On the Brink (Vol. 1) (The On the Brink Series) (13 page)

Craig
returned with the drinks and handed me mine. While still visibly tense, he
seemed calmer. Seating himself next to me, he raised his glass.

“To
you, Juliana. You’re amazing, you know. You kept your head throughout a
shocking and painful experience. You left as soon as possible, removing
yourself from a dangerous situation.”

“Thanks
for saying that. I did the best I could. Still, I can’t help but wish that I’d
had the sense to stay away from Matt in the first place. My initial gut
instinct about him was right, but I didn’t stick to it.”

Craig
shook his head. “Don’t blame yourself. No is no, and any man who can’t respect
that should be shot. Put down like a rabid dog.” He paused. “Mind if I ask you
one more question?”

“Sure.”
I took another long, cold sip, grateful for the existence of vodka.

“Has
Matt Reimann ever bothered you again? In any way?”

“No.
Initially, I took steps to avoid him, but as far as I know he never tried to
contact me. I haven’t had any contact with him since that night.”

“How
did you avoid him?”

“The
fall semester was over except for exams, and I took the spring semester off,
knowing that by the time I returned to campus the next fall, he would have
graduated. I had a couple thousand dollars saved for spring semester expenses.
Enough to rent a cheap room and get a new phone. It was simple enough to get a
job—waiting tables in a Greek restaurant in Watertown. No danger of
running into Matt in a place like that.”

“Didn’t
anyone help? Your parents, maybe?”

“Them?
I didn’t even bother to explain why I was taking a semester off to them. No
point. They’ve never forgiven me for choosing art instead of something more
practical, like business or law. I did minor in business, but that wasn’t
enough. Besides, it’s not as if they would have been able to help
much—they don’t have any money. But that’s another story. For another
day, if you don’t mind. I’m exhausted.” I drained the last remnants of my
martini and stood up, yawning. “I really need to get some rest.”

Craig
put down his empty glass and got up. “It’s nearly 1 a.m. Want to stay here or
drive to your apartment?”

“Stay
here. Your bed is closer than mine. I’m too tired to do anything but sleep,
though.” After raising the ghost of Matt, sex was the last thing I wanted.

“Fine
by me. I’m exhausted, too.” His arm around my waist, we proceeded toward the
bedroom.

Craig
led me to his generously sized walk-in closet. Pulling out a couple of drawers,
he removed a dark blue silk pajama shirt and handed it to me. “For you.”
Retrieving a similar pair in charcoal gray, he said, “For me.” Turning his back
to me, he began removing his shirt. I quickly slipped out of my clothes, and
put on the pajama shirt he’d given me. It was too large, of course, but rolling
the sleeves up made it a functional nightshirt.

By
the time I finished, Craig was already ensconced in the king-size bed. I joined
him, and he gathered me into his strong arms, spooning my body. Soothed by his
warm, comforting bulk, I fell asleep almost instantly; my last conscious
thought was that he couldn’t be real. He seemed too good to be true.

Chapter
Twenty-Two

Waking,
it took a moment to figure out where I was. In Craig’s bed. The owner of the
bed sprawled next to me, one long arm draped over my left thigh. His handsome
features, peaceful in repose, contrasted with his tousled mop of dark hair. His
breathing was quiet, deep and steady.

A
bedside alarm indicated 6:52 a.m. Not wanting to wake him, I lifted his arm
from my body, and gently placed it by his side. Getting up, I decided to make
coffee for us.

I
padded, barefoot, into the kitchen, looking around for coffee. I spotted an
Aeropress on the counter. Now I just needed to find the coffee. I began
rummaging through cupboards as quietly as possible.

“Juliana?”
Craig appeared in the kitchen, looking slightly bleary-eyed. “How long have you
been up?”

“Just
a few minutes. Did I wake you?”

“No,
my internal clock is fixed on 7 a.m. I wake up at about the same time every
morning—unless I’m in a different time zone, in which case all bets are
off. Put the water on, and I’ll make the coffee.”

Sipping
the steaming hot coffee a couple minutes later, my mind flashed back to the
previous evening, when I’d impulsively confessed that I’d lost my virginity to
rape. By the son of his business nemesis, no less.

Craig
had been nothing but understanding and supportive, but I couldn’t help but feel
exposed. Raw. Unsure of how my revelations might change things between us.

Meanwhile,
the object of my thoughts had drained his first cup of coffee and was pouring
himself a second. “More?” he asked.

“Not
yet. Your throat must be lined with Teflon. I’ve never seen anyone down hot
coffee so fast.”

“The
first cup is all about getting the minimum effective dose of caffeine into my
bloodstream. The second is for taste. For pleasure.”

Demonstrating
his point, he seated himself next to me, crossed his legs, and took a sip.
“Usually I surf a few news sites on the Internet with my morning coffee, but
looking at you definitely beats that.”

