Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire Read online

  Doing her best to be obedient, Claire did as she was told and removed her clothes, starting with her shoes and ending with her sweater. Next, he told her to lie down on the carpet, face first and keep her eyes down. She did—feeling the plush carpet rough against her skin. Her trembling intensified as the vulnerability of the position alarmed her. She couldn’t see or hear his movements. Straining to listen, she eventually heard his belt—as it passed each loop. The first lash hit so unexpectedly that it made her scream out in agony—and shock. She moved her hand to her mouth, bit down, and refused to scream anymore.

  When she didn’t respond, he turned her over, stood above her, and removed his tie and slacks. He didn’t say a word but watched for her reaction. Perhaps she was in shock. Whatever it was, Claire was unable to respond. She waited, knowing that whatever he chose to do would be bad. His hands forcibly moved her legs, while she observed—disengaged—as if in another dimension. The scene she witnessed was brutal and domineering.

  By the grace of God, she felt everything in a removed yet present fashion. She saw his actions and heard his demands. She was present, saw his expression, felt his body, smelled his skin, and tasted her shame, yet she was somehow detached—not there. By the time he finished, her body exhibited various rug burns, and her hair was tangled and matted from the same lush carpet.

  Anthony Rawlings then callously stood and dressed. Pausing for a moment, he loomed six feet above her and then silently walked to the attached bathroom. There, he combed his hair and replaced the tie he’d removed. Meanwhile, Claire sat in the middle of the room involuntarily shivering, holding her clothes, and silently weeping, unsure of her next move.

  When he returned to his office, his expression was of disdain and his tone was flat and cold, “You may go to your suite, clean yourself up, and get ready to demonstrate to me again your ability to follow instructions.”

  Claire began to gather her clothes and dress, when he added, “Do not leave your suite until I decide. Your pass to roam has been revoked.” Her mind was beyond comprehension; thinking outside the box was more than she could handle. She remembered an agreement with herself for self-preservation, conceding to demands, yet at this moment in time, Claire didn’t know or understand what she was doing, agreeing to, or being forced to do. She was lost and most likely suffering from shock. She only remembered his directives—go back to her suite and clean up.

  Leaving his office, she turned toward the grand staircase. Beyond the stairs through the magnificent foyer with the high ceiling, Claire saw the double doors leading to outside. They were tall and ornate. Without thinking she walked toward them, perhaps she should have run, but no one was around. The house was empty, like a museum or perhaps a tomb.

  She heard her heart pound in her ears as she approached the handle wondering if it would open. She wouldn’t learn. Suddenly, the sound of shoes on the marble floor of the corridor muffled her heartbeat. The footsteps didn’t sound rushed—but determined—and were getting closer. Claire quickly turned and began the ascent to the second floor. She didn’t look back down. She didn’t want to see the person producing the footsteps, especially if that person would meet her gaze with a black-eyed stare. Instead, she walked toward her suite.

  By the time she closed the door her internal monologue was in full gear. He actually hit me with his belt! My God! The man is mad. I have to find a way out of here!

  At that moment, she didn’t search for an escape. Instead, she showered, redid her hair, her make-up, and put on another outfit. While she cleaned herself up she contemplated fleeing. Questions arose. Where would she go? How would she get there? How far to civilization? And what were her chances of success? And most importantly, if she failed, what would he do?

  Her lunch arrived. Even though she missed breakfast, she barely ate. She sat quietly on the sofa, read a book, stared into space, and waited for instructions. A feeling of helplessness settled into her chest like nothing she’d ever known.

  About 4:30 PM, the beep sounded, the door opened, and she dutifully obeyed. His demeanor, less malicious than before, seemed merely callous. The forbearance of the early morning and the tour were gone. Anthony had a goal for his actions. Claire needed to understand who was in control. She had done this to herself. He told her. She needed to do what she was told. But did she? No.

