Seduction and Pursuit Page 3

  I can feel the pain, mapped out on his skin. It makes me ache for him.

  “Poor thing,” I whisper, feeling no pity—only this curious, exhilarating mix of fear and excitement.

  Behind us, the slow, mesmerizing voice on the TV intones, “Feel the warmth pulling you, deeper and deeper…”

  Christian reaches up and caresses my long, red hair, pushing it back over my ear. I find myself easing down, closer to him, falling into his bright blue eyes, his soft, sad smile. His lips part for mine. I taste him.

  “Deeper and deeper, down and down, that’s good…”

  Next thing I know he’s rolling over on top of me, pinning me, his tongue lancing into my mouth. His hand finds my breast, squeezing through my dress. I moan softly into his kiss as his hand slides down further, pushing up my skirt, pressing my panties to the growing wetness between my legs.

  “…a warm, relaxing sleep,” says the voice on the TV, “where you are free to dream…”

  “Shh.” Christian’s fingers find the buttons of my dress, unloosing them one by one, baring my full breasts. He smirks, his eyes hidden under his long hair in the low, pulsing light. “You are strong, aren’t you? Just give it up already.”

  “The kind of sleep where you are free to submit. To submit to my words and to my voice, in this magical bed where you can sleep… sleep…”

  His fingers circle my thick nipple, making it hard before he bends to suck. I arch my back, toes curling, my fingers twining in his hair. I can no longer tell if I’m trying to pull him away or hold him down.

  “It feels good to submit.”

  Christian kisses his way down to my flat stomach, my belly button, the indentation of my hip—and as his hands start to peel my white cotton panties down my thighs, the last remnant of my resistance melts in the heat of desire. I want this. Want him.

  “Hurry,” I whisper, helping him wriggle me out of my underwear. He flings the panties on the floor and spreads my legs open by the ankles, kissing up my inner thigh. When he reaches my lower lips, I shudder with pleasure. “Yes. Oh, God, Christian…”

  He lifts his shining face, licking his lips. As he straightens, I can see the shape of his erection, pressing through his trousers. His hungry eyes meet mine. He races to unbuckle his belt, kick out of his boots, shimmy out of his pants.

  I can’t wait. Chewing my lip as I watch him, I reach down between my open legs and start to touch myself.

  Christian steps out of his clothes and lunges for me on the bed, practically impaling me with little prelude. I don’t care. I’m more than ready for him. With a soft moan, I wrap my fingers in his hair as he bends to kiss my neck and starts to thrust into me. The boundaries of the flesh break down and I lose myself in him, in his sweet smell of sandalwood cologne.

  “Good girl,” he breathes against my neck. “My good girl.”

  My heart swells at the words. “Yes,” I whisper back. “Yes.”

  He knows exactly what he’s doing, hits the perfect rhythm, and once again I wonder—how old is Christian, really? How old am I? I feel so young with him, like I’m not a mother and a widow in my thirties, like I’m someone else entirely.

  Like I get a chance to start over.

  I want it to last forever, and for a moment it seems like it might.

  Then I feel Christian’s hard, striated thighs spasm and he groans. I don’t think to push him away or keep him from finishing inside me. Instead I wrap my legs around him, finishing myself off. He collapses on top of me as I grind out the last of my orgasm, and we lie together, gasping and sweaty.

  Across the room, the movie continues on the television, playing some soundtrack of low, garbled voices. Colors swirl against the barren walls. I lie in a daze, near comatose.

  Christian kisses my cheek. “Good girl. Did you like that?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. “Oh, yes.”

  “You’re the one, Meredith. My chosen one.”

  “Huh?”

  He smiles, squeezes my breast. “Shh. You did good. Just relax, honey.”

  His voice is strangely soothing. Hypnotic, like the voice on the movie. Impossible to resist. I turn toward him, cuddle against him in a fetal position, and close my eyes as the gentle sounds wash over me.

  After a moment, he wraps his arm around me, with a small, contented breath. I haven’t slept in the arms of a man in two years. Only now do I realize how much I’ve missed it.

