A Simple Persuasion

The sun was cresting the smooth plane of the glass waters when Lachlan poured his dirst cup of coffee. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stood looking into the mug. The acrid, slightly tangy aroma filled him. Lifting to his lips, he carefully sipped.

Mmm, she also has excellent taste in coffee.

He had slept on the short loveseat, keeping an open ear for the squeak of the staircases to the basement. Though he slept long and deep, especially considering the shitty sleep he'd gotten the night before in his SUV and the hard day of hurried digging he'd pulled off, he was wary of the work yet to come.

He sat at the table and ate another slice of her extremely moist chocolate cake. He slowly mulled over the possible scenarios in his mind; what he would do and when he would do it, what her response would be and what his response would be to hers. He didn't want to really hurt, cause any lasting damage. But, of course, the mental wounds of sexual assault last for years, if not the rest of her life.

But at least I could make her enjoy it. Yeah, but anything physically injurious will heal quickly. Once the wounds heal, it's over for her. Yeah, but honestly, is she living through this? Will there be time to heal?

That question caught him off guard, and for a moment, all he could do was imagine her home, cold and empty because she wasn't there.

Any way he rolled it, he didn't like the outcome. She would either end up dead or hating him enough to truly put a bullet between his eyes. Hell, even if in some twisted way she did want him, it would be just that, twisted. She'd be so damaged that

she

really wouldn't exist...just some sort of scarred, twisted-up doll. And he didn't want that either. Not for himself, and not for her. Did it matter if she wanted him? From somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach, he felt the desire, hidden and crowded by other logical needs and concerns.

Yeah, I do want her to want me.

He grimly smiled at his predicament.

The cake really was good. An image flashed through his mind, causing him to sigh. He looked at his watch.

Just approaching twelve hours. She's probably at her limit.

Finishing the last bite and washing it down with the coffee, he stood and stretched. If he stayed another night, he might have to sleep in her bed. Risky, he knew, but his well-used 32-year-old body did not respond like his 22-year-old body had. After rechecking that the house was secure, he flipped on the switch to the basement light and descended the stairs, ready for business.

Buried in a black hole, cold from the deep earth, Grace leaned, weak and nearly delirious. The first moments trapped in the torture box had caused overriding terror to take hold of her mental processes. She had railed, screamed, and beat against the board over her head. Through massive, constant tears, she pushed with all her strength, yelling to let her out. She fought until the realization that she

could not

free herself crushed her into a limp mass of raging tears.

Occasionally she would rise up and attack the board trapping her in darkness with her fists. The walls were too narrow for her to slump to the bottom, so she leaned, sobbing. Eventually, her cries died away. Though her pupils enlarged to let in as much light as possible, there was no light to absorb. In the cold, dark she huddled staring into emptiness, only the sound of her slowing breath filling it all.

Her mind, numbed by exhaustive emotions, eventually began speaking, naming fears, asking questions, telling lies.

What's he going to do? Is he going to leave me here? No, he won't leave me here. He said he'd just leave me to think. But for how long? Maybe a few hours. Oh, god, I can't believe I was so attracted to him.

She began to feel her cheeks heat and her stomach boil at the embarrassing spectacle she must have made of herself, asking him to eat with her, asking him to give her a ride, inviting him in...then it slowly began to make sense.

He-he must have planned this whole evening! He's not going to stop. Even if I tell him what he wants to know, he's not going to stop, not until...

She began to shake uncontrollably at the thought. The anguish of her imminent death caused another torrent of tears to boil from her.

Violently crying again, her mind raged against the inevitable. Quickly, her despondency at her current position transformed into intense hatred for the alluring man that had seduced her heart and beguiled his way into her home.

He's going to kill me. There's no possible way he can leave me alive. I'd kill him if I had the chance. Or at the very least make sure he went to prison for the rest of his life. There's no way he can let me go. He's going to have to kill me.

She took in a shuddering breath, trying to steel herself against another onrush of tears. "Fine," she whispered to herself in a raspy, shaky voice, "if I'm not getting out of this alive, I'm not giving anything up." She began to force her breath, controlling its strong push through her lungs and out past her lips. She closed her eyes against the dark, preferring her own natural darkness. She continued to lean against the walls, focusing on her breathing, taking in any stimulation she could.