  He made her say, “No, I didn’t do what I was told.” And behaviors have consequences. Could she remember that? “Yes, I understand behaviors have consequences.”

  That evening they didn’t dress appropriately as they prepared for dinner in Claire’s suite. Anthony decided Claire would model some of the lingerie. Dinner was eaten while wearing a flowing black silk negligee.

  Every time she thought he was done and would leave, he regrouped. Maybe a drink of water or check the messages on his iPhone, then he resumed. The violence ended, but the domination continued. Although Claire wanted to scream, she didn’t. The more she obeyed, the less ruthless his instructions. After midnight, Anthony left her suite. He didn’t say whether her door would be unlocked in the morning, and she couldn’t remember if she heard the familiar beep. She wanted to check, but her body barely moved. Instead, she closed her eyes and went to sleep.

  Human beings, by changing the inner attitudes of their minds, can change the outer aspects of their live.

  —William James

  Chapter Six

  ‡

  Her eyes didn’t open until she heard the door and her breakfast arrive. It usually came after she awoke. Looking at the clock, she saw that it was 10:30 AM, the latest she’d slept since her initial arrival. The young lady with the food apologized, “I’m sorry, Ms. Claire. I know you were still asleep, but Mr. Rawlings would like you dressed and in his office by noon. Catherine said you need to eat.” She handed Claire her robe as she got out of the bed.

  “Is Mr. Rawlings working from home again today?” Claire’s head pounded and body ached. This was way too late for coffee, and perhaps the activities of yesterday were affecting her.

  “Miss, today is Sunday. Mr. Rawlings is usually home on Sundays.” The young lady left the suite. Claire made a mental note: Watch out for Sundays.

  Timidly, Claire approached the mirrors in the bathroom. Lowering the soft robe, she saw long red stripes on her back and new bruises. She didn’t cry; instead, she steamed with anger. Of course, it was directed toward him but also at herself. She wanted this nightmare to end, but she couldn’t figure out the solution. Claire wasn’t accustomed to the feeling of helplessness, and she didn’t like it. Her only solution was to remain resolute until an opportunity for escape arose.

  At 11:57 AM, Claire knocked on Anthony’s office door. The door opened, and he looked up from his desk. “Good afternoon, Claire.”

  Smiling respectfully, she replied, “Good morning, Anthony. I believe it’s still morning.” Claire walked into his office and stood before his desk, the same place where twenty-four hours earlier had been the terrifying scene of his rage and domination. With her back straight, chin high, and smile plastered on her lips, she looked at his eyes and wondered who he would be today.

  The blouse she chose and her make-up covered the visible signs of the prior day’s happenings. Anthony sat quietly and studied her. The silence made her uncomfortable. She prayed he couldn’t hear her heart beating too fast or notice her wet palms. Long ago, she learned that awkward silences were an interview technique. She wouldn’t be the one to break the silence.

  Finally, he said, “I believe you are correct, for another two minutes.” Anthony’s eyes seemed lighter, so Claire breathed easier and smiled. She was on time. He continued, “Lunch will arrive here in a few minutes. I thought we would discuss some of the glitches that our business deal has encountered.” He stood and moved toward Claire.

  She kept her ground, neck straight, and watched as he circled the grand desk. He stopped only inches away. She inhaled his fragrant cologne and tilted her neck upward to see his face. He didn’t speak but indicated
with a gesture that they move to the conference table where he pulled out a chair for her to sit; she did. He sat at the head of the table with Claire to his right. The room was silent as Claire thought to herself how his gentlemanly behaviors were such a farce.

  With her smile still intact, Claire asked, “Glitches? I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

  *

  Before responding, he sat back and contemplated Claire Nichols. Her eyes contained an intense fire. She had more daring than half of the presidents of his many companies. After what he put her through, he couldn’t help but be astounded.

  “I wasn’t sure you would come here today.”

  “I wasn’t aware I had a choice. I believe my job duties include doing as I’m told.”

