Twist Me

by Anna Zaires

  She shrugs. “Julian does whatever he wants. It’s not for me to judge.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I owe him my life,” she says seriously and walks out of the room.

  * * *

  I eat the food Beth brought me. It’s pretty good actually, even though it’s not traditional breakfast food. There is grilled fish in some kind of mushroom sauce and roasted potatoes with a side of green salad. For dessert, there’s some cut-up mango. Local fruit, I’m guessing.

  Despite my inner turmoil, I manage to eat everything. If I were less of a coward, I would resist by refusing to eat his food—but I fear hunger as much as I fear pain.

  So far he hasn’t really hurt me. Well, it did hurt when he put his cock inside me, but he hadn’t been purposefully rough. I suspect it would’ve hurt the first time regardless of the circumstances.

  The first time. It suddenly dawns on me that it had been my first time. Now I’m no longer a virgin.

  Strangely, I don’t feel like I lost anything. The thin membrane inside me had never held any particular meaning for me. I never intended to wait until marriage or anything else like that. I regret that my first time was with a monster, but I don’t mourn the loss of the ‘virgin’ designation. I would’ve gladly gone all the way with Jake, if I’d only had a chance.

  Jake! My stomach lurches. I can’t believe I haven’t thought about him since Julian told me he was safe. The guy I’ve been crazy about for months had been the furthest thing from my mind when I was in the arms of my captor.

  Hot shame burns inside me. Shouldn’t I have been thinking of Jake last night? Shouldn’t I have been picturing his face when Julian touched me so intimately? If I truly wanted Jake, shouldn’t he have been the one on my mind during my forced sexual encounter?

  I’m suddenly filled with bitter hatred for the man who did this to me—the man who shattered my illusions about the world, about myself. I’d never thought much about what I would do if I got kidnapped, how I would react. Who thinks about stuff like that? But I guess I’d always assumed I would be brave, fighting to my last breath. Isn’t that what they do in all the books and movies? Fight, even when it’s useless, even when doing so means getting hurt? Shouldn’t I have done that too? Yes, he’s stronger than me, but I didn’t have to give in so easily. He didn’t tie me up; he didn’t threaten me with a knife or a gun. All he’d done was chase me down when I tried to run.

  That run had been the grand total of my resistance thus far.

  I don’t recognize this person who had given in so easily. And yet I know she’s me. A part of me that had never come to light before. A part of me that I would’ve never known if Julian hadn’t taken me.

  Thinking about this is so upsetting that I focus on my captor instead. Who is he? How can someone afford to have an entire private island? How does Beth owe him her life? And, most importantly, what does he intend to do with me?

  A million different scenarios run through my mind, each one more horrifying than the next. I know there’s such a thing as human trafficking. It happens all the time, especially to women from poorer countries. Is that the fate that awaits me? Am I going to end up in a brothel somewhere, drugged out of my mind and used daily by dozens of men? Is Julian simply sampling the merchandise before he delivers it to its final destination?

  Before panic can take over my mind, I inhale deeply and try to think logically. While the human trafficking is a possibility, it doesn’t seem likely to me. For one thing, Julian appears to be very possessive of me—far too possessive for someone just testing out the merchandise. And besides, why bring me here, to his private island, if he’s just planning to sell me?

  My pet, he had called me. Is that just a meaningless endearment, or is that how he sees me? Does he have some fetish that involves keeping women captive? I think about it for a while, and decide that he probably does. Why else would a wealthy, good-looking man do this? Surely he has no problem getting dates the usual way. In fact, I might’ve gone out with him myself if I hadn’t gotten that strange vibe from him in the club.

  If he hadn’t touched me like he owned me.

  Is that his thing? Ownership? Does he want a sex slave? If so, why did he choose me? Was it because of my reaction to him at the club? Did he guess that I would be a coward, that I would let him do whatever he wanted to me? Did I somehow bring this upon myself?

  The thought is so sickening that I push it away and get up, determined to explore my prison further.

