Guilty Pleasures (15 page)

“I’m trying to understa
nd, Polly. And to let you know I
want to understand.” He sighed. “God, it’s tough. I didn’t know how badly I needed to be here like this until now.”

Nasty’s touch drifted over her shoulders, started down her spine, hesitated when he could spread his thumbs to tickle the sides of her breasts.

She wiggled, and gasped. “We’re tormenting each other.”

“Can you think of a better way to be tormented?”

“No.” She stroked his wide shoulders, pressed even closer. “I don’t think you’re losing interest.”

He laughed shortly. “What do you expect?”

“I’m not a tease.”

“Neither am I.” He reached her bottom and followed the cleft slowly enough to drive her mad. “I’m just a man.”

“Just?” Wrapping her arms around his waist, she echoed him, move for move, and dropped to her knees. “You’re anything but
just
a man.”

Polly held his penis in both hands.

He gasped and said, “
I
don’t think you’d better do that.”

“I’d like to if you’ll let me.” With a sense of unreality, she pressed him between her breasts.

“Polly! Please, Polly!”

Slowly, she rubbed the tip over her nipples. His thighs tensed as if he was afraid of falling. “Is it okay, Xavier? Can I do this?”

“Because you feel you owe it to me or something?”

“Because I want to.” She could hardly breathe. “I want a lot more.”

“But you’ve got the kind of will most men and women would kill for, and you won’t let yourself go.”

“Maybe. I’d like to bring you pleasure.”

When his fingers pushed into her hair, she filled her mouth with him, held his distended testicles and used her teeth lightly. His groans drove her to an edge she didn’t have the strength to resist.

She wanted to feel him inside her.

But if she did, he’d claim part of her, and she wasn’t ready to let even the smallest bit go yet.

His hips moved. Polly closed her eyes and tasted the salty beginning of his ejaculation. She’d never wanted to do this before.

“Don’t stop,” he cried. “Don’t—stop!”

She didn’t stop. She made her mouth a receptacle for his passion, his drive. His power flowed into her and she took it willingly, and heard his shout of release, and felt the savage spasms rip through him. And she did her best to catch him when he was spent, and slid down until his knees met hers.

Her best was useless. Xavier Ferrito was a very big man. They toppled sideways. He hauled her into his arms and settled her on top of him, his chest rising and falling hugely.

Now there seemed to be no words left.

They rested like that, entwined on the soft gray carpet, damp with perspiration, fighting for breath, their warmth the warmth of one, until he made a deliberate move.

Purposefully, he rolled her to her back and stared down
into
her eyes. “I’m going to have all of you, you know.”

Polly didn’t answer. She couldn’t look away from him.

“Not tonight. But soon. You’re going to be mine.”

Still she couldn’t say a word.

The little white panties were defenseless against his swift tugs. Nasty lifted her legs as if they weighed nothing, and draped her knees over his shoulders.

Polly kept on watching the changing depths of his eyes.

“The loveliest thing.” His gaze went to her breasts and he leaned over to suck each nipple to a tormenting peak.

He slid one thumb into the slippery folds between her thighs, found the straining spot that made her cling to his hair, and quickened the escalating throb of the climax she had to have.

She tossed. Abandoned. This was the woman she’d always been afraid she could be. The mindless tossing away of herself when she hadn’t yet been a woman didn’t count. It had meant nothing—except as a measure of how little self-esteem she had.

“I’ve waited for you.” Nasty’s chuckle, deep in his throat, sounded eerie. “How about that. And
I
didn’t even know you existed.”

“I’m glad
I
do,” she said, disembodied now, all nerves and senses and sensati
ons now. “And I’m glad you…
Xavier!”

The convulsion of erotic tissue silenced her. She raised her hips, helpless to stop the gyrations of her body.

He replaced his thumb with his mouth and tongue.

The sound that Polly heard, a sound from her own throat, came from far away. A scream. She blushed inside.

His tongue made a parody of what he longed to do with his penis. Pushing in and out of her, curling around the center of aching pleasure that had become what she was—her entirety.

He flicked his tongue over the place. Flicked hard. Again and again—and she came apart.

“I want you,” she said in a tiny voice. “Make love to me, please.”

“
I
am making love to you. I’ve been making love to you.”

“You know what I mean, what I want.”

“
I
know.” He held her until the waves of fabulous pressure subsided. “It’s what I want, too, but not tonight, my love.”

“Xavier?”

“Not tonight. Not until you tell me you want to make love
before
I make you forget you don’t want to.”

Nine

N
ot until you tell me you want to make love before I make you forget you don’t want to.

He’d left a presence behind. Where there had been only the comfortable silence to which Polly was accustomed, an energy remained.

When Nasty returned, he’d bring Bobby in and make sure they were safe. His words, not hers. He wan
ted to stay here with them.

Impossible.

Polly walked slowly from the foyer back into the great room. How would it be to share all of your life with a man you loved?

Love?

