. The screams had taken all of my oxygen and around me the world was turning hazy.

  Then he bent down and kissed me softly. All of a sudden, my world refocused on his eyes, his gray eyes. The haze receded. I could see every small detail of his face. The dark stubble on his strong chin. The curve of his eyebrows swooping low on his forehead. The hard lines of his cheeks.

  “Kitten,” he said, “I want you to be mine. And I will take what I want.”

  He kissed me again, as lightly as butterfly wings, and I did not respond. I could not respond. Every part of me was tensed, shot through with adrenaline.

  “Before I am done, you’ll want it too, kitten,” he whispered. “I know you will. Maybe you already do.”

  I was shivering now, and his hand moved over my stomach, sending goosebumps rippling over my flesh.

  “Cold, kitten?” he asked. “Let’s start by warming you up.”

  He moved down, his pants sliding against my legs as he did so. One hand cradled my breast, and he squeezed just hard enough to make me moan.

  “Oh, kitten,” he said. “Do you already want me?”

  “No,” I whispered. “No, please—”

  He leaned over and kissed my nipple. Then pinched it, twisting. I screamed and he released the hard nub. Then he licked it, circling it with his tongue. The soft touch of his tongue after his twisting fingers made me ache.

  Then he pinched it again, harder, and rolled it between his fingers. Pinched again. Then sucked. The warmth shot through my skin.

  He moved down and I tried to squeeze my thighs together, but the rope held my legs apart no matter how I twisted.

  He kissed me softly all around, from my hips down to the soft patch of hair just above my slit. As he kissed me, I could feel myself growing hot, swelling between my legs.

  Without warning, he sealed his lips around me and sucked hard enough to hurt.

  “Ah!” I yelped. He stopped, as suddenly as he had started, and went back to kissing me, sucking little spots all around my swollen nub.

  Back up to my nipples, and this time when he sucked on my nipple I imagined him sucking down there, and I ached, oh god, how I ached.

  His hand slid down, his fingers parting, two on either side. His thumb pressed into the top of my thigh as he stroked me a millimeter away from where I needed it.

  “Please…” I trailed off.

  “Tortured yet, kitten? Maybe. Not quite enough for me. You were screaming before. You’ll scream again.”

  He squeezed his fingers together on either side of my slit and licked, one long slow stroke of his tongue that sent me shuddering.

  “Ohhh,” I groaned.

  “Don’t pretend for me, kitten.”

  “I’m not… I’m not—”

  “Hush.”

  He licked me again, and then his hand came back up to twist my nipple, hard, at the same time as he thrust two fingers into me. I gasped at the pain mixed with pleasure. My body didn’t know how to react.

  He continued. With every hard pinch of my nipple he would lick my swollen clit, then go back
to stroking me on both sides with his fingers. Then he would twist my erect nipple and thrust his fingers in, and my body clenched around him, wanting more, needing more.

  Sweat beaded on my forehead. The room was hot, so hot. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted release. Oh god, I needed it soon or I’d faint.

  “Please,” I said. “Please.”

  He slapped me across the face and twisted both my nipples so hard it felt like burning. I screamed.

  “That’s the scream I want,” he said. He bent his head down to my aching nub and sucked hard, his mouth sealed around me as he thrust his fingers once again into my body. Oh, god, it felt so good. I was there, I was almost there—

  He pulled his fingers out.

  I bucked my hips up, searching for release, but it did not come. I opened my mouth, and the scream that escaped me was a gasping scream, hoarse with desire.

  “Tell me you want me, kitten,” he whispered.

  “Oh, god,” I moaned. I couldn’t. I couldn’t.

  He touched me on either side with his fingers and I twisted, wanting him inside of me.

  “Say it. Tell me you want me.”

  “No.”

  He pressed hard, and my body rocked into him, hips arching, but his fingers were gone, the pressure eased.

  “Say it.”

  I moaned, the sound filling the room. Only pretend. This wasn’t real. Say anything, confess everything. It didn’t matter.

  It didn’t matter. Who would know? Who would ever think it was the truth? I opened my mouth and made my confession, and if it was true then I was the only one to know it.

  “I want you.”

  He licked me hard, again, his tongue flicking once at the top and sending white hot shocks of pleasure through my body. I was almost there, god, I was so close—

  “Say it agai—”

  “I want you!” My voice was ragged, my tongue thick in my mouth. “I want you. I want you.”

  He twisted my nipples as he thrust his fingers in me, three short thrusts and then out and no! God, no, I needed it, I needed more, I needed all of him—

  “Louder.”

  “I want you!” I screamed. “Please! I want you! I want you! Gavriel, I want you!”