9. Elle

9

ELLE

His scorching breath burns my cheek as he leans in to whisper in my ear.

“I bet you like it rough.” His voice is laced with amusement as he ties the blindfold around my eyes. “It’s always the innocent looking ones that are freaks in the bedroom.”

Everything goes dark.

I should feel grateful that I don’t have to look at his face, to witness the sadistic pleasure in his eyes.

My throat burns as I fight the urge to vomit as he moves to straddle my body, the heavy weight of him on top of me making my eyes sting.

I’m completely helpless against him.

My legs are pinned in place by his thighs, and my hands are bound so tightly to the headboard that there is no chance of me pulling them free.

“Please.” My voice cracks as the reality of what is about to happen sets in.

“I fucking love it when you beg.” He runs a calloused finger over my cheek. “Cry all you want, sweetheart. The tears only make me harder.”

This is just a dream. I got out in time, he didn’t let them get far enough to go through with it.

But I can’t escape.

When my attacker’s fingers grab at the buttons on my blouse, I swallow a sob as he yanks it open.

Breathe.

I will survive this.

“I don’t normally like small tits but I can make these work.” His fingers trail along the swell of my breasts.

My skirt is hitched up around my waist, exposing my underwear.

“These are very naughty. I can’t decide whether I want to keep them on.”

I wince as I pull against the rope that binds my hands to the bed, the skin around my wrists raw and chapped.

“I won’t be gentle. It’s not my style. And I won’t promise you’ll enjoy yourself…”

I try to kick out my legs, but I’m no match for his strength. There’s only one way I get out of this situation, but until he gets here, I’m powerless.

He should be here by now.

Why isn’t he here yet?

“Stop!” I cry out as my panties are ripped off me.

I brace myself for the sound of the gunshot, the one that tells me he ’s finally here, that it’s finally over…

But it never comes.

It finally dawns on me that he ’s left me here.

He’s not coming to save me.

No one is.

“You can have a turn once I’m done with her,” my attacker laughs before undoing his belt buckle. “Fuck, I can’t wait to be inside you ? — ”

I sit bolt upright in bed, my hand clutching my neck as I try to catch my breath.

My heart is racing so fast that I’m convinced it’s going to give out at any moment, which only makes me panic more.

I try to take a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds before breathing out, a trick I learned to help calm the anxiety, but no nightmare I’ve ever had felt so real .

Tears drip down my chin and onto my comforter as the physical effects of the nightmare continue to linger.

Their laughter rings in my ears.

I rub at my wrists if only to remind myself that I’m free. There are no ropes tying me to a chair and no man is pinning me to my bed as he uses my body for pleasure against my will.

It was a nightmare.

It wasn’t real.

He came to save you.

From the way my body is shaking, it seems no amount of mental reassurance is going to help calm my nervous system.

I’m no stranger to nightmares, so I expected to experience some for a while after the kidnapping, but it’s been three weeks, and the nightmares are only getting worse.

With each night that passes, the nightmares get longer and longer, and I wake up even more terrified. It’s getting to the point where I’m scared to go to sleep because I know what waits for me once my eyes close.

I can’t help but feel like I’m being punished for being saved. As if I’ve somehow cheated fate and now I’m being forced to live through what should have happened.

“You’re okay,” I whisper out loud. “You’re safe. You’re in your own bed, in your own apartment.”

I wonder if the nightmares are a way for my subconscious to pander to my insane fantasy that I have surrounding my anonymous hero.

Is it because I want to be close to him that I start off dreaming about that night in the hopes of reliving what it felt like to have him save me? To have him hold me against his chest and whisper in my ear that it’s all going to be okay?

But instead of the dream ending with him taking me back to the cabin where he spends the rest of the night tending to my every need, I wake up in a cold sweat, my body trembling with fear as I try to fight off the nightmare.

I’ve had enough therapy to know that my body is yet to let go of the trauma of what happened, and the only way it will is if I truly work through the difficult emotions rather than obsessing over my mystery man.

At some point, the exhaustion from a lack of sleep will take its toll, and it’s not good for me to be so sleep deprived, especially considering how intense my job is.

I’m on my feet for twelve hours at a time, often longer, treating patients back-to-back with no break. If I were to make a mistake because I was tired, it could not just be detrimental to my career but to my patients too, and I can’t let that happen.

