A Date With Fate (3 page)

He then laughed like a demon, in obvious delight with his own prowess.

I ignored his taunts, focusing on pulling my hand back out of his grip.

He responded by forcibly lifting my arm up, and then over my head. He pried open my clenched fist and pressed my fingers firmly around one of the iron bars of my headboard. He kept his much larger hand tight around mine.

His free hand went for my other wrist. My free hand knocked his away. He kept coming back and grabbing for me. I kept batting his hand away. It was a Three Stooges moment. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so serious, and if I got to be Moe instead of Curly on the receiving end. He managed to capture my wrist with a hand as tight as a manacle. He made this hand hold another bar on my headboard. Now both of my hands were covered by both of his.

My assaulter sat down alongside my prone body, leaning across me to keep my hips pinned to the bed. I’m in good shape but I have to admit, no matter how fit you are exercise alone doesn’t prepare you for this kind of battling. My arms were held up high, and my hips and upper thighs were trapped under the weight of his angled body.

I was panicky at the vulnerability of my position and I was suddenly exhausted from battling him so ferociously. That tiny voice popped up again, the wussy one that prays for help. Wussy voice whispered insidiously how easy it would be to give in, admit defeat, and let my attacker win with no more fight from me.

‘Yeah, right!’

I laid a smack down on that little cowardly voice and took several, calming breaths. Surrender is not a word in my vocabulary.

I concentrated on my next move, or tried to come up with one. I didn’t have many options to choose from. I knew I’d have to be ready to act when I got the chance. I needed to face who I was up against.

I briskly shook my head from side to side to remove my mass of long hair from my eyes.

My attacker was no longer backlit by the lamp. I could see him. The left side of him was bathed in shadows, but not so much that I couldn’t tell what he looked like.

In the swift, comprehensive glance I stole before veiling my eyes beneath my lashes, I observed a few things about the predator holding me captive on my bed. He wasn’t too ugly or scary looking, and could pass for attractive in a dark, rugged way. He had a short, black beard. He wasn’t as tall as my earlier impression before the light was on. His raised arms were flexed with muscle. No wonder I couldn’t move him; the man looked strong.

Another thing I had noticed in my brief glance, Muscle Man wasn’t paying any attention to what I was thinking. He was absorbed doing his own reconnaissance.

Now that I was held down and temporarily still, I was acutely aware of the fact I may as well be nude for all the cover my nightgown afforded. In his position of leaning against me, he was intently checking out what he could easily survey above and under the sheer lace, namely most of my breasts.

‘
Oh, my god!’

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut. Based on his earlier grabbing and now his intense expression, my attacker seemed to have a thing for boobs. I really, really wanted to wipe that arrogantly leering expression off his face. I took a fortifying breath and made myself focus on how to get away, determined not to give up against his greater strength. My damn brain had to count for something. I just needed to keep my wits about me and outsmart him.

As if he sensed my racing thoughts, he roused himself. He sat up straighter, removing his hands from over mine around the iron bars. I instantly started to lower my arms.

He raised his hand sharply in warning, but still spoke softly. “Do not take your hands off those bars.”

The calmness of my assaulter’s tone was so normal in contrast to the implied threat of his raised hand that I involuntarily obeyed without thinking.

I jerked my eyes up, meeting his squarely for the first time tonight. Distinctive green eyes challenged me. His mouth looked cruel. His full lips curled with a patronizing smirk, clearly getting a kick from my dilemma. So far, he hadn’t hurt me, only restrained me.

‘Could I push him further?’

He continued to read my mind. His voice was pleasantly conversational over the implied threat. “I’ll only tell you this once. If you take your hands off the bars, I will make you regret it. You will be punished. Do you understand me?”

‘Punished! Holy crap! That answers that!’

My attacker didn’t even wait for my response. By my silence, he was confident I was too intimidated to think of disobeying him. He moved his total concentration to his reason for breaking into my home. It almost drove me beyond endurance this guy could dream for a minute he’d won that easy. It wasn’t easy, but I made myself demurely lower my eyes in pretended submission and bide my time.

