you being so nice to me? Yesterday you thought me being here was amusing.”
“Yesterday I was a dick and I’m sorry for it,” he says, searching my eyes with his.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
Berrin loosens his hold, guiding me back to the door leading down to my room. He reaches up above his head, his fingers running over the ledge of the door frame. “Here, take this,” he says, handing me a key.
“I thought you said this door was kept unlocked.”
“It was, it is, but you might feel more secure if you locked it from the inside…”
My fingers curl around the key and I nod before stepping onto the small landing and closing the door on Berrin. A huge part of me wants to keep the door unlocked, wants to see what would happen if I did. Another part, the sensible part, puts the key in the lock and turns.
Chapter Eight
For the next two nights, I dream of nothing but the Torben brothers fucking me.
I’m constantly on edge. Needy in a way that is bordering on uncomfortable. My skin feels flushed, sensitive. I’m perpetually wet, achy, desperate. Each dream has been more explicit than the last, and both mornings I’ve awoken horny and needy. The only way I’ve been able to get through the day is to make myself come before getting dressed in whatever clean clothes have been left for me, then head up to breakfast with flushed skin and sinful thoughts. Outside the storm still rages and the cabin is battered with heavy rain, keeping us all enclosed together and making this whole situation beyond tense.
Since our brief conversation in the bathroom, Mathieson has spoken few words to me, but I feel his eyes tracking my every movement. He watches me intently from the instant I step into the open plan living space and until I head back down into my room. At first, it had made me nervous, but now I’ve come to expect it. When I catch him staring, he never looks away, and that only seems to heighten the feeling that at some point soon he’s going to crack. I get the distinct impression that he’s on the verge of doing something, and that excites me far more than it should given what happened with Franklin the other night. I don’t want to come between these men, but day by day that’s exactly what I appear to be doing.
Franklin can barely be in the same room as me. He seems more and more on edge, not less. The calm authoritative man who’d reassured me that I was safe that first morning I’d awoken here seems to be disappearing with every passing hour, and instead has been replaced with someone who looks at me like I’m something he wants to consume, devour even. There’s a hunger in his gaze that seems to override every other emotion I feel coming from him and whilst I know, logically, I should be afraid of what he might do if his self-control snaps, I’m not. His desire only seems to heighten my lust further.
Of the three men, the one person I feel most at ease with is Berrin. He still looks at me with interest, but I don’t feel as though any minute now he’s going to ravish me whether I want him to or not. Mostly he tries to distract me, and has reassured me that as soon as they’ve cleared the fallen trees, he’ll take me to the local police station. I’m not sure I believe him, and despite Franklin’s warning, I’m not even sure I want to leave the cabin. Everything is telling me I need to be here, with him, with them.
“Have you remembered anything today?” Berrin asks me during breakfast on the fourth morning since arriving here. I know that he’s trying to engage me in conversation to prevent me from heading back to the basement like I usually do after every meal, and whilst I appreciate the sentiment, it’s better for all of us if I don’t stick around. I’m not sure I trust myself around these men and I’m sure Franklin and Mathieson don’t need me hanging around. The dreams have made everything so intense and my sexual desires are heightened beyond what I consider normal. Part of me wonders if I’m suffering with some kind of Stockholm syndrome. That my subconscious is making me form emotional bonds and sexual desires for the Torben brothers to get me through the trauma of not knowing