But there was nothing but the coolness of the air, the coarse grate of her breath. Eventually, knowing all she could do was wait, she calmed enough to relax, though uncomfortably, against the wall, eyes closed, ears piqued.

In the timeless, sensation-free dark, Grace floated endlessly. And then she felt it, the tickle up her arm. On instinct, as she slapped at it, whatever it was, she opened her eyes to see. Though the dark should have kept her eyes from perceiving anything, she distinctly saw little spiders crawling up her arms. Her face scrunched up in immediate disgust mingled with fear. She began slapping them away, but more appeared in their place.

She let out a little whimper, and then a growing scream filled the small hollowed-out chamber. She thrashed wildly about, trying to knock off the little black creatures from her body. In wave after wave they swarmed over her naked skin. They crawled between her fingers and around her neck. She swatted at the ones going in and out of her navel. She could feel them tickle around her eyes, and in her hair, sending shivers through her scalp. Her screams did not dissipate, but grew in chilling horror. Swiping and slapping she continued to fight the onrush of the tingling pests. Overtaken, she wrapped her arms around herself and fell as much as the hole allowed, bawling until she was hoarse.

Some hours later, spent beyond sanity, the hallucinations had finally subsided. Her skin was raw from her frenzied treatment of it, anxious to rid herself of the imagined fiends. She cried herself into oblivion, praying for the end, fearing it was just beginning.

There were no sounds from under the barrel as Lachlan approached. With some effort, he pushed against it, rolling it clumsily aside. He removed the stuffing and then pried up the board. She was awake, but dazed. Her eyes were swollen and red, clearly from a night spent crying. Without hesitation, he reached down and hauled her out of the black. Though he sat her on her feet, she immediately crumpled in his arms; her legs debilitated from the awkward standing positions she held through the night could not support her.

I guess stress positions are out of the question...at least for now

he thought. Contemplating what next to do with her, her weary eyes slowly turned to him, fear and exhaustion apparent in every line of her face. With a hoarse voice, she said the only thing running through her mind. "Please."

He had no response to her unadulterated vulnerability and innocent trust. He could only stare, an unsettling sensation gripping his stomach and chest. What the hell had he been thinking? Was tormenting the poor girl the only way he could have gotten the information?

Well, regardless of other options, finding out what she knew was only one part of the job. I still have to remove the threat, and that usually means only one thing.

He carried her to the large beam in the ceiling running the width of basement. After leaning her against the support beam running vertically, he took her hands and quickly bound them in the leather cuffs. He felt her shake immediately. She looked into his face with an emotion he lamented he was the cause of.

If she would only be reasonable and tell him what she knew, maybe he could find away to keep her safe; perhaps he could convince his uncle she wasn't a threat or didn't truly know anything. "Grace," his tone firm, but nonthreatening, "tell me what you know and what you've done with the information."

Her breathing was rough and uneven. Her mind was battered by her frightful night and lack of sleep, and she was precariously close to the ultimate danger. Despite all this, she gained enough of what was needed to answer him. "Why? So the moment I tell you, you can kill me?"

His body tensed at the accusation. Though he had never threatened death, she knew the probable end of the entire ordeal. He stepped back and looked at her. The chains were still loose, as he hadn't tightened them. She seemed to have momentarily forgotten she was still only in her undergarments. She watched him with a guarded, hate-filled expression.

"You don't have to die," he replied evenly.

"I don't? And how do you ensure that I don't come back and cut off your balls in the middle of the night, before I turn the chief in? Not only for-" she stopped herself, "but at the very least for kidnapping and torture?" She was stupid, she knew it. She should have done anything he said, should have quivered at his feet and promised on the grave of Joshua Chamberlain she wouldn't tell anybody what he had done to her. She should have pleaded with him to let her leave town and never come back. But she had never hated anyone before, and she found it rather difficult to stifle the spewing emotion.

His gaze hardened a little towards her. "You want me to pull the information out of you, then? You want to suffer a little before telling me, do you? Tell me, Grace," he ground out, grabbing her chin, "is that what you want?"