Now she was using that word so many tossed around. Often a meaningless word. Sometimes a destructive word. And, occasionally, the dearest word of all.

The dearest word of all.

She was falling in love with Xavier Nasty Ferrito, ex-Navy SEAL and enigma. Even the idea that she might never have met him made her stomach fall away.

If he would give her time—he said he would—and she would give herself time, this could turn out to be what she’d waited for all her life, without knowing she was waiting at all.

If he would give her time, and if the “could come to love,” didn’t turn into “it didn’t happen.”

The intercom buzzed. Polly hurried to snatch up the phone, “Nasty!”

The line was so scratchy she barely heard him say, “Buzz me in. Forgot my car keys.”

“Here you go.” The crazy leaping of her heart, the instant dampness on her palms as she hung up, were best left unexamined.

She did manage to fight the urge to rush out and meet him. Instead she opened her front door and went to locate the keys. Looking at the couch caused a weak rush. She still felt him, tasted him.

By the time the front door slammed she still hadn’t found the keys. “Did you take them out of your pocket? I don’t see them.”

The foyer light went out.

“Nasty?” She went tentatively toward the front door, skirted the wall that separated the living space from the foyer. “Nasty?” The door must have swung shut before he came in.

Polly went to turn the light back on.

She never made it.

An arm closed around her waist and clamped her to someone who stood behind her, someone tall enough to move the top of her hair with his harsh breathing.

She scuffled to keep her footing and pulled at his hands.

His fingertips drove into the soft tissue beneath her rib cage. Drove deeper, and deeper.

“Please,” she said frantically. “Who are you? Let me go.”

He dragged her backward into the living room and kept on dragging, switching off lamps as he went.

Polly fought. She jabbed her elbows into him. He grabbed a handful of her hair and twisted, crammed her head forward so hard her chin hit her chest. Bile burned her throat.

A floor lamp between the piano and the window provided the only remaining light. Polly tried desperately to see the man, but she was no match for his strength. Once again he used
her hair to force her head down until she felt her neck would snap.

He didn’t
say
anything.

She screamed.

The hand that covered her mouth was encased in rubber, thin black rubber gloves. Polly smelled the sickening scent of them and gagged.

Her assailant jerked her upright and pulled until she lost her balance. He held her with grinding force, crushing her ribs and her breasts. His arms were covered with what looked like rubber, too.

A diving suit.

He wore a black diving suit.

Like Nasty, only not like Nasty. A different feel, different scent.

This man wasn’t Nasty, he couldn’t be. Why would Nasty do something like this to her?

Polly mumbled against the hand. Slowly, the pressure on her face eased. “Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?”

Her feet left the floor. He swung her over his shoulders and slammed her down on the carpet. Her head hit something hard, and she bounced with the force of the impact to her back.

“Scream again and it’ll be the last sound you make.”

A whisper. It was
him,
the man who’d been watching her, and leaving messages on the answering machine.

Polly blinked against exploding pain in her head. She looked up—into a blinding beam from the creature’s head. A lamp on his head—like a miner.

Or like a deep-sea diver.

The remaining lamplight in the room cast a fuzzy outline around a sleek, powerful body. Then the final lamp went out, and she was alone with the darkness and the shifting white beam—and the man’s vague shape.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

The beam hit her squarely in the eyes.

“What have I done to you?”

Closer again. He came closer.

Polly scooted away, into a table beside the couch. A lamp overbalanced. The weight of its angled armature brought it down on top of Polly. She heard her crystal dragon shatter against the wall at the same time as a hard metal edge gouged her scalp.

Another scream rose, but she clamped a hand over her mouth and managed to choke it down.

“Do you want money?” she asked.

He kicked her stomach.

Winded, blind with fear, she huddled on her side.

Unwavering, the beam remained on her face.

“Tell me what you want.”

Not a sound.

When he moved again, it was so swiftly Polly had no chance to anticipate what he would do. Not that she could have resisted. He pushed her onto her face and settled a foot in the middle of her back.

She cried, she couldn’t stop herself from crying. Her lungs squeezed against her ribs. Her breasts ground into the carpet.

His only sound came with the faint grunts that accompanied each fresh insult upon his victim. Methodical. Economical. Practiced. An expert at meting out pain. Cruel.

Swiftly, he pulled her arms behind her back and jammed them upward until she had to muffle her screams in the rug. She rocked her head from side to side and tears poured from her eyes.

He was breaking her bones.

As abruptly as he’d grabbed her arms, he released them. They remained where they were, heavy, aching, numb.

Using a hand
f
ul of her dress, he hauled her to her feet. Buttons tore loose and she felt air on her chest.

All the darkness shifted. Light and darkness whirled.

Polly’s arms hung useless at her sides. He shoved her forward through his precious beam, toward her bedroom. When
she would have faltered, knuckles between her shoulder blades jabbed her on. When her legs threatened to give out, a punishing pinch to her buttock sent her stumbling onward again.

The next pinch was harder.

She sobbed silently, choked silently on her own mucus and saliva.