  The door is still locked, which doesn’t surprise me. I’m able to open the window, and warm, ocean-scented air fills the room.

  I can’t open the screen on the window, though. I would need to do that in order to climb out. I don’t try too hard. If Beth is to be believed, escaping from this room wouldn’t help me at all.

  I look for something that could be used as a weapon. There’s no knife, but there’s a fork left over from my meal. Beth would probably notice if I hide it. Still, I take a chance and do it, concealing the utensil behind a stack of books on a tall bookshelf that lines one of the walls.

  Next I explore the bathroom, hoping to find a bottle of hairspray or something else along those lines. But there’s only soap, toothbrush, and toothpaste. In the shower stall, I find body wash, shampoo, and conditioner—all nice, expensive brands. My captor is clearly not stingy.

  Then again, anyone who owns a private island can probably afford a fifty-dollar shampoo. He might even be able to afford a thousand-dollar shampoo, if such a thing exists.

  The fact that I’m thinking about shampoo amazes me. Shouldn’t I be screaming and crying? Oh, wait, I did that yesterday. I guess there’s only so much crying a person can do. I seem to be all out of tears, at least for now.

  After exploring every nook and cranny of the room, I get bored, so I take one of the books from the bookshelf. A Sidney Sheldon novel, something about a woman betrayed who seeks revenge on her enemies.

  It’s engrossing enough that I’m able to mentally escape my prison for the next couple of hours.

  * * *

  Beth comes and brings me lunch. She also brings me some clothes, folded in a stack.

  I’m glad. I’ve been wearing the bathrobe all morning, and I would like to dress normally.

  When she puts the clothes on the dresser, I again think about tackling her and trying to escape. Maybe using the fork I’ve got stashed away.

  “Nora, give me the fork,” she says.

  I jump a little and give her a startled look. Could she actually be a mind-reader?

  And then I realize that she’s simply looking at the empty tray and noticing that the utensil is missing.

  I decide to play dumb. “What fork?”

  She lets out a sigh. “You know what fork. The one you hid behind the books. Give it to me.”

  Another one of my assumptions proven wrong. I don’t know why I’d thought I had any privacy.

  I look up at the ceiling, studying it carefully, but I can’t see where the cameras are.

  “Nora . . .” Beth prompts.

  I retrieve the fork and throw it at her. I think I’m secretly hoping it spears her in the eye.

  But Beth catches it and shakes her head at me, as though disappointed in my behavior. “I was hoping you wouldn’t act this way,” she says.

  “Act what way? Like a victim of kidnapping?” I really, really want to hit her right now.

  “Like a spoiled brat,” she clarifies, putting the fork in her pocket. “You think it’s so awful, being here on this beautiful island? You think you’re suffering by being in Julian’s bed?”

  I stare at her like she’s a lunatic. Does she honestly expect me to be okay with this situation? To meekly go along with this and never utter a word of protest?

  She stares back at me, and for the first time, I notice some lines on her face. “You don’t know the real meaning of suffering, little girl,” she says softly, “and I hope you never find out. Be nice to Julian, and you just might be able to
continue living a charmed life.”

  She leaves the room, and I swallow to get rid of the sudden dryness in my throat.

  For some reason, her words make my hands shake.

  Chapter 6

  It’s evening now. With every minute that passes, I’m starting to get more and more anxious at the thought of seeing my captor again.

  The novel that I’ve been reading can no longer hold my interest. I put it down and walk in circles around the room.

  I am dressed in the clothes Beth had given me earlier. It’s not what I would’ve chosen to wear, but it’s better than a bathrobe. A sexy pair of white lacy panties and a matching bra for underwear. A pretty blue sundress that buttons in the front. Everything fits me suspiciously well. Has he been stalking me for a while? Learning everything about me, including my clothing size?

  The thought makes me sick.

  I am trying not to think about what’s to come, but it’s impossible. I don’t know why I’m so sure he’ll come to me tonight. It’s possible he has an entire harem of women stashed away on this island, and he visits each one only once a week, like sultans used to do.