When he slowly pulled my nightgown down, I determinedly kept my eyes closed. As he must have intended, with my arms stretched over my head and from the tightness of the stretched neckline pushing up underneath; my breasts were high on display in exaggerated offering. I could feel my nipples were erect from the rough friction of the lace, his hands, and the cold air. As he touched me and looked his fill, I set aside the feelings of wishing to kick his ass into the middle of next week with every fiber of my being. I forced myself into calm, and then used what weapon I did have to create a diversion; my girly-girlness.

Hands around the bars behind me, I let out some scared, feminine squeaks. I tossed my head in agitation. I shook my shoulders to and fro, quivering in modest fright. My bed helped; it bounced and squeaked a little, too.

Is there a straight man with eyes in his head capable of resisting the vision of a bare-breasted girl shimmying practically in his face? Possibly there is somewhere on the planet, but not the predator in my bedroom.

His total attention glued where I wanted, my attacker was starting to lean forward. Without warning, I quickly brought both my knees up and then slammed into his side with both feet flat. I gave him the heave-ho, using the strength and momentum of my legs. Holding onto the bars actually gave me greater leverage. He had been in motion, his foot wasn’t planted on the floor any longer, and my comforter fabric was slippery. I finally caught the man completely off guard.

I didn’t once let up my attack to allow my surprised assailant to catch his balance. I kept up the pressure of frenzied kicking and pushing until he slid right off my silky duvet.

Legs and arms flailing, he yelled, “Shit!”

He landed hard on the floor with a solid THUMP!

“Yes!” I screamed triumphantly when he went over the side. Hopping to my knees on the bed and scrambling to the edge, I was about to make a jump for the door and freedom.

My luck was short-lived. My assailant was ideally supposed to be slowed down. I was supposed to get a chance to run for the door. The only thing I managed to get was a quick tug up of my nightgown’s neckline before I saw the top of his head rising up from the floor along the side of the bed. Remembering his threat of punishment, I threw myself backwards and grabbed the iron bars of the headboard. I hit with enough force the bed posts smacked against the wall just as he sprang up from the floor like some kind of warp speed jack-in-the-box.

My attacker stood looking down at me, hands on his hips. Gazing back, trying to look innocent, I was berating myself silently for not trying for the door, regardless of the consequences. My only small satisfaction was seeing him breathing heavier for the first time. My eyes kept dropping lower. I could not stop staring at the sight of his tanned, cut abs above his low riding jeans. They rippled with every breath he took.

When I am really nervous or really emotional, my mind sometimes goes AWOL and thinks bizarre thoughts as a coping tool. I’m terrible at funerals. I dare not look at anyone who knows me lest they set me off laughing. I have to constantly battle myself not to lose it when I have these whacked thoughts.

Right now, all’s I could think about while staring at his ridged stomach was how could Muscle Man still be so tan when it was near Thanksgiving? Did he use a tanning booth? Get sprayed? Have his abs “highlighted” to accentuate the definition? Imagining him in a hair bonnet, and giving precise instructions on how to get sprayed tan before his big night out to sexually assault a woman, had me turning my face into my shoulder to muffle my sudden choke of crazed giggles. A small snort escaped, but I hurriedly coughed to disguise the sound.

The predator staring at me solved my attention deficit problem when I heard the clinking noise of his belt buckle. Without saying one word, he made the desire to laugh curl up and die instantly. He unhooked his belt buckle and started to pull the belt from the loops on his jeans.

Heart thumping madly, I looked up to see his narrowed eyes watching my face. His black brows almost met in the middle over his fierce scowl. His mouth was a thin line.

‘
Oh help me; this is one pissed-off attacker!
’

I am a baby when it comes to pain. Actually, a baby probably handles pain better than I do. I’m sure my eyes were already opened as wide as they could go after hearing the belt buckle sound, so I didn’t have to fake that. I swallowed hard over the dry lump in my throat. I moistened my lips with my tongue. I blinked and tried for sweetly reasonable; even if it was to tell a lie.

“Um...Mister, you’ll notice I didn’t take my hands off the bars?”