“You’re
crazy,” I replied. “I know all too well what I look like in the morning. Hair
totally out of control. Circles under the eyes. Sort of like a sleepy shrub in
desperate need of pruning.”

“In
lieu of pruning, how about a hot shower? I give a great shampoo.”

“A
hot shower and a shampoo?” I replied, getting up from my chair. “Lead the way.”

When
we reached the luxurious bathroom, Craig shed his pajamas and turned the shower
on, adjusting the heat before getting in. I quickly followed suit, joining him
under the steamy, soothing spray. He pulled me into his muscular body, turning
me so that my back was against his chest, and reached for the shampoo.

As
the hot water flowed over our bodies, he massaged the shampoo into my hair,
working from the crown of my head backward and down, his strong, dexterous
hands massaging every inch of my scalp and neck. Blissfully relaxed, I was
delighted—and more than a little relieved—to feel his thick cock
rising, pressing against my back, banishing my lingering concern that telling
him about Matt would affect our intimacy.

“My
turn now,” I said, grabbing the shampoo and turning to him. His dark hair
soaked, slicked back from his face, hot water coursing over his beautifully
muscled torso, he was sex incarnate. I reached up and began massaging shampoo
through his thick hair, drawing his face toward mine.

Our
lips met in a searing kiss that didn’t want to end, and he pulled me against
him, cupping my ass gently with his strong hands. My hands slid down his body,
and then caressed his cock.

“Are
you sure this is what you want?” He looked deep into my eyes.

“This
is exactly what I want.” I met his gaze, letting him see my desire. “I want you
inside me. Right here, right now.”

He
raised me gently against the wall, then eased himself into me with exquisite
care, moving in a slow rhythm that sent rays of sensation to my core.

“Look
at me, Juliana. I want you to stay with me, looking into my eyes, until we come
together.”

Meeting
his heavy-lidded gaze, I saw an intensity that I had only glimpsed before. As
he continued his slow, unrelenting assault on my senses, the warm, spreading
glow inside me burst into flame. And as he spurted his orgasm deep inside me, I
came hard, my body dissolving, like a firework, in an explosion of embers.

We
held each other, shuddering, for a long moment, as the hot water continued to
course over our intertwined bodies. Then he spoke.

“The
way we are together amazes me, Juliana. You amaze me.”

He
released me and got out of the shower, turning the water off. I followed,
taking the large, fluffy towel that he handed me and wrapping it around myself.
He secured his own towel, which hung deliciously low on his hips.

I
rose on my toes and kissed his lips. “Well what do you think you do to me,
anyway? As a matter of fact, I’m not sure there’s even a word for it.”

He
kissed the top of my head. “You need another towel,” he said, reaching for one.
He gently toweled my dripping hair. “That’s better.”

“One
more cup of coffee?” I asked.

“Sure,
but I need to keep an eye on the time. I have a 9 a.m. meeting and need a little
time beforehand to prep. When do you have to work today?”

“I
teach at 1 o’clock,” I replied. “Then Perfect Transcripts from 5 to 10.”

We
returned to the kitchen, and Craig checked the time on his phone. “8:15
already. I’m going to have to get a move on. You can relax, though. Stay as
long as you like.” He deftly set up a second brew of coffee, then made a
beeline for the bedroom to get dressed.

By
the time I was pouring myself a cup of fresh coffee, he reemerged, handsome in
a dark red shirt that complemented his olive skin, paired with slim charcoal
gray trousers. I turned my face up as he bent down for a quick kiss.

“Off
to work,” he said. “If you’re still here at 10:30 or so, maybe we can have a
late breakfast together.”

“Sure,”
I replied. “It’s not as if I have to dress for work, you know. My studio
clothes are in a locker at the university anyway.”

“The
TV remote is on the coffee table in case you get bored.”

“Thanks.
See you after your meeting.”

He
kissed me again, lingeringly, then headed, a little reluctantly, for the door
to his office. After the door closed behind him, I stretched luxuriously,
reveling in how alive I felt. Love had finally found me, in the form of Craig
Manning, who surpassed every romantic fantasy I’d ever entertained. Gorgeous
and intelligent. Strong and tender. Successful, but not egocentric.

Finishing
my coffee, I dressed quickly, not bothering to blow dry my hair. It was nearly
dry anyway. I then went into the living room, and picked up the TV remote and
pressed the power button.

Nothing
happened. Looking at it, I realized that it was a universal remote. There was
probably some weird combination of buttons I needed to press. I decided to look
for the TV remote instead.

I
went over to the television and started opening the cabinets in the general
vicinity. The first cabinet I opened was empty. The second held shelves of
DVDs.

Scanning
the titles, I noted that Craig was definitely a big fan of classic American
movies, with some action and suspense titles mixed in. The lowest shelf
appeared to hold DVDs that he had burned himself.

