Dangerous Games

7

A tidal wave of grief and fury crests inside me, burning hot, obliterating all rational thought and curdling my blood to poison. “Yes, he stretched me out. If you f****d me now with that tiny d**k of yours, it would be like sticking a baby carrot up an elephant’s ass.”

I see the driver’s eyes widen in the rearview mirror. He glances back at me and our gazes meet, but he quickly looks away, as if he’s afraid to be caught looking at me or suffer my same fate.

But Dimitri surprises both of us by laughing.

“What a charming visual. You always did have a sharp sense of humor. Did he make you come?”

His tone is light, but he’s flipping over stones, hunting for weaknesses. Soft spots where he can press down with his thumbs. I bite my tongue and look out the window, but my silence only serves to intrigue him.

He leans over and grasps my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “Answer me.”

He’ll know if I’m lying. He always does. So I tell him the simple truth, my voice raw with emotion. “Yes.”

He lets his gaze drift over my features, soaking in my pain. Wallowing in it like a pig in s**t. Then his rosebud lips curve into a cruel smile. “Tell me about it.”

He slides the heel of his other hand along the bulge in his crotch.

My pulse goes haywire. I’m caught, trapped between competing impulses of fight or flight, knowing instinctively that I’m being presented with a way to hold off treatment even more horrific than what’s about to happen.

He was right: I do always know what he wants. And what he wants now is for me to tell him a story. A very particular, explicit kind of story. If I do, I’ll be granted a reprieve from further beatings.

Or worse.

I moisten my lips and steel my nerves. “I . . . liked it. It felt good.”

He blinks slowly, his eyes growing hot. “What did he do that felt so good?”

“He liked to put his mouth on me. He liked to use his tongue.”

Dimitri’s fingers tighten around my jaw. His hand moves restlessly between his legs. “Go on.”

“He would . . . kiss me there—”

“Where?”

“Between my legs.”

The rip of a zipper opening. Dimitri’s hand fumbles into his trousers, finds what it seeks, makes a fist. “You let him eat your p***y?”

“Yes.”

His hand strokes up and down, fondling his jutting erection. He breathes, “Slut. My pretty little slut. You loved it, didn’t you, his greedy mouth on your cunt?”

I choke back a sob and whisper, “Yes.”

Dimitri’s hand slides down my jaw to my throat and squeezes. He’s so excited his hand is shaking. The other one is busy between his legs.

He prompts, “And then?”

“Then . . . he would f**k me.”

Dimitri exhales a soft little moan, his hand moving faster.

“Sometimes hard. Sometimes soft. But always deep.”

“He had a big c**k,” he whispers, so close to my face his hot breath stirs my hair. “Did he make you suck it?”

Hot and acidic, bile rises in the back of my throat. I’m on the verge of tears, but I can’t give him the satisfaction. “He didn’t make me. I wanted to.”

“You wanted to.” Astonished.

“Yes. I wanted to please him.”

He groans, flexing his hips in time to the strokes of his hand.

I squeeze my eyes shut and speak rapidly, knowing Dimitri is nearing his climax, knowing what he needs to get there, and knowing the sooner he does, the sooner I’ll be released from this hell.

“I would get on my knees and take him into my mouth and suck him until he was close, and then he would put me on my hands and knees and f**k me from behind, or I’d get on top so he could f**k me and squeeze my breasts—”

A long, low moan. Dimitri arching in his seat, straining.

“He loved my breasts,” I say, tearing up, my voice breaking. “He always wanted to kiss them. He liked to bite my n*****s, just hard enough to sting.”

Dimitri sucks in a breath.

I whisper, “But sometimes hard enough that he’d leave teeth marks on my skin.”

With a groan and a shudder, Dimitri orgasms, tightening his hand so hard around my throat I gag.

He jerks a few times, grunting, then sags against me, panting onto my neck. His hand around my throat slackens. I cough, desperate to catch my breath.

Then his mouth is on my neck, hot and wet, making me cringe in disgust.

“Good girl,” he says, breathing heavily. “My gorgeous good girl. You never disappoint. My God, I’ve missed you.”

Don’t cry, Eva. Stay strong. Don’t you dare cry.

I keep repeating it silently to myself as Dimitri slumps back into his seat with a satisfied sigh. He flips open a compartment in the armrest of the door on his side and withdraws a hand towel, which he uses to clean himself up. Then he reaches in again, this time producing a small white plastic bottle. He shakes out two oblong blue pills into his hand and wordlessly offers them to me.

Painkillers.

Now I’ve earned them, but what harm might they do to the speck of life I might be carrying in my belly?

Worse, what harm might Dimitri do if he suspects the speck of life exists?

I take the pills and set them under my tongue, pretending to swallow.

After a moment, Dimitri says, “What do you think you’re doing?”