If I have any hope of getting back to sleep, I need to try and calm myself down. When I find myself wound up in such a state, the only thing that helps is a hot shower. It never fails to relax me, so I throw back the covers and gingerly climb out of bed.

I’m a little unsteady on my feet, but I manage to pad across the wooden floor into my bathroom despite my shaky legs.

My pulse doesn’t start to slow until I stand under the hot water, letting it cascade over my body and relax my tense muscles .

I close my eyes and focus on the sound of the water running until my heart rate starts to return to normal, and my anxiety finally dissipates.

When I eventually shut off the water, the bathroom is completely steamed up and my skin has turned a deep shade of pink.

Throwing on my robe, I head out into the kitchen to check the time on my phone.

Thankfully, Mikhail managed to track my phone down at the bar. He insisted on completely wiping it and checking for bugs and putting all sorts of trackers inside the actual phone before giving it back to me.

I should be grateful that I have people in my life who are genuinely concerned about me. For so long, I only really had Lucia, and I’m still not used to now being part of such a large, tight knit family as a result of her marriage to Mikhail. I know what it’s like to lose the people you love the most, and the thought of ever experiencing grief like that again scares the shit out of me.

It’s the main reason why I haven’t ever really dated or been in a relationship, not that I would ever admit that to Lucia. It’s easier to pretend that I’m happy being married to my work, rather than admit the truth that I’m too scared to open myself up to the idea of love.

Tapping the screen of my phone, I groan as I see it’s not even four a.m. I’m not due at the hospital until tomorrow evening, but I promised to meet Lucia for lunch, so I’m going to have to try and get some sleep if I stand a chance of keeping up with her extroverted self. As I switch off my screen and head back over to my bed, cool air blows in through my open window, and I shiver, clutching my robe tighter around me.

You shouldn’t leave this window unlocked .

His words echo in my mind as I cross the room and stand in front of the window, eyeing the street below.

It’s dark except for the soft glow of the streetlights, and there’s not a soul in sight.

Or at least not any that I can see…

“Are you out there?” I whisper, hoping my words will travel to him on the soft September breeze.

My fingers go to my lips as I think of the kiss we shared.

The connection between us was undeniable and yet, I’ve had no further contact from him in the three weeks since.

An emptiness pools in my stomach at the thought of not experiencing a kiss like that again, of not getting the chance to explore this connection further.

I half expected him to start showing up more often after crossing that boundary, but perhaps I read him all wrong.

Maybe the kiss wasn’t as good as I remembered, and I ultimately ended up pushing him away…

I guess there’s only one way to find out.

Stepping up to the window, my fingers go to the belt of my robe, and I bite my lip as I think of him being out there.

I know I’m acting crazy, but I can’t help it. It thrills me that he might be secretly watching me from the shadows.

I untie my belt and let my robe fall open, exposing my naked body to my sleeping street.

My nipples instantly harden from the cold air, and I shiver as I let my robe fall to the floor, leaving me standing in front of my window completely naked.

I want him to see me. I want him to desire me in the way that I desire him.

My hand trails up my stomach to cup my breasts as my eyes flutter closed, the fantasy coming alive in my mind.

Heat pools in my lower stomach at the thought of him watching me, and I’m desperate to take it further, to tease him so much that he has no choice but to appear.

I wonder what he would do with me.

Would he be annoyed that I enticed him back into my room? Would he insist on blindfolding me or would he be so overcome with lust that not even his need to remain hidden could stop him from taking what he wanted.

A moan escapes my lips at the thought.

My breasts feel heavy, and I’m so desperate to trail my fingers lower, to help ease the ache that builds between my thighs.

But as I rub my thumbs over my pebbled nipples, my body shivering with pleasure, a siren blares nearby, violently jolting me out of my fantasy.

I squeal, quickly jumping out of view of the window as my heart pounds in my chest, but not from fear… From excitement.

I’ve never done anything so bold, but then again, I’ve never felt anything close to what I felt when I kissed him.

I’m addicted, and it seems I’ll do whatever it takes to get a fix.

With a smile on my face, I climb back into bed and slide under the covers.

As my eyes drift closed, I start to dream of being back in the cabin with the man I’ve never seen, and yet can’t seem to stop thinking about.