I pull back, pressing my hands against his chest to stop him. ‘Jack, listen. I want this to be special. Take me upstairs. Take me to the attic room where we watched the storm.’
I see in his face twin desires: give in to his base instinct and have me right now, or recreate our first night together and indulge me. For once, luck is on my side. He nods. Then takes my hand and leads me out of the basement.
Chapter Fifty-Two
161 Days Missing
Elodie Fray
Jack and I are back in the attic room. He’s used a cable tie to secure my hands to the radiator pipe outside the en-suite. I’ve had to bite my lip from quipping, ‘How romantic.’ I stare across the room and out of the repaired French doors. The moon is silver-white and round in the night sky; a single, petrified eye.
Jack is lighting candles. Dozens of them. They litter every surface: the antique dresser, the bedside tables, the floor. He is boyish and springy as he sets his scene; the star of the show preparing for opening night. When he’s done, he puts the lighter on the bedside table, pulls a pocket knife from his jeans and flips it open. Even though I know he doesn’t intend to kill me, the sight of the blade still makes my pulse spike. Barefoot, he pads over and crouches in front of me and I try not to shrink away. Lowering my gaze, I stare down at the floor, separate my wrists the few millimetres the cable tie allows and hold them out so he can cut me free. Nothing happens. I wait. Still nothing happens. Slowly, I raise my eyes to his. His breath is coming faster. I can feel his need. Feel the heat coming off his body. My stomach curdles. With my hands still bound, Jack kisses me hard, grabbing a fistful of my hair and tugging my head back to deepen the kiss. I don’t struggle, it’s a waste of energy and it will only anger him. Finally, he takes the knife, slices the cable tie and then helps me to my feet, his hand strong and firm around mine. On the dresser is a collection of bottles and glasses.
‘Champagne?’ he offers.
‘Rum,’ I say, hoping something so potent will steady my nerves.
He raises his shot in a toast, the flickering light from the flames splinter off the glass, golden in his hair. ‘To us!’
I gulp down my drink, shuddering at the sickly-sweet taste and the familiar burn that snakes down my throat. Jack takes the glass from me. Then he swoops down and kisses me, spinning me around and slamming me against the dresser hard enough to knock the open bottle of rum to the floor. It splashes up onto my bare feet. Mouth still on mine in a bruising crush, Jack lifts me easily, his hands gripping my bare thighs, and I’m forced to wrap my legs around him. He turns and throws me onto the bed, stands at the foot and removes his T-shirt.
I am laid out before him; a present he is eager to unwrap. Swallowing the impulse to grab the sheets and cover myself up, I think of Ada, praying she has listened and got out of Wisteria while she has the chance. From the top of the house, I’m hoping Jack won’t hear the front door go as she escapes. He climbs onto the bed. My skin prickles with fear as he moves up my body until he’s on top of me. His face hovering above mine. I stare up into the eyes of the man who wants to own me. My throat closes. I’m doing this for Ada. To distract Jack. To keep my sister safe. If she’s right, the police are on their way. I can get through this. If I know there’s an end, I can get through this.
Cold air whispers against my naked thighs. Jack captures my mouth with his, his hand snaking beneath my dress. I fight the urge to shove him away. His fingers curl around my knickers then clench into a fist.
My heart beats so powerfully, I can feel it in my lips.
Jack yanks my knickers down my thigh, and I am thrust back to the past, to the hill, pinned beneath him in the dirt as his fingers pushed my underwear to the side and I begged him to stop.
He groans my name now, dragging me into the moment. My knickers are off, tossed to one side. I need to take back some control. ‘Jack.’ My voice is breathy and strained. ‘Let me.’
He hesitates. He likes to dominate but he also wants a willing participant, so he relents, slowly easing off and rolling onto the bed beside me. I’ll do whatever it takes to survive, to save my sister. I owe her that. Trembling, I straddle him, his jeans rough against my inner thighs. His hands find my waist instantly, pinning me to him. He starts moving me back and forth, grinding me against the hardness of him.
‘I’ve never wanted someone so much,’ he whispers, and I can feel him growing feverish. Impatient.
I thrust my fingers into his hair, then I am kissing him. I want to leave my body. I want to fill the space around us. The cold night air. The silence. I know what’s coming. What I will have to do. I’m dragging this out because even with his exploring, groping hands, kissing is easier than sex. Than having him inside me. The thought makes every muscle in my body tense. I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t. Panic has taken hold. I break off the kiss.