“I’m not some toy here for your use,” I say. “I don’t give a shit whether or not I give a good blowjob.”
Laughing, Reed releases my handcuffs and nudges me to lay down on my back. “Bullshit, Quinn. You wanted to do well, to make me happy. It’s nothing to be ashamed of — you’re a submissive. It’s in your nature.”
I’d like to believe that’s true — that I’m not succumbing to some form of Stockholm Syndrome. I’ve worried more than once since I arrived at Walker that I might lose my mind — is that what’s happened? Or is Reed right, and I’m some kind of freak? What would Jacqueline and the others do to me if they knew I wasenjoyingmyself while they toil away?
“How do I know you’re not manipulating me?” I ask. “You could be feeding me a comforting lie, bending me so I’ll be compliant.”
Reed climbs onto the table and straddles me, positioning himself above me. He looks down into my eyes. “I can see how you might think that, but trust me, I can make you obey, but I can’t make you enjoy it. That’s all up to you. You don’t like obeying the others, do you?”
“No.” He’s right — I don’t. I’ve got nothing but hate for the other guards. I can’t even imagine enjoying submitting to one of them.
“You know I treated you like shit your first month here,” Reed continues, his smile fading. “You’re the first woman here I couldn’t control. You enjoy pain, or at least tolerate it. Fear doesn’t cripple you the way it does most. That makes you hard to manipulate. You took everything I threw at you and you didn’t break.”
“If anything, I broke you,” I say, grinning.
He laughs, nodding. “You could say that. Stay put for a second, I want to try something.”
Trusting me enough to comply, Reed gets up and heads for one of the shelves of sex toys. However, he doesn’t pick out a whip or a dildo: he comes back with a knife. Steely, serrated and long, it doesn’t look made for cooking or eating.
“What the fuck is that?”
“Do you trust me, Quinn?”
Oh holy shit, seriously?
He might be into some weird stuff, but he isn’t going to kill me, is he? I doubt it. Even if he wanted to, Prescott wants me alive, and probably not maimed or disfigured.
“Yes.”
Reed picks up the fabric he used to gag me earlier and sticks the blade against it. With just a little pressure, the material slices apart. It’s a real knife, not some kind of trick.
He pauses, perhaps waiting for me to change my mind, then rests the edge of the blade against the skin of my neck. Instinctively I hold my breath, lest my inhalation cause me to cut myself. I keep my eyes on Reed, not wanting to see what he’s doing. His face is a mask of pure concentration, as he handles the weapon with confidence — his hand is completely steady.
Feeling the cold, sharp tip against my skin, I wonder what this is doing for Reed. Is he enjoying the power he has over me right now, or is my absolute trust making him feel something more meaningful? Has he ever done this before with any of the other women? Has he done it to terrify them? Is he testing me, trying to see if this will push my limits? No matter how much I believe Reed won’t hurt me, it’s impossible to feel the knife’s point against my flesh and not feel afraid.
Moving incredibly slowly, Reed drags the blade down my chest, between my breasts, all the way down my stomach. He lifts it and starts again, this time holding it against my nipple. As I watch, he moves the tip across my breasts, then up and down my body. Every spot he touches tingles until I feel electrified all over. When he finally sets the knife down, I actually huff in disappointment.
“Very good, Quinn,” he says, kissing me.
For a second, I nearly laugh: after all the crazy shit we’ve done together, it’s the first time we’ve kissed. He grins, perhaps realizing it too, and then his lips are on mine again, his tongue invading my mouth.
How can a relationship be this fucked up, but feel so good? Smelling Reed’s musky cologne and feeling his powerful body above mine, I lose myself to him. We’ve shared intimacy before — in ways I can’t imagine — but this is different. The idea that I used to hate him seems absurd — maybe that should worry me, but I don’t care. With his lips on mine, I trust my instincts.
When he breaks from this kiss, he says, “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”
I nod, blinking away a tear. “Yeah. I’m sick. I’m sick in the head.”
“Fuck that. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
Reed lifts me up and turns me over, then spanks my ass. Pain shoots through my rear, but then pleasure as the sting quickly subsides.
“Your body knows what it wants. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Being different is a gift, Quinn.”
He gives my ass another smack, and I sigh, enjoying the impact. What if he’s right? If I wasn’t in this fucked up prison, and Reed was just my boyfriend, would I think there’s anything wrong with me?
Just one more reason to find a way out of this place.
“Thanks,” I say, rubbing the sore spots on my backside. Heat radiates off them, and my touch exacerbates their throbbing, but I drink down the sensations until my pussy drips.