  “Good girl,” he says. “Sleep now. That’s good. Just relax and go to sleep.”

  I obey without difficulty, slipping out of consciousness. I dream of coming home.

  Sometime later, I awake with a start, from some nightmare I only vaguely remember. Christian springs to alertness in the bed beside me. “What is it? You shouldn’t be awake yet.”

  “I had a nightmare,” I croak. My voice is very dry. I feel strangely weak, sweaty and exhausted, and my head is throbbing again. “My son… he was crying.”

  Christian moves closer to me under the wrinkled sheets. “Shh. Just go back to sleep. It’s all right.” He rolls off the bed. “You know what helps me sleep? Some background noise.”

  He turns on the television, and puts his strange videotape back in the VCR.

  As the movie starts to play again, I shake my head. “Christian. Why is my mouth so dry?” My voice sounds thick, sluggish. Almost drugged. I barely remember how I got here.

  “You had too much to drink.” He stands over me, naked, lit in the dim light of the movie. “You just need to go to sleep. Listen to the movie. Watch it if you want. And go to sleep, all right?”

  “Listen to the sound of my voice…” says the television, through the soft techno beat.

  My head feels cloudy again, but I refuse to lie back down. “Please, Christian. Can you get me a drink?”

  For a moment, he drops his mask—I see a flash of anger before he dons a cool, thin smile. “Sure. That might be a good idea. I’ve got some special wine in the kitchen—”

  “No,” I say quickly, clutching my head. “Just water, thanks.”

  “All right.” He forces a smile. “You sit tight.” He jabs a finger at the TV. “And keep watching! That’s my girl.”

  Sliding into his trousers, he opens the door and pads barefoot down the hallway. I hear him throwing open cabinets in the dingy kitchenette. Swallowing, I pull my panties back up and glance briefly at the television throwing bright colors and strange scenes at me. As soon as I start watching, I find I can’t look away. Staring at the screen, my willpower leaves me and I can no longer hold myself upright.

  As I sag down onto the bed, my elbow hits the remote and the TV goes to mute.

  When the sound cuts out, a weight leaves my chest and I can breathe again. My head clears a little. I have to force myself not to look at the muted video.

  What on Earth is happening here? Is Christian… hypnotizing me?

  “You want ice?” he shouts from the kitchenette.

  I try to stand up, but my legs don’t cooperate and I spill against the cheap particleboard dresser by the bed, gasping. The force of my impact shakes open a loose drawer beside me.

  “Meredith?” he sings. “Ice?”

  I hear him scooping crushed ice and whistling some haunting melody.

  “Um. Yeah,” I answer absently. “Okay.”

  Breathing hard, I pull the drawer open further, inspecting the contents in the gloomy blue light.

  There’s only one item of clothing in the drawer—a red baseball cap with the letters WSU above the bill. A few other scattered trinkets roll around the bottom of the drawer. They look like girls’ things.

  A pair of eye glasses, frames dotted in pink.

  A single ripped stocking.

  A strip of torn fabric, tied around a silver ring, like a bow.

  A tube of lipstick, a hair band, a set of keys on a pink rabbit’s foot key ring, and half a dozen panties in different shapes and styles.

  Why are these things here? A sobering chill runs through me. Adrenaline sh
akes me out of my fog.

  These must be trophies. Things he took to remember girls from his past.

  What happened to those girls, I wonder?

  Maybe it’s not what it seems. Maybe this shit belongs to one of his roommates, or to some other girl he’s seeing on the side. Hell, maybe Christian’s a cross-dresser, for all I know. And even if these are trophies, it wouldn’t have to be sinister. Maybe he’s just… sentimental.

  But none of that rings true, and all my senses are screaming now, screaming to run away, to bolt naked out of this apartment without a second thought, running, shrieking, banging on doors for help like a scene from a movie.

  But I have to be sure.

  I can see part of a name, written in permanent marker, on the inside brim of the baseball cap. My heart pounding, I reach for it, navigating around the wrinkled panties.

  My breath catches in my throat when I pull out the red hat and read the name:

  YVETTE M.