Though her body pulled away from him, her eyes burned, declaring her rebellion. His heart felt heavy as it flamed. "You're going to force me to hurt you, when I just want the damn information? All you have to do is tell me, and it's over," he nearly begged, hoping she would believe him, all the while knowing she wouldn't give in.

Her face set, she turned her head and looked elsewhere.

Fine, be difficult. See where it gets you.

The chains attached to her cuffs ran up and through a large, steel eyelet screw in the large overhead brace before snaking to the side where they were affixed to a hook on the vertical support beam. He grabbed the end of it and pulled violently, taking the slack out, lifting her hands over her head and, eventually, her feet off the floor. He reattached the chain at the tightened length and stood back to check his work. Her feet barely grazed the concrete.

Grace was breathing heavily, but attempting to squash visible signs of her panic. He stood in front of her, trying to give her as much of his powerful presence as possible, hoping to make her cower and give up the damn information she held on his uncle. Lachlan watched her a few moments, letting her fear rise. In the torture field, the subjects' fears were always more powerful than anything an interrogator could inflict. Eventually, most subjects learned that they would not die from pain. Once they realized that, their resolve was hard to break. The mental anguish they inflicted upon themselves was a far better influencer.

At last he spoke. "This is your last chance, Grace. Otherwise, once I start this next phase, I won't stop until your body is spent, regardless of how badly you want to tell me your secrets. You're wrong. I don't want to kill you, but that doesn't mean I won't do some pretty rotten, dirty things to get you to talk." He waited, but only saw her chin edge up in defiance.

He took in a deep breath, preparing himself.

Become a monster. Do it and let's get this over with,

he encouraged himself.

Lachlan, turning on his evil predator, slowly stalked to the trembling hanging figure. With deep-seated appreciation, he studied her stretched form, allowing his hot gaze to burn into her flesh. She was tall and well-muscled, undoubtedly from swimming in the ocean. She was also tan,

all over

, which made him realize she must swim in the nude during the day as well. Despite her athletic build, her full breasts and flared hips made her decidedly feminine.

With the grace and stealth of a deadly hunter, he circled her hypnotically. His nearing presence, powerful and alluring, yet unquestionably evil and detestable, caused her to breathe more frantically. She wiggled, trying to keep him in her view. She could hear him,

feel him

at her back, her muscles lining her spine jumping in frightened anticipation at his touch. She waited in the silence for it, but only heard his breathing.

The moments ticked away with her heart. Then she felt the slightest tickle at her head, then her hair move. He was taking her honeyed locks, gathering her hair. She realized he must have tied it up in a rubber band. She could no longer feel the protection her golden veil provided, but instead felt the cool air of the room gently sweep across her neck and upper back.

Now Grace could feel him even closer, though he held back his touch from her skin. The muscles of her frame jerked now and again, waiting for the strike to come. "Grace," his breath ran down the side of her ear and neck. The stubble on his jaw, scratching hers lightly, inflamed her skin. She felt her nipples harden at the contact. She could hear her heart thud. Grace pulled her head forward, protecting her sensitive skin between her raised arms.

His face did not move, however, and she could feel the heat of his breath pouring out down the back of her now exposed neck, rustling the small hairs there. He moved his mouth slowly around her neck to the other side, his breath trailing along, cloaking her skin in his presence.

He watched her muscles twitch, listened to her breath catch at the release of his own. Lachlan took an easy step back to sweep his eyes over her. The lines of her back were beautiful and tapered to her trim waist. Her black underwear hung tightly to the curve of her ass. Its high cut framed her full cheeks enticingly.

He tentatively reached out a curious hand, seeking to feel the silky texture of her skin. His fingers brushed the curve of her back on the right side. She jerked slightly away. The movement reminded him of what he was about to do, how, no matter her eventual response, she would despise him for touching her, unbidden, unwanted.

Lachlan stepped closer and trailed his hand over the smooth sinews of her back, feeling the muscles quiver silently underneath. His touch was light and he knew, erotic, despite her reservations. He had met her partly at the café to lay groundwork for her arousal towards him, and was now thankful he had, knowing he had a prodigious task ahead of him.

