“That’s right, little girl,” he says. “Come for Daddy. Let me feel that sweet pussy gush all over my fingers. Daddy’s little princess.”
I’m repulsed and turned on in equal measures. I know I should push him away, but I can’t. I’m purely focused on reaching my climax, and I barrel toward it. Just as I’m on the brink, he leans closer and speaks against my ear.
“Your cunt is even sweeter than your mother’s.”
IBURST UPRIGHT, GASPINGfor breath, my skin soaked in sweat.
The bare mattress is beneath me, and I’m still naked, only the towel covering my body. Crazily, the promise of an orgasm in my dream continues to linger, and I press my thighs together and let out a sob.
It’s fully light outside now. A new day.
Will it be my last?
God, that dream somehow managed to be both sexy and horrific, all at the same time. That it might also be a very real representation of what my near future holds also makes me want to cry.
I have to do something. I can’t just sit here and wait until Don decides he wants to fuck me for real. I need to try to escape.
But I don’t even have any clothes. The door is locked, as is the window, and I don’t have anything I can use to break the glass. My only hope for escape is out the front door, ideally with the car keys, so I can drive the hell away from here. But I’ll have to get through Don first, and he’s armed and has already proven he’s more than happy to commit murder, if he has to.
What about me, I wonder. Could I kill, if it came down to it? Could I take that gun from Don’s hand and turn it around on him and pull the trigger? I reach deep inside me for the anger I’ve been harboring for so long and test its strength. If I had to take an innocent person’s life, I don’t think I could live with myself, but Don is far from innocent.
Maybe killing him will change me forever. Maybe that won’t be such a bad thing.
Footsteps approach on the other side of the door, shortly followed by the click of locks being drawn back.
I gather the towel around my body and push back with my heels until my back hits the farthest corner of the room. The wall is cold against my skin, but I barely notice. All my attention is on the door.
The handle turns, and it opens. Don steps into the room. He’s carrying a couple of brown paper bags with him. The scent of coffee fills the room, and I feel myself awaken with it.
“Sleep well?” he asks.
I don’t bother to reply, and only scowl in return and hold the towel closer. My gaze darts beyond him, to where he’s left the door open. Can I get past him and make a run for it? I want to try, but there’s only a matter of an arm’s length between him and the doorway, and if I run, he’ll grab me easily.
I remember my promise to myself yesterday about making him believe I’m on his side, of seducing him and lulling him into a false sense of security, but now I’m in this position, I’m finding it a lot harder than I’d imagined.
Still, I force myself play along. “Better than I’d expected.”
He smiles. “Did you dream about me, Honor?”
My cheeks instantly flame with heat. There’s no possible way he can know about my dreams, but it’s as though he’s reaching inside my head and plucked them from my brain.
I need to change the subject, and I jerk my chin at the bags. “Did you bring me something? I smell coffee.”
He glances down at the bags, as though he’d forgotten he was holding them. “Oh, yes. Coffee and a pastry. I remembered what you like—those little flaky almond croissants.”
He sets one of the bags down in front of me, then takes a step back. It makes me feel like I’m an animal in a zoo and he’s the keeper. The pastry and coffee are an offering to stop me from attacking.
I note the logo on the front of the paper bag and the coffee cup. The coffee is still warm, and the pastry seems fresh. When I’d looked out of the window, and during the drive here, I’d believed we were in the middle of nowhere, but now I’m thinking differently. If Don left the house this morning to drive to get coffee and pastries while I was sleeping, then there must be a coffeeshop or a bakery somewhere nearby. If there’s a coffeeshop, then it also means there must be a population it serves.
Hot and Steamy Coffee.
I imprint the name of the place on my brain.
“There’s a second bag,” Don says, holding it out to me. “Something for you to wear.”
I’m happy to have the chance to get dressed, but this bag clearly doesn’t hold the items I’d arrived here in. It’s far too small and doesn’t look as though it weighs much at all.