He ignored me. He paused, then let go of his belt. Instead, he undid the top button of his jeans and pulled down the zipper. Emboldened with relief at the immediate threat of pain off the table, and ignoring the zipper part, I was done with being reasonable. Sweet has never worked all that well for me, anyway.

So I jeered at him.

“I almost think you didn’t have fun getting kicked to the floor by a girl. Hey, you never said I couldn’t throw you off the bed like the annoying, little meat puppet you are.”

Right then, as I heard myself talking smack, I swear I was having an out-of-body experience. I had a vision of the entire scene as if I was perched up in a corner of the ceiling with a birds-eye view of the room. I saw an angry, tough, and half-naked man looming over a defiant, defenseless, and half-naked woman. She looked tiny sprawled out on the big bed, holding onto the iron bars behind her, and running her big mouth like a lunatic.

Why do I feel compelled to keep taunting my assaulter against everything I have ever read or been told to do in this situation?

Maybe I was being strategic and thought I had a better chance with him mad and out of control. Maybe I wanted to prove he could restrain me physically, but he couldn’t break my will. Maybe I’m such a smart ass I cannot keep my mouth shut even if it means getting beat with a belt, or worse.

So I laughed in his face.

“Why, I do believe the big man isn’t used to getting his ass kicked to the floor by a ‘little girl’.” I drawled. Then I gave another, much more exaggerated shimmy. “Oh, Muscle Man is so very frightening and so very strong. I’m just shaking.”

It felt mighty fine to smirk up at him for a change.

For about two seconds.

Until all hell broke loose.

When I had begun taunting him, he seemed to ignore my provocation. He had stood silent, arms akimbo, and no expression on his face under the beard.

Then he looked me straight in the eyes. I almost choked on my own breath when he let me see the blazing intent in his face. His dark glance swept over me, as if appraising where to get started to make me pay for my comments.

‘Oh, have mercy! I’m so in trouble!’

I knew he had decided where to start when his attention fixed on the vee of my clamped together thighs and he smiled broadly. It was a nasty smile. My heckling hadn’t made him lose control or deflated his intent, but had the direct opposite effect.

Almost biting my tongue off in order to keep quiet and not challenge the situation any more, I unthinkingly twisted my body to get away from his blazing eyes.

That was stupid.

My predator’s short laughter was as nasty as his smile. My move gave him an eyeful of my entire bare-assed backside. I couldn’t do anything about that right now, but I vowed fervently I’d never go to bed without undies, or my gun, again.

Simultaneously with these thoughts, I desperately flung myself off the bars towards the opposite side of the wide bed and away from him. I kept rolling, but I felt my ankle snagged. Caught in his grip, I kicked wildly as he dragged me back parallel to the edge of the bed where he was standing. Swiftly, he pulled down his unbuttoned jeans and kicked them away.

‘Oh, HELL no!’

I screamed and scooted away backwards as fast as I could go, practically crabbing it on all fours. I shouted again when he stretched over me and gripped my shoulders. His strong hands snapped both the fragile spaghetti straps of my nightgown. In one swoop, he tore it down and off of me like he was a magician whipping a tablecloth off from under a feast-laden dining table. It was done so efficiently, I didn’t have time to even flinch.

I clambered up to my knees, frantically trying to cover myself. I swore hotly in his face, “You…you ASS, you are so going to pay for that!”

With that incredibly lame threat hanging in the air, I dove again towards the other side of the bed. My attacker gave a battle cry and dove onto the bed after me. When he landed, the bedsprings wailed. The end of the bed screeched crookedly sideways and scraped about a foot across the hardwood floor.

I was bouncing over the mattress and crawling on all fours to get away. I shrieked when I felt him grip my naked hips The force of his hands collapsed me face first into my comforter with a gasping “Oomph!”

My enraged curses were muffled, but his answering war whoops of victory reverberated loudly in the silent room. He squeezed my ass with both his hands before flipping me onto my back like I weighed nothing. I was lying across the width of the bed. My assailant was beside me, sitting back on his calves and waiting.

He was a naked devil grinning maniacally down at me.