  “That’s correct.” He chose his words carefully. “Perhaps you can be trained.”

  *

  Claire’s mouth twitched, but she stayed steady. Getting upset would only accomplish losing control. By losing control she would be giving it to him. He may take it, but by God, she wasn’t giving it. “I’m trying my best. Now glitches?”

  A knock came as the door opened and their lunch arrived. They sat in silence as the young lady placed their food in front of them and asked Mr. Rawlings if they needed anything else. He informed her they were currently fine. She retreated from the office and closed the door behind her.

  “Glitches, yes—I spent 215 thousand dollars for a business deal. I make deals that will be lucrative to me. I expected a better return for my money than I’ve experienced in the last three weeks.”

  If this was supposed to shock Claire, it didn’t. She casually picked up her fork, ate a piece of broccoli, and responded, “I would believe that yesterday you successfully increased your return.” Stabbing another piece of broccoli, she added, “Besides, wasn’t it you that decided your business holding would be locked away for almost two weeks?” She ate more broccoli. Part of her feared retaliation, but the other part believed he appreciated the bravado.

  “That is true, and after what I’m currently witnessing, I’m considering the possibility that it was worth it.” He watched her expression as he spoke. “And we have no deadline for completion of our contractual agreement.”

  Claire didn’t know if she should be happy that he seemed impressed. She did think an estimated timeline would be nice, but she didn’t mention that either. Instead, she said, “Then apparently, the glitches have been resolved.” She felt she appeared respectful enough to avoid confrontation, but impertinent enough to demonstrate resilience. The light brown gleam around his irises, somehow told her he wouldn’t explode. She would learn to read him. They continued to eat.

  Claire let Anthony do most of the talking. He discussed more of the house rules. She could roam the house; however, in anticipation of more glitches, she was not permitted to go outside or consider leaving the property. His office and the corridor of his suite were off-limits. Her schedule would be hers for most of the day—unless told otherwise by him or Catherine. He didn’t work from home that often, but when he did she would be required to be nearby and available at all times. On days he went to the office, his only requirement would be that Claire be back in her suite by 5:00 PM to receive evening instructions. He was a very busy man and wouldn’t be home every evening to dine with her; however, on the nights he intended to be home, she would receive instructions for time of dinner, apparel, and other plans he may have. If he were in town, she would receive instructions as to his intentions regarding visiting her suite and the estimated time of his arrival. Claire verbally responded to all of his rules.

  The young lady with the food came back to clear the dishes and brought a carafe of coffee with two cups. Claire’s headache was improving with food, but more coffee would be helpful. Anthony told the young lady that he and Ms. Claire would be having coffee on the sun porch. She thanked him and left with the coffee. Claire didn’t remember a sun porch from the tour.

  Walking beside Anthony, they left the office. Located in the rear of the main section of the mansion, through the archways behind the grand stairs, and past the sitting room, they stepped down into a room made completely of glass. Claire felt faint as her eyes adjusted to the sunshine and she inhaled the fresh spring air. The room was decorated with brightly cushioned rattan furniture as well as tropical plants. Anthony sat on a loveseat and Claire on a chair. The sides of the room were opened to allow a cool fresh breeze. Her bogus composure disappeared as the sensation of the fresh spring air blew her hair and she listened to the faint sounds of nature.

  When she was a child, her dad, a policeman in Indianapolis, knew how much Claire loved the outdoors. Each spring he’d take her to one of the many state parks. They would spend the weekend together hiking, fishing, talking, and wandering. Her grandfather, his father, had been FBI. It was ingrained in them to be cautious. On those weekends he let Claire believe she had control over their plans and the direction of their adventures. Remembering their activities she smiled, knowing he did most of the steering and all of the protecting. The aroma of the fresh spring air brought the memories of those adventures soaring back to Claire’s consciousness.

