Questions. More questions. Anything to keep him talking, to keep him from getting angry.
“Why’d you stop?”
He smiled and his eyes went blank, as though focusing on something in the far off distance.
“I tried, I really did. I loved working with the human body. They’re such remarkable things, bodies. So perfectly made to survive. I would have loved the academic work, certainly. But that whole thing about first do no harm? Doesn’t quite work with my personality.”
“What is your personality?”
His eyes refocused on mine, and I saw them narrow.
“You know my personality, kitten,” he said. “I have a taste for killing.”
“If that’s all you are, then why’d you save me?”
“You have a lot of questions, little kitten,” he said. His hand began to knead my neck. My lips parted as his fingers dug deep, massaging the tense muscles. “So many questions.”
I gasped as he brought his other hand up to my shoulder and began to rub. The motions were automatic, clinical. But as he worked his fingers into my skin, I could feel my body relaxing. He knelt down at the table behind me so that I couldn’t see his face. All I could sense were his hands on my neck, his strong, possessive grasp so close to my throat that I could hardly breathe.
“I have some questions for you, kitten,” he whispered. His breath was hot on my ear, and I trembled at the low growl of his words. One of his hands left the back of my neck and moved around to the front. His fingers were long and taut, and they slid down my side, rubbing my skin in slow circles.
I couldn’t help it. The touch of a man’s hands all over me made me sigh, and at that sigh he nuzzled the top of my head. A terrifying mixture of desire and disgust swept through me. Then his lips touched my hairline just above my ear, and he spoke again.
“First I would ask you why you kissed me,” he said. His hand slid down under my bra, and I drew a sharp breath as he cupped my breast. “Did you think I was handsome? Your prince charming, come to take you away on horseback?”
I didn’t answer right away. What would I say? But his hand never stopped massaging the back of my neck, even when his other hand squeezed my breast softly. I whimpered as his fingers came up and took hold of my quickly stiffening nipple. Then he pinched me hard, twisting, and I cried out, arching my back against the table.
“Tell me, kitten,” he said. He released my nipple, his fingertips stroking it gently. Then he pinched hard again, so hard that I saw white flashes behind my eyelids.
“Yes!” I said, breathless. “Yes, I did! It was a bet! I’m sorry!”
“A bet?” He came to the side of the table, my nipple twisted in his fingers. His eyes were flat, dull green stones that burned all the more with their indifference.
Then he reached down between my legs. I froze. His fingertips grazed the fabric of my panties and my mouth went dry. He was touching me there, right there, and I could barely feel the sensation. A slight stroke up, then down. Up. Then down. His hand moved as though he was idly feeling the top of a tablecloth and he never looked down, not once.
The small voice hiding away inside of me began to crackle and whisper. This is what you want, the voice said.
No. Not what I had in mind when I thought about a guy tying me down. Not this.
Then why are you aroused?
I’m not. Not...
This is what you need.
I breathed shallowly, watching his every move. His other hand still held my nipple tight, the ache there beginning to throb through my stomach. He did not watch my body: his eyes were fixed on mine.
“Tell me about this bet.”
“Please—”
“Tell me.” His thumb rubbed my nipple, rolling it hard. I moaned. He eased off and his other hand stroked me through the fabric, so gently that my body arched to meet him before I pulled myself away. My core clutched itself with repulsive need, and I felt myself grow wet. I threw my head to one side, closing my eyes. No. I didn’t want him. Didn’t need him.
Maybe if I told him everything he would leave me alone. Maybe he would see how harmless I was, let me go.
The small voice said: maybe he’ll give you what you want.
I gulped air and spoke.
“It was stupid. My friend said I should kiss the first attractive guy I saw. And—
“And you saw me.”
“Yes.”
“And you thought I was attractive?” He pushed harder.
“Yes,” I moaned.
“What was it that attracted you?” His fingers split apart, stroking both sides of me through my panties, but not the middle. Not where I ached. The fabric was soaked through and I ached, god, I ached so badly.
“I don’t—I don’t—”
“Tell me. What was it about me?”
“You looked…” My heart was pounding. I needed release. It was horrific to be so aroused with nothing to do about it. My arms were pinned back and I twisted under the straps, trying to get out.
“Yes?”
I breathed in deeply. I had to answer. My mind cast back to that day, a week ago.