  Yet somehow I know he’ll be here soon. Last night had simply whetted his appetite. I know he’s not done with me, not by a long shot.

  Finally, the door opens.

  He walks in like he owns the place. Which, of course, he does.

  I am again struck by his masculine beauty. He could’ve been a model or a movie star, with a face like his. If there was any fairness in the world, he would’ve been short or had some other imperfection to offset that face.

  But he doesn’t. His body is tall and muscular, perfectly proportioned. I remember what it feels like to have him inside me, and I feel an unwelcome jolt of arousal.

  He’s again wearing jeans and a T-shirt. A grey one this time. He seems to favor simple clothing, and he’s smart to do so. His looks don’t need any enhancement.

  He smiles at me. It’s his fallen angel smile—dark and seductive at the same time. “Hello, Nora.”

  I don’t know what to say to him, so I blurt out the first thing that pops into my head. “How long are you going to keep me here?”

  He cocks his head slightly to the side. “Here in the room? Or on the island?”

  “Both.”

  “Beth will show you around tomorrow, take you swimming if you’d like,” he says, approaching me. “You won’t be locked in, unless you do something foolish.”

  “Such as?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest as he stops next to me and lifts his hand to stroke my hair.

  “Trying to harm Beth or yourself.” His voice is soft, his gaze hypnotic as he looks down at me. The way he’s touching my hair is oddly relaxing.

  I blink, trying to break his spell. “And what about on the island? How long will you keep me here?”

  His hand caresses my face, curves around my cheek. I catch myself leaning into his touch, like a cat getting petted, and I immediately stiffen.

  His lips curl into a knowing smile. The bastard knows the effect he has on me. “A long time, I hope,” he says.

  For some reason, I’m not surprised. He wouldn’t have bothered bringing me all the way here if he just wanted to fuck me a few times. I’m terrified, but I’m not surprised.

  I gather my courage and ask the next logical question. “Why did you kidnap me?”

  The smile leaves his face. He doesn’t answer, just looks at me with an inscrutable blue gaze.

  I begin to shake. “Are you going to kill me?”

  “No, Nora, I won’t kill you.”

  His denial reassures me, although he could obviously be lying.

  “Are you going to sell me?” I can barely get the words out. “Like to be a prostitute or something?”

  “No,” he says softly. “Never. You’re mine and mine alone.”

  I feel a tiny bit calmer, but there is one more thing I have to know. “Are you going to hurt me?”

  For a moment, he doesn’t answer again. Something dark briefly flashes in his eyes. “Probably,” he says quietly.

  And then he leans down and kisses me, his warm lips soft and gentle on mine.

  For a second, I stand there frozen, unresponsive. I believe him. I know he’s telling the truth when he says he’ll hurt me. There’s something in him that scares me—that has scared me from the very beginning.

  He’s nothing like the boys I’ve gone on dates with. He’s capable of anything.

  And I’m completely at his mercy.

  I think about trying to fight him again. That would be the normal thing to do in my situation. The brave thing to do.

  And yet I don’t do it.

  I can feel the darkness inside him. There’s something wrong with him. His outer beauty hides something monstrous underneath.

  I don’t want to unleash that darkness. I don’t know what will happen if I do.

  So I stand still in his embrace and let him kiss me. And when he picks me up again and takes me to bed, I don’t try to resist in any way.

  Instead, I close my eyes and give in to the sensations.

  * * *

  He’s again gentle with me. I should be terrified of him—and I am—but my body seems to enjoy the dual sensation of fear and arousal. I don’t know what that says about me.

  I lie there with my eyes closed as he takes off my clothes, layer by layer. First he unbuttons the front of the dress, like he’s unwrapping a present. His hands are strong and sure; there’s no hint of awkwardness or hesitation in his movements. He’s clearly had a lot of practice with women’s clothing.

  After the dress is unbuttoned, he pauses for a second. I sense his gaze on me, and I wonder what he’s seeing. I know I have a good body; it’s slim and toned, even though it’s not as curvy as I would like.