  Just off to the side of the sun porch Claire saw a large pool. The water was covered with a large tarp, furniture was absent from the deck, and fountains were nonoperational. Though not in season, it definitely held potential for a wonderful place to spend her Claire time once the weather warmed.

  As they sat and sipped warm coffee with a cool breeze, Anthony informed Claire that he’d be leaving for three days on a business trip. His businesses were located all over and traveling was an important part of his work. He would leave later in the afternoon as his meetings were scheduled to begin very early in the morning. He did plan to be home Wednesday evening, and she would be informed if his plans changed.

  “Anthony, what do you do?”

  “Do you truly not know who I am?”

  It frightened her to bruise his ego, but erring on honesty was always best. “I’m sorry if I should, but I don’t. I thought at first that your name sounded familiar, Anthony Rawlings, but I’ve tried for over two weeks, and I admit I don’t know.”

  He leaned back on the loveseat and offered a brief autobiographical synopsis. He called himself a businessman who had built his fortune from nothing. The beginning of and bulk of his success came with the Internet; he and a friend created one of the first Internet search engines. He later bought out his friend’s part of the company, diversified his holdings, and has done pretty well.

  Claire chuckled. “You made your fortune, because this”—looking around the vast expanse of his mansion—“is more than doing pretty well, with the Internet? And the only technology in your home is in your office?”

  “Perhaps I want my home to be an oasis from my business life.”

  Claire pondered that for a moment. “I understand. My grandfather and my father were both in law enforcement. They saw things that people should never see. Sometimes my grandfather would be gone for months at a time doing undercover work. Actually, I remember a story from when I was young, where he was gone for around two years. My father was home each night, but anyways, my dad didn’t want home to be anything like work. I couldn’t even watch COPS on TV. I think it was like you were saying—an oasis.”

  Anthony went on to ask about Claire’s family. She said her grandparents passed away before she graduated high school. Her parents were tragically killed in a car accident during her junior year of college. She did have a sister and brother-in-law in New York State. Fleetingly, she wondered when she would talk to Emily again. With the breeze and the sound of birds, Claire casually went on talking. She asked Anthony about his family. As soon as her question left her lips she saw his eyes darken. She calmly added, “But if you don’t want to say anything, I don’t need to know.”

  Perhaps it was her quick observation or the realization that she could read him, but his eyes lightened. “My parents are also gone. It was an accident when I was twent
y-four. I have no siblings, and my grandparents are also gone.” The serenity returned as they both offered each other sincere condolences at their loss.

  Claire’s coffee was gone and she didn’t know what else to say or discuss. She could see Anthony watching her as she stared out to the pool area. Beyond the pool was the backyard. The corner of it could be seen from her room but not the pool or porch. Past the yard were trees. From the second story she knew they went on forever, but from this vantage, they created a gray veil surrounding the yard. Soon little starts of green would transform the bleak veil into a colorful curtain. Claire really enjoyed spring.

  Anthony excused himself, saying he needed to prepare for his trip, and informed Claire she was welcome to stay on the porch or go elsewhere in the house. He would look for her before he left. He smiled what appeared to be a real smile. “I’m pleased that the glitches have been resolved. I have plans for our agreement.”

  The smile seemed right, the unspoken portion of his statement made Claire shiver. After he left, she looked down at her arm and saw the goose bumps that rubbed her sleeves. She told herself they were caused by the breeze.

  Claire returned to her suite recognizing that with the ability to roam she didn’t feel the need. Besides, she was tired. Sleeping late can do that to a person; however, her gut told her yesterday’s glitches were more likely the cause of her fatigue and her aching body. She contemplated a nice long bath in her beautiful garden tub as she entered her room.

  On the bed, laid out so she could see each one, were multiple bathing suits: one-piece suits like she wore in high school swim class and bikinis that would be perfect for the sun. She liked the styles but wondered if they would fit. Of course, they would, hadn’t everything else? She had to wonder how a promise made Saturday morning could be so quickly fulfilled on a Sunday, seemingly far away from anywhere.