Eve Lilas Fiction Author

Turning the Tide Excerpt

Callie awoke sometime later to the distant sound of buzzing whispers in the midnight darkness of her bedroom. She could feel small stinging bites all over her exposed skin. A quick ferocious burn followed by tortuous itching, then again, and again. She reached down to slap at the insects but her hands were bound. She struggled against the bindings but was unable to do more than flex her fingers. She could feel the panic beginning to build.

He was in the room with her—she could feel him near. Callie frantically looked around, until her eyes settled on the black silhouette of a man standing to the left of the bed. He reached one hand down and grabbed the strapping between her wrists, pulling her hands up and securing them to the top of the headboard.

Callie bent her knees and pushed up against the headboard, trying to relieve enough pressure to free her hands. Feet flat on the bed, legs spread wide, she strained upward, but the high back of the antique bed prevented her from reaching her goal. She was caught.

“Who are you,” she demanded. “Why are you doing this?”

“You don’t know?” he asked, sounding perplexed. His voice was so low she had to strain to hear him.

“You’re Jon Fletcher aren’t you?” Her voice broke, emphasizing her fear. “Why are you doing this to me?”

A pause, then the deep rumble of laugher came with his soft reply, “because I can.” The softly spoken words rolled out of the back of his mouth in the easy style of a Dixie born aristocrat. As he leaned in closer she could smell him. Pipe tobacco and man, the tang of the ocean and more frighteningly, the damp smell of mildew. The room was so dark she couldn’t make out any of his features, just the basic shape of a tall body and wide shoulders. He leaned in to kiss her.

Callie rocked back onto her buttocks and kicked out hard with both feet, connecting with the thickly muscled wall of the man’s chest sending him backward onto the floor. She struggled wildly against the straps above her head to gain her freedom, but he was on her instantly.

He held her head captive by grasping her face in one of his large hands, and even though he leaned in closer she couldn’t distinguish any of his features in the inky blackness. When he took her mouth in a rough and potent kiss he slackened his hand slightly and Callie was able to bite down hard on his bottom lip. She tasted the metallic flavor of his blood on her tongue and he quickly released her head, rearing back with one arm. Callie waited for the blow to her face but it didn’t come.

Despite her wild kicking, he quickly tied her feet to the foot board and stepped away from the bed. For several moments he stalked back and forth across the floor of her chamber—perhaps he worked to get his temper under control again, or perhaps he was planning his next move. From her spread eagle position on the bed Callie was in no position to help herself. The stinging insects continued to nip away pieces of her flesh and leave behind their itching saliva.

He approached the bed once more and leaned over her, tracing the shape of her face with his index finger. Drawing an imaginary line from the cleft in her chin down to the soft underside to where her dry throat worked to swallow. Slowly his finger moved around the shape of her ear and he inserted the tip to stroke the innermost ring of cartilage. He trailed lower using his fingertips to encircle her nipples and pluck lightly on them.

Leaning down to breathe in the fragrance of her, he nuzzled his face in the cleft between her full breasts. The roughness of his unshaven face felt scratchy and oddly comforting to Callie’s sensitive skin. His fingers glided over her abdomen and down the outside of her legs to her ankles, back up the inside to rub gently on the backs of her knees, then traveled upward to her thighs. Callie’s breathing was quickening and her desire surged. His fingers toyed with the curly hair of her pussy and Callie became more agitated.

“I’m going to punish you for kicking me,” he whispered. “So you’ll know not to resist me again.”

“Please,” her small voice barely audible.

He didn’t reply. Cupping her mons he slipped his fingers lower. Callie wasn’t able to stifle the moan of pleasure, it pushed up and out of her before she could react to stop it.

The whispering voice reached out to caress her, “I can give you pleasure my sweet but you must give me my pleasure too.”

“How?” her voice shook from her fear and the uncertainty of her position.

“I need you to suffer for me. I need to see your pain.”

His reply chilled her, she began to shake her head back and forth, “No!” she yelled. “No!” she screamed at him, but it didn’t matter.