He would rape her. And murder her.

If she was going to be violated, and to die, she had nothing to lose. Polly flung around, flinched at the sound of her dress ripping. “Okay,” she yelled. “Do it, bastard. Just do it! You’ve had your fun. I’m scared out of my mind. Satisfied?”

A series of short punches to her throat propelled her through the bedroom door.

She retched.

His next punch was to her sternum.

An expert. A man who knew how to inflict pain.

Fighting for each rasping breath, she staggered into a bedpost. She opened her mouth but couldn’t form any words.

The bedroom door crashed shut. The beam swept one way, then the other. He was searching the room.

Searching for what?

“Why?—”

“To make sure you don’t forget,” the awful whisper told her.

She hadn’t expected a reply. “Don’t forget what?”

“What you’ve been told.”

Nasty would be back soon.

How long ago had he left? It felt like hours. Polly knew it could only be minutes. Whoever was with her must have waited for Nasty to leave.

He’d bring Bobby back.

She cast about wildly. Not Bobby. Bobby mustn’t see this— see her like this.

Bobby didn’t have a key. They’d have to call up.

“A friend of mine’s coming,” she said. “He’ll be here any minute.”

The beam drew closer.

“If he finds you here, he’ll kill you,” she said.

And closer.

Her throat hurt. Her body hurt. Her arms ached. Where the lamp had hit her head, the tightly stretched flesh stung.

He stood so near she felt his heat, she felt the heat of the beam on her face and closed her eyes, waited.

“You haven’t done what you were told, have you?”

Polly tried to cover her face.

He smacked her hands away, and whispered, “Have you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” The remnants of her dress hung from her elbows. “I don’t know. I don’t know you.”

“I told you what you had to do. You had to be good. But you’ve been with that man.”

Denying that Nasty had been here would be useless. “You mean Nasty?” She managed to giggle. “He’s just a friend.”

“Did he fuck you?”

The crude, rasping question made Polly flinch.

“How shall I punish you?”

Finish it. Now.

“Shall I make you ugly? If you’re ugly, he won’t want you anymore.”

Despite trembling legs, she stood straight and gathered her dress about her as best she could.

Something glittered. A silver sheen spun along what he held. Polly knew it must be a knife.

Nasty would blame himself.

The certainty came so sharply she blinked back tears. He would tell himself he shouldn’t have left her alone, yet she wasn’t his responsibility.

This
…
thing
wore a wet suit. Like Nasty. Because he intended to put the blame on Nasty? Or because a dive into the lake would clean away all evidence of whatever he intended to do to her.

“If you don’t stay away from him, he’ll die.”

Polly shuddered. What did it mean?

“Listen.” The blade flashed.

Throwing up her arms, Polly couldn’t smother this scream. The sound erupted in her head, in her ears.

“No one will hear you.”

She kept her arms over her head.

“Where shall I cut you?”

Polly sank to her knees.

“Because of him, you will die. But he will also die—because of you. You are death to each other.”

The cold touch on her back could only be the knife blade, the flat of the blade, sliding downward, under the fastening on her bra.

“And the child will die, too. Because of you and the dive boy.”

Bobby. “I won’t see Nasty again.”

“No.” Still whispering, the voice became serene. “No, of course you won’t.”

A single slice loosed her bra. A snick, another snick, and the straps fell apart. Holding her forehead to the floor, the attacker went to work, sliding his blade through fabric with calculated strokes until Polly huddled, naked, among the ribbons of her clothes.

Steel, so smooth and cool, rested on her back.

“I can come to you when I please. Whenever I please.” Let it be over.

“But I could kill you now. Easier. Yes, easier to kill you now. Your friend will be back soon, you say? Good. I’ll wait for him. Someone must let him in if you can’t.”

She didn’t want to die. But if she did, Bobby would be looked after. As long as Bobby was kept safe from this monster.

“Kill me and go. No one will ever find you. Nasty’s clever. If you wait for him, you probably won’t get away. He will punish you. He isn’t afraid of anyone.”

“There is no man with blood who doesn’t bleed.”

She must persuade him to go before Nasty brought Bobby
back. “Nasty will know something’s wrong even before he comes up here. Kill me and—”

“Shut the fuck up!” The whisper broke, rose to a grating shriek. “Shut, up,” the voice ended in a whisper once more. “I’ve decided what will happen.”

“Please—”

“Shut up, or I’ll cut your eyes out.”

Polly swallowed vomit.

“Shut your goddamn, sniffling mouth!” The toe of a hard shoe connected with her side. He kicked her twice.

She braced for the knife.

Then the tears came, the sobs she couldn’t stop anymore.

Polly stayed where she was, folded into as small a ball as she could make. She covered her ears to close out all sound, shut her eyes tightly to obliterate the reality of this terror.

She heard her own drumming heartbeat, saw flecks of red behind her eyelids. Her blood roared in her head and ears, roared to fill every space.

The phone rang.

“No,” she murmured. They must not come up here. “No, no, no. Go away.”