Curious,
I pulled a handful of them out. Flipping through the titles, I was impressed.
He had a Joris Ivens film that had never been released on DVD. I wondered
briefly how he’d gotten his hands on that. Pulling out a second handful, a name
jumped out at me. Alessandra. Alessandra d’Acosta?

With
an ominous feeling in the pit of my stomach, I turned the television and the
DVD player on manually, then put the Alessandra DVD in. After staring at the universal
remote for a few seconds, I got the TV input set to the DVD player and pressed
the play button.

On
the large flatscreen, the video image was relatively low quality. There didn’t
seem to be any sound. The shot was of a poorly lit room, shot from above, as if
by a surveillance camera.

At
the center of the room was a large, empty bed, with carved posts. A figure
entered the room. A woman with long, dark hair, wearing a flowing white
garment. She turned her face toward the camera. Definitely Alessandra D’Acosta.
She knelt by the bed.

I
didn’t understand. Was she praying? Waiting for something? A minute or two
passed. Suddenly, she got up, removing her garment. Underneath, she was naked.
She lay down on her stomach in the center of the bed, spread eagle, hands and
feet extended. A dark-haired man came into view, and my heart sank. It was
Craig.

Naked
to the waist, he wore fitted leather pants. He walked to the foot of the bed,
and then I realized what was going on. He was tying her to the bed. Mesmerized,
I watched in disbelief as he tied each limb in turn to the four posts of the
bed.

My
mind flashed back to the night Matt Reimann raped me. The sense of utter
helplessness as he tied me to the bedposts with strips torn from the bedsheet.
The pain, physical and emotional, as he forced himself into me.

Coming
back to the present, I returned my attention to the video. Craig walked
offscreen, then returned with something in his right hand that appeared to be
some kind of whip. Short, with numerous tails, it appeared to be made of
leather or rubber.

As
I watched in shock, Craig began whipping Alessandra with measured strokes, the
many tails of the whip spreading across her smooth, white buttocks and thighs.
Craig, into BDSM? Making videos of himself whipping women?

After
several minutes of stunned immobility, I snapped out of my initial disbelief,
not sure why I was still watching. If this was what Craig was into, our
relationship would never work out. After my traumatic experience with Matt, I
couldn’t imagine allowing anyone to tie me up, let alone enjoying it. It would
only bring me back to one of the worst days of my life.

I
reached toward the television, about to turn it off, but the scene changed, and
curiosity stayed my hand. A different room, darker, with an X-shaped cross
attached to the wall. Wall-mounted candelabras provided the only light. Bound,
naked, with her back to the cross, Alessandra’s hands and feet were cuffed to
the four terminals of the X, her mouth filled with a ball gag.

A
string of saliva hung from one corner of her mouth, her heavy breasts rose and
fell with rapid breaths, and her eyes stared into the camera through black
holes of smeared mascara. I couldn’t tell if she was okay or not. As in the
first video, the camera was positioned above the scene, focused on Alessandra’s
body.

Four
men came into view, identically attired—nude to the waist, ripped, oiled
muscles gleaming in the candlelight, black leather pants. All wore ornate
half-masks that concealed the upper portion of their faces behind exaggerated,
grotesque noses.

One
of them, distinguished from the others by his highly decorated, gold-colored
mask, appeared to be in charge. The sinister lines and hooked, rapacious beak
of the golden mask, catching the flickering light, seemed to move, shifting
between cruelty and mockery. Turning his back to the camera, he pulled his
pants partway down and began fucking Alessandra hard, while the three others
watched, stroking themselves, their arousal echoing the freakish, distorted
noses of the masks.

The
second man approached Alessandra and began striking her extended limbs with a
riding crop, while continuing to stimulate himself with his other hand. The
third man then moved behind the gold-beaked leader and gripped his hips,
positioning himself before slamming his substantial erection into the leader’s
muscled ass.

In
the dim light, the pulsing forms moved and merged together, like a nest of
snakes. Then the fourth man began pissing on the others. Rivulets of urine
traced their way down the writhing, intertwined bodies.

Sick
to my stomach, and through a haze of unshed tears, I realized that the
leader—the man in the golden mask—was Craig. Despite the disguise,
his muscled shoulders, slightly long dark hair, and strong jaw were
unmistakable.

I’d
seen enough. I turned the television off and removed the DVD, putting it back
in its plastic case. Nauseous and light-headed, incapable of motion or
decision, I sank to the floor, realizing that once again, I had let the wrong
man into my life—and my heart.
 

I
had thought I was ready for intimacy, but I hadn’t known what I was getting
into. I definitely wasn’t prepared for anything like this.

As
the shock began to ebb, my confused thoughts resolved into two clear impulses.
I needed to get out of here. I didn’t want to see Craig now, and I didn’t know
if I’d ever want to see him again.