Smug man. She glared, hating on him some more. Letting herself die had slipped to last on her list of things to do. Mutilating him should be first.
When he walked away, she decided to stay where she lay. Rolling over would accomplish nothing.
Somewhere in the house, water was running. Water, the subtle, forever caress and tickle of it as she swam, surrounding her, holding her. The sound had taken her back to her world.
She was pining for the sea.
When he returned, he turned her over, placed his mouth on her at the join of her legs and his palm on her just above, holding her in place. Arousal thrummed, a hard torrent of pleasure she could not resist – not while his tongue moved on her.
When he raised his head, her moisture wet his face.
How wet she’d become. Panting, she stared down at him, and tried to speak. The gag stopped her.
Frustrating. She flopped back her head to the floor. Her breath rasped loudly through her open mouth.
“Stay still and remember I have a gun.” He waved it.
He was so afraid of her. Or did he merely love to make threats?
Turned over and face-down, she closed her eyes, wondering what he was up to next. He untied her ankles and she tensed. Wolfgang stuck the muzzle of the gun into her butt, slowly letting it slide down until the gun was…
Until he…
Where was he going?
He inserted it between her cheeks then found her entrance, worked the weapon up and down as he held her open with his fingers.
“Fuck. That’s hot.”
Raffaela twisted, gaped at him. The thought of him pulling the trigger was scary, daunting, but gods, yes, the danger also stirred her.
Ridiculous that she reacted so.
Death was not what it once had been. It was a known thing. A daily presence. Whereas this, being slowly fucked by a pistol, was new.
He slid it deeper, and she hid her face, hid the sounds she made.
“That, halfway in you… Damn. I’ll have to clean it now.” More blushing occurred, and she wriggled, bleated – which only made the gun move inside her. “Stay still.”
The gun was removed, though, and she relaxed.
Her wrists were unlocked and he began to do something with rope – tying first one wrist to its nearest ankle and making her rise on her knees.
She could have objected. Could have tried to jump him. He’d made her curious with his devotion to violating her. This wasn’t vengeance anymore.
Both of them were changing, delving into something profoundly sexual – a depravity she’d never thought existed.
The way he pleasured her, feeling her, holding her hair in his lock-fingered grip, gathering it with delicious pain while he kissed her, everywhere. She pretended it was not her doing the moaning.
An ex-whore knew of things. There were men who liked taboo ass play. Men who liked spanking. But tying girls up in intricate knots? After so long being lonely and only taking prey when it was demanded of her by the Ravening, this was interesting.
More than interesting. It was spellbinding.
It distracted her, to be so expertly handled. He knew how to tie a woman, and that was not something one learned on the spot. Aware that his threats might hold some truth, she allowed everything to happen.
He had a gun, but her female parts were fairly singing at her in chorus.
She searched her mind, backtracking through the swirl of her responses, and came to a revelation. She could sense his ardency like a shark tasting blood on the water, miles from the violence.
Siren. We are siren, her mind whispered. Yes. That’s it. He was right to fear her. Her true strength was not her teeth.
She ended up with each wrist tied to its equivalent ankle but separated from the other wrist and ankle. He stood and patted her head, fisted her hair, and craned back her neck so they must meet, eye to eye.
“There. Now my pretty girl…” he murmured to her ear, with brushes of soft lips – a beguiling contrast to the pains in her scalp from his twining fingers.
She wanted to squeeze her thighs together but couldn’t.
Girl though? Oh, she liked that. A lot. It said she was more than monster
“We’ll watch some TV and see how long I can keep you turned on, while you sit on my lap on the sofa.”
He swiveled her, rearranging her as if she were a doll kneeling on a mantlepiece, and pointed at two padded seats. They were long and formed into a deep U-shape due to being pushed close to each other. Both were rich brown in color.
He left her alone for a moment, padding away.
This room, one entire wall of this room, was the glass of her tank. Sun streamed through the water.
Green, the sun turned it into a perfect clarified green, with the sand lined up and snuggled against the glass.
Water was her element. Her rightful place. Then what was she doing here?
Being his little doll toy. Mmm.
His idea for making her human was to make her shift due to pleasure. If he’d asked, she could have told him it would wear off.
However, what was a TV? Left on her knees on the floor rug, she followed him, brow wrinkling, as he picked up a small black rectangle and pressed on it. The gun lay discarded on a low, shiny metal table beside the sofas.
Everything was shiny.
On the wall adjacent to the pool wall, a rectangle of black became a talking, moving picture.
TV.
She chewed on the gag.
Oh. Oh yes. She’d seen these through the huge windows of establishments that were thronging with rowdy people. Or in the windows of shops. The years had flicked by, one after another,