  A girl’s name, but not just that—why is the name so familiar? The fog is so thick over my memories that it takes me a moment to remember. My eyes widen slowly.

  “Find anything interesting?”

  I stuff the hat back in the drawer and close it, whirling. Christian stands in the doorway, naked from the waist up, watching me. In one hand he holds a glass of water. The dim light from the kitchen at the end of the narrow hallway reduces him to a silhouette. I can’t see his features, but his voice is low and tight, like a coiled spring.

  “It must be more interesting than my movie,” he adds.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my back to the dresser. The movie, muted, still flashes colors behind me. The walls of the room seem to pulse, like the guts of a monster, slowly digesting me.

  The flashing light illuminates the lower half of his face, his tight, forced smile. “I’m surprised you can keep from watching, even muted. You are strong, aren’t you? Perhaps I’ll tie you down.”

  He’s trying to joke with me—isn’t he? I force a desperate smile. There must be some explanation for the hat, something I’m not seeing. It simply can’t be what it seems.

  He can’t have anything to do with that missing college girl we saw on the news.

  Before I can speak, he takes another step closer. I shrink before him, but he only holds out my glass of water. I take it tentatively.

  His smile dies. “Drink.”

  It takes every ounce of willpower to resist his command. “Christian. The stuff in this drawer…”

  He sniffs in dry amusement. “That’s none of your business, Meredith. Such a willful girl.” His smile returns at last. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

  I chew my lip. “The hat. It says Yvette M.”

  “Yeah, so?” He waves casually. “My sister’s name is Yvette.”

  “So, all that stuff in there is… your sister’s?”

  He tilts his head, studying me with a smile in the low blue light of the TV. “Meredith. Drink your water.”

  There’s barely a foot of space between us. I can smell his faint musk of sandalwood and whiskey and sweat. His scarred body is erect, tense, barring any exit. The muscles in his torso shift with every slow, deliberate breath.

  A rush of cool sweat breaks out on my own naked skin. I don’t dare resist or provoke him now. I take a sip from the glass in my hand, my eyes never leaving Christian. As far as I can tell, it’s only tap water in the glass. The faint metallic taste doesn’t surprise me from this part of the city.

  “Good.” Christian gestures at the bed. “Now sit.”

  I don’t know what choice I have. I sit slowly on the bed. He’s leering at me, and I can see the shape of his erection returning in his trousers. My heart is racing so fast I’m afraid it might explode.

  “Christian…”

  He presses a finger to my lips. “Shh.” He smears my lipstick, looks at his finger, then smiles at me. “I want to see that make-up run when I fuck you this time.”

  His fingers pinch my nipple cruelly, and I gasp.

  “Good girl. This is fate. Your purpose. You were meant to belong to me.”

  It feels good to submit.

  “Wait.” I push his hand back, and force a smile, desperate to distract him. I’m groggy and scared as hell, but I know how to get what I want from a man. I slink back on the bed, touching my lip and studying him. “Let me watch you undress.”

  He smirks, then starts to oblige, unbuttoning his trousers and bending over to shimmy out of them.

  “Christian,” I whisper breathlessly. “The girl on the news. The girl who went missing from your college campus.”

  “What about her?”

  “Her name was Yvette Montana. Yvette M. And she was wearing a red hat in the photo. Just like that one.”

  He pauses, holding his pants around his ankles, looking up at me with a mute expression that tells me everything. We stare at each other for what seems like a long time—so long that the masks seem to slide away, and I know him, as surely as he knows me.

  Then instinct kicks in through the fog.

  Screaming, I hurl my glass of water at his head. He ducks it and lunges for me, stumbling over his own pants. I’m already sliding off the foot of the bed, hitting the dark carpet with a thud on my hands and knees. I clamor to my feet somehow and then I’m through the bedroom door, lurching naked down the hall. The world swims before me and I feel dizzy.

  “Meredith!” he shouts, with a note of desperation. “Wait!”