With just his finger tips, he trailed over the many slopes of her back, lighting her skin aglow. Although he wanted to take handfuls of her curvaceous derriere, he did not want to send her body into complete shut down before he even truly started. Therefore, he only lightly traced the very tops of her butt, before quickly sweeping on to the sides of her torso and up to her arms and shoulders, and then returned down the angle of her back. He also kept his mouth shut and did not taunt her, knowing he could push her anger too far until she was beyond reach.

With Grace's neck now exposed, he centered his eroticism there, instinctively knowing that was where she was extremely sensitive. He let his breath filled with promises of pleasure cascade down the back of her, lulling her body to relaxing into the seduction. His hands were slowly making their way further and further around her sides until they were bounding over the furrows of her ribs.

As her body was stretched by the pull of gravity, her stomach, though usually flat, was now concaved, exposing the deep ridge of the bottom of her ribcage. Lachlan's hands were becoming bolder, fully running deeply into her flesh, kindling a growing desire.

Grace's eyes were squeezed tight as she tried to deny the inevitable. He wasn't beating her, but he wasn't ignoring her. That left only one very obvious answer. For a moment, she thought she would prefer a beating, a whip, electroshock, mutilation, anything but this. But then she felt his torrid breath at her neck, and she shuddered.

Fight it! Fight him! Don't you dare like this! I'm not a slut, I'm not a whore. This is rape and that's disgusting. Never, never, never. I'll never give in. Never,

she chanted to herself building up a fire of a different kind. She didn't have any control of her body, but she sure as hell wasn't letting him into her soul.

Her breathing increased as she fought the slowly pitching waves entering her body carrying small pleasures throughout her being. Grace had never been so thoroughly touched by a lover.

This man is not a lover. A tormentor, a sadistic prick using my own body to torture me!

Nonetheless, lover, or not, she hadn't been given such exacting attention with such an arousing touch. Granted, her experience with lovers was extremely short; three, in fact.

If this is just the teasing, I don't know if I can handle what comes next,

she thought gloomily to herself.

Lachlan's assault had grown as his searing mouth now added to the attention his hands gave. She felt his full lips open as the caressed her shoulders, her spine. She unwittingly shuddered again when she felt the hot blade of his mouth languidly emerge to taste her. She felt erotically massaged by it, and wherever it went, she felt the cool air hit the wetness he left behind.

His hands had not stopped their exploration, but grew bolder. He continued to rub his slightly calloused palms down her sides and front, his fingertips just dipping under the band of her silky underwear, before sliding along and then back up. She realized he was learning, searching for those sensitive places that jumped excitedly under his fondling.

His mouth trailed up her back and found the tight crook of her neck that nestled against her raised arms. She felt his hands slowly glide up. "Grace," he whispered lustfully into her ear as he grasped both breasts. She thought to pull away, but somehow her chest arched into his hands instead. However, when she eventually did try to escape, her struggles only caused her to sink back into his firm chest, his arms tight around her. She let out a whimper of distress at her inability to break away from the unwanted pleasure he wove in her.

She could feel his lips smile at the nape of her neck. "Grace," he groaned again. This time, his hands didn't just caress the flesh in her black lace bra, his hands pulled her into him, crushing their bodies together. Her eyes fluttered open and shut as she tried to block out the sensation of his body, radiating into her.

Lachlan continued his gentle siege on her senses, slowly building a storm that would overwhelm her beyond reason. His mouth wound its way around her until he was standing in front. Her eyes were closed, and her face was disgruntled. She tensed at the feeling of him facing her. She turned her head so her face was buried in her arm. His magical hands had not left Grace's skin, but continued their mission of surrounding her in desire.

Eyes closed, shutting out the sight of him, she felt those hands skim up her sides until they reached her face. Cupping it, he turned her head until her eyes opened reluctantly. Her stomach immediately filled with electricity, bouncing chaotically around. She felt her cheeks shoot red. She blinked and fought the urge to look away. His gray eyes were unnerving, especially filled with a darkness she had never seen before.