Page 33 of Poisoned Pawn

“You like that don’t you, sweet little girl?” His fingers run a circle over my bare chest, and it’s soft and tickles a little. But something tells me that what he’s doing isn’t sweet at all. Not in a way an adult should with me. I remember seeing a man do this to my mum once, and then he did something do her that made her scream. They were both naked. It scared me. But I couldn’t look away. Roxy found me spying through Mum’s door and pulled me away. When I asked her what that man was doing to Mum, she just said when I was older I’d understand. He moves his hand down further toward an area that Roxy told me is private and I should never let a man touch me there.

He has a strange, dreamy look on his face as he tugs at the thin, worn knickers I’m wearing. They took all my other clothes when I arrived here. I still don’t know where here is. I don’t know anyone. I really hope Roxy finds me soon.

He tries to pull them down, but I pull away.

“No. You mustn’t do that,” I tell him, wrapping my arms over my body.

That strange look he had has changed now. He looks mad, all red like his face might explode.

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want,” he spits out, then there’s a sharp sting on my cheek as he slaps me.

I bring my hand up and hold my burning face. A silent tear rolls down my cheek. I want to run, but I don’t know where I am. There is nowhere other than this small room with a tattered camping bed and a holey blanket.

He sighs as he watches me. When he speaks next, his words are softer, but I don’t trust them.

“I’ll make you feel nice. You’re special, Anastasia. Let me show you,” he says, taking hold of my wrist and pulling my hand away from my face.

I shake my head no, but he just grips me tighter and tugs me closer to him. When his face is so close I can smell his breath, he grips my other hand and lowers it. I don’t understand what he’s doing until my fingers brush against something soft but hard too. It’s warm and a little wet. I look down and gasp as I realise it’s his willy. I yank my hand back, but he growls and pulls harder, squeezing my wrist. I cry out.

Something touches my face, and I whip my head side to side, trying to get away. I can’t make out if the touch was in my dream or not, but as I settle back into a lighter sleep, my thoughts and dreams turn to a man who is rattling the cage of my demons. Demons that have been haunting me since I was eight years old.

* * *

Consciousness slips through me, and I stretch out my body. Soft cotton brushes against my skin, and for a moment I don’t understand where I am. But the stretch highlights several aches over my body, my shoulders, my legs and between my thighs. Each one a reminder of what Carter did to me last night. Each one a reminder of how fucked up I am to let a guy hang me from a tree and fuck me like some worthless whore.

Because that’s what you are. A good little whore.

I mentally slap the voice away, flipping over onto my back to stare up at a vaulted beamed ceiling. I take a few breaths, my arms flopping down to my sides as I close my eyes. Years of therapy and reassurance that I’m not some sexual deviant have been blown apart by one man.

Carter is stirring a plethora of unwanted and unexplainable feelings in me. He’s single handedly tearing through everything my therapist tried to convince me of. That my desire, my fantasies and pleasure at being praised during sex aren’t unnatural. That being told I’m a good girl and handled roughly during sex doesn’t make me sick or perverted. While what happened to me as a child has left a mark, opened a door to something a little atypical, there is no reason to think I wouldn’t have reached this same point had my childhood trauma not occurred.

Part of me understands that and can even accept it, but what I can’t get past is why. Why do I get off on it? Why does something that was so traumatic turn me on? Some part of me just can’t get past the thought that I’m damaged, defunct.

What’s worse is that I actively sought out a place offering all those things. I went to Illicit looking for someone who would be willing to tell me what a good girl I am while he fucked me hard, to leave bruises on my skin. To leave me feeling worthless yet satisfied and like I’d pleased them.

And look at where I am now; with a bounty on my head, on the run and endangering everyone I love.

If that’s not karma for my screwed up sexual desires, then I don’t know what the fuck is.

I push up into a sitting position and scan the room I’m in. It’s bland and basic, but the comfy bed makes up for lack of any character.

I’m reluctant to get up and leave the room as it means facing Carter. I’m not sure I’m ready for that, at least not while I’m awake given that he must have carried me in here at some point. The thought reminds me of my dream. Already his presence in my life is bringing my nightmares back. After I was rescued, my nightmares were at their most prevalent but only for a short time. Then as a teen with raging hormones and a sex drive, experimenting bought them back full force. The first guy that ever tried to touch me ended up with a black eye. And that was just from me. When Aidan found out, a black eye was the least of his worries. The next few years were a battle between wanting but denying myself any sexual pleasure except by my own hand and struggling to understand my sexual desires.

I watched the usual porn like any other teen, but I found myself searching for something more. It wasn’t hard to find what I was looking for with the internet a hot bed of every fantasy and sexual proclivity you can possibly imagine.

Then came the self-loathing and shame of being turned on by something outside the norm. My first time having sex was a disastrous disappointment. Between the pain and the constant war going on inside me to beat the guy grunting above me, I didn’t enjoy a single second of it. The only thing I was grateful for was that I no longer had the desire to do it again anytime soon.

Unfortunately, that didn’t last long. Going to university opened the doors to more than enough opportunity to experiment. Once I started to see the therapist Parker found for me, I began dipping my toes again.

And now I’m stuck god knows where with the only man to ever make me feel normal. To ever fuck me in a way that satisfies my darkest desires and doesn’t leave me disgusted but leaves me wanting more.

I throw the covers back and climb from the bed, my muscles give a little protest, a delicious reminder of last night that I try to toss aside. I succeed but only in allowing anger at Carter to fill their space.

Anger I can use.

Especially when I look down and see that I’m still wearing Carter’s hoodie and my underwear, but it’s the littering of bruises on my thighs that really set my mood.

I find a pile of clothes on a small chair sat in the corner of the room next to a door that leads to an en suite shower room.