  I try to run, but the best I can do is stumble across the kitchenette and the dark living room. I hit the front door and reach for the handle—but the door won’t budge. To my slow horror, I realize it’s sealed by a chain. I start to reach for it.

  And Christian slams the door closed, pinning me to it.

  I turn to face him as he looms over me, holding the door shut with one hand. He’s completely naked, now, and his blue eyes bore into me. I’m too shocked and scared to scream.

  “Please,” he whispers. “Stay with me, Meredith. I need you.”

  “Christian…” I croak.

  My legs are wobbling under me and suddenly I can no longer stand. Despite myself, I collapse into him, trembling. He catches me, holds me up easily, his naked body warm against mine.

  “What did you do to me?” I slur drunkenly.

  I don’t think the water was spiked with anything, but what about the pill he gave me when I first got here? The pill he gave me for my head, the one I took without question, trusting him implicitly?

  “Shh.” He hoists me into his arms and I allow it, not resisting. I’m not sure if I can resist, and besides—

  It feels good to submit.

  —so why keep fighting?

  “I’ll take good care of you.” He smiles down at me as he carries me into the bedroom. “You’re the one, Meredith. Not like all the others.”

  In the bedroom, the TV is blaring again, the mad voices jumbled, so I hear them only subconsciously. Blue lights flash inside the room and I try to scream, but my voice is weak. My tongue feels thick, numbed by whatever sedative he’s used to drug me.

  “No,” I groan. “No…”

  Ignoring me, Christian takes me into the darkness.

  Assailed by the video and the drugs, I feel my mind starting to fade. He lies me down on his bed, runs his hand over my body, and smiles as he climbs on top of me. His bright blue eyes are the last thing I see, the touch of his lips the last thing I feel.

  “Just relax, Meredith,” he whispers into his kiss. “That’s right. It feels good to relax, doesn’t it? You’ll be my good girl, now. Now you’re all mine.”

  I lose myself as he speaks. Compelled by some force I don’t understand, I reach up to run my fingers through his hair.

  And the world erupts into white.

  * * *

  I’m lying in a bed under tousled sheets, body paralyzed, mind set to mute.

  I become aware of things slowly, bits and pieces of the world: a dull, throbbing ache in my
head; the bright light through the window blinds across the room.

  The shape of someone standing over me, a shadow on the glare.

  I hear a voice, too, speaking to me: a deep, smooth baritone that I know and trust; the voice of God, commanding me from on high. He’s giving me instructions, I realize, telling me things I don’t understand.

  He tells me I’ve been chosen. That I’m to leave here now. To join his family.

  And despite myself, I’m nodding in agreement. My head moves as if on its own.

  “I have big plans for you, Meredith,” he whispers. “You’ll see soon enough.”

  Suddenly he turns, startled by a noise across the room. It sounds distant at first, as if from deep underground; but as I recognize the sound, it pierces the fog on my mind, blooming into focus as it rips me from my trance.

  My cell phone is ringing. That familiar little theme song, drilled into my brain from hours of hearing my son play the game on TV.

  Troy.

  I sit up, too quickly. Pain swells in my head and I wince, feeling a slight stab of nausea. Through the grogginess of my hangover, I realize where I am with a rush of horror.

  I’m naked in Christian Morgan’s bed, and dawn is filtering through the window across the room. I must have stayed through the night, though I never meant to.

  What the hell was I thinking, leaving Troy alone? How much did I drink last night? I can’t remember. I can’t remember anything. My memories end in blurry pictures of Jim’s party. After that, it’s a set of skid-marks off a cliff into nothing.

  Christian moves from my bedside, crouching by my knock-off purse at the foot of the bed, where my phone is ringing. “Let me take care of that,” he starts to mutter.

  Despite the pain, I lunge for the purse, snatching it out of his hands. He looks at me in wide-eyed surprise, his brown hair artfully tousled. I slide the vibrating phone from the front pocket and hurry to answer before voicemail picks up.

  “Hello?”

  “Mom?” Troy says, uncertainly. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, I’m all right.” At least, I think. “I’m so sorry, baby. I don’t know what I was thinking.”