  He trails his fingers down my stomach, making me tremble. “So pretty,” he says softly. “Such lovely skin. You should always wear white. It suits you.”

  I don’t respond, just squeeze my eyes tighter. I don’t want him looking at me, don’t want him enjoying the sight of my body in the undergarments he picked out for me. I wish he would just fuck me and get it over with, instead of engaging in this twisted parody of lovemaking.

  But he has no intention of making it easy for me.

  His mouth follows the same path as his fingers. It feels hot and moist on my belly, and then he moves lower, to where my legs are instinctively squeezed tightly together. He doesn’t seem to like that, and his hands are rough as they pull my thighs apart, his fingers digging into my tender flesh.

  I whimper at the hint of violence, and try to relax my legs to avoid angering him further.

  His grip eases, his hands becoming gentler. “My sweet, beautiful girl,” he whispers, and I can feel his hot breath on my sensitive folds. “You know I’ll make it good for you.”

  And then his lips are on me, and his tongue is swirling around my clit, his mouth sucking and nibbling. His hair brushes against my inner thighs, tickling me, and his hands hold my legs spread wide open. I twist and cry out, the pleasure so intense that I forget everything but the incredible heat and tension inside me.

  He brings me close to the edge, but doesn’t let me go over. Every time I feel my orgasm approaching, he stops or changes the rhythm, driving me crazy with frustration. I find myself pleading, begging, my body arching mindlessly toward him. When he finally lets me reach the peak, it’s such a relief that my entire body spasms, shuddering and twisting from the intensity of the release.

  For some reason, I start crying when it’s over. Tears leak from the outer corners of my eyes and run down my temples, soaking into my hair and then the pillow. He appears to like it because he crawls up my body and kisses the wet trails on my face, then licks them.

  His large hands stroke my body, rubbing my skin, caressing me all over. It would be soothing if it weren’t for the hardness of his cock prodding at my entrance.

  I’m not fully healed inside, so it hurts again when he starts to
push in. Even though I’m wet from the orgasm, he can’t slip into me easily, not without tearing me open. Instead, he has to go slowly, working himself in gradually until I have a chance to adjust to the intrusion.

  I bite my lower lip, trying to cope with the burning, too-full feeling. Would I ever be able to accept him easily? Would I ever experience pleasure without pain in his arms?

  “Open your eyes,” he orders in a harsh whisper.

  I obey him, even though I can barely see through the veil of tears.

  He’s staring at me as he slowly begins to move inside me, and there’s something triumphant in his gaze. The heat of his body surrounds me, his weight presses me down on the bed. He’s inside me, on top of me, all around me. I can’t even escape into the privacy of my mind.

  And in that moment, I feel possessed by him, like he’s taking more than just my body. Like he’s laying claim to something deep within me, bringing out a side of me that I never knew existed.

  Because in his arms, I experience something I have never felt before.

  A primitive and completely irrational sense of belonging.

  * * *

  He takes me twice more during the night. By morning I’m so sore I feel raw inside—and yet I’ve had so many orgasms I lost count.

  He leaves me at some point in the morning. I’m so exhausted I’m not even aware of his departure. I sleep deeply and dreamlessly, and when I wake up, it’s already past noon.

  I get up, brush my teeth, and take a shower. On my thighs, I can see dried bits of semen. He didn’t use a condom this night either.

  I wonder again about STDs. Does Julian care about this at all? He probably isn’t worried about catching anything from me, given my lack of experience, but I’m certainly worried about getting it from him. Lifting my left arm, I peer at the tiny mark where my birth control implant was inserted. Thank God for my mom’s pregnancy paranoia. If I didn’t have it . . . I shudder at the thought.

  Right after I exit the bathroom, Beth comes into my room carrying another food tray and more clothes. This time, it’s more traditional breakfast food: an omelet with vegetables and cheese, a piece of toast, and fresh tropical fruit.