Page 81 of Twisted Enemy
A red bubble opens in the corner of my screen. He’s recording this call. “No!” I say. “Turn that off!”
“Is that your choice, Katie? You already choose to be done?”
“You can’t film me.”
“Ah, but I can.” He grins. “I am.”
Frustration tightens every one of my muscles, and I fight the urge to scream. But Tarasov holds all the cards here. I can let him film me or I can let him end the call without accepting the Money Box. Those are my two choices.
“Make it worth my while to fight your little battle, Katie.”
This is insane. I’m promising to make him king of the known universe, but he’ll only take the crown if I destroy myself.
I slip my bra strap from my shoulder. Peeling the cup away, I squeeze my limp nipple.
He groans and settles back, and I realize he’s leaning against pillows. Of course he’s in bed. It’s the middle of the night.
“Is that the last of your choices, Katie? Because you are asking for very much and you are giving very little.”
I bite my lip. I close my eyes. I don’t want to make this decision. I don’t want to be the author of his pleasure.
But I fetch a Bible from the nightstand drawer and set it on the dingy table. I lean my mobile against the makeshift easel, freeing both my hands. When I shrug out of my shirt, the room’s chilly air hits me like a cold front. My nipples wrinkle and harden, standing stiff as I unfasten the clasps on my bra.
I could wait for him to goad me. He’ll croon about choices. He’ll make this all about the decisions I made as a child.
But I don’t want to hear his voice. I don’t want him jeering at me, making this horrible thing any worse than it has to be.
I pinch my nipples. I push my breasts together. I bend my neck and moan as I nuzzle my freezing flesh.
He croons in the darkness: “You are beautiful, Katie. You are my beautiful little girl. But if you truly want me to help you, you must make another choice.”
I know what I have to do. I’ve known from the moment he called me Katie. I hate him and I hate myself and I’d give anything to turn back time and never go into the Cold Room in the first place.
But I shimmy out of my linen trousers. I slip off my knickers. I check the position of my phone before I lean back, spreading my legs and sinking my fingers into my bone-dry pussy.
“Excellent, Katie. Show me how much you want me. Show me how much you care.”
I close my eyes and pump my hand, in and out, in and out, like I’m seasoning a roast chicken. My clit hides deep inside its hood. My skin is so dry, I’m certain he’ll hear the rasping.
But Tarasov can’t possibly hear me over his own grunting and groaning. He’s positioned his own phone so I can see his legs spread into a V. His thin, curved cock arches over the waistband of his tighty-whities.
He spits into his fist and rubs faster. “One more choice, Katie. One last thing. Will you do it? Will you come for me?”
When Cole had me masturbating in the dungeon, I fought for the goal he set me. I was so aroused I could scarcely breathe, but my orgasm stayed just out of reach. The entire time I strained to come, I knew I was precious, I was cared for, I was loved.
But I needed the riding crop. I needed Cole to complete me.
Tarasov doesn’t give a shite about what I need. He’s so engrossed in stroking his own cock, he’s nearly forgotten I’m on the screen. He doesn’t see me flatten my hand across my crotch. He doesn’t hear the lie as I moan twice and wheeze. His eyes are closed as I sit up and gather the sheet around my shoulders, as I shudder in the room’s funereal chill.
Only then do I realize his phone has slipped to one side. I can see half his bed and the wall beside him. I know the carved posters of that bed. I know the wallpaper, a hand-painted scene of the River Swilly, idling through the countryside of County Donegal.
Tarasov is in my parents’ house. He’s two doors down from Breagha. He’s next to my mother’s private study, the room she calls her office.
I didn’t think I could hate the Russian gobshite more. But doing this, giving me the false choice of exposing myself in the very heart of the Canton Crew… I bite my lip so hard I taste blood.
“Good, Katie,” he finally says, wiping his hand on his sheets. “You have always been my good little girl.”
“You’ll do it then?” My voice is too sharp. I swallow and force a frozen smile. “You’ll take Viktor?”
