Forbidden Sensations: A Dark Romance Savannah Rose (readnow TXT) 📖

I had to get the hell out of here. But… I couldn't move. Not a twitch, not a muscle. I could barely struggle, let alone get my ass up and out of this chair.

My body must be broken. I'd hit my head earlier – I didn't remember where or how – is there such a thing as delayed paralysis?

The knife's tip pressed harder against my skin. I wasn’t bleeding yet, but it wouldn’t take much more until I was.

I tried to call out. Cry for help, demand someone take action!

My voice wasn't working, either. Oh, it was there, but couldn't make its way past my lips. There was a barrier. Some kind of, what, a napkin?

You'll regret this, Shanna. You picked the wrong guy to fuck with, I thought, as the light started to come back on in the dining room.

Too much light, though. It was too bright, and when I opened my eyes, it was as if someone was aiming the sun directly into my face. The light hurt, it hurt so much, and when I tried to bring my hands to my eyelids to rub the hurt away, I couldn't.

Was I… was I awake? Dreaming that I wasn't asleep...?

I'd had those dreams before, the kind that happen between varying states of consciousness and can't decide which plane they want to be on, but this was different. Somehow different. Nocturnal paralysis, maybe? I'd read about that, it never happened to me, but there's a first time for everything, I guess, and good fucking god why did my head feel like it was encased in paper mache?

Assessment. I must assess the situation, but it was so hard to think… and if I was awake, why was there still that prick of pain on my chest?

Why was there still a napkin on my face? No, in my mouth. Was I eating napkins in my dream?

C'mon, Petersen. For the love of fuck. Get to the bottom of this, because this is absolute bullshit.

I forced my eyes open. Had to keep them at a squint, because the sun was a beacon of anguish. If only I could do the same with my ears.

Waves crashed and rolled and crashed against the shore. Each time they hit, cannonballs fired in my brain. There was a salty taste in my mouth, there was something in my mouth, and I had to pull it out.

My arms were pinned behind me.

That's why I couldn't move.

On the one hand, that was good. I wasn't paralyzed. On the other, that was totally fucked, because why in the shit would I be tied to a… a palm tree?

Oh, mother fucking ass. The boat. The Insatiable. There was a shipwreck. That crazy bitch ran us aground, and –

– and the knife point burrowed further into my flesh.

“Roofy hangover's a bitch, isn't it?” Sofia said. Her voice was flat. Emotionless. She was looking at my chest, her knife laid against it. That was one motherfucker of a knife. A miniature machete. “You've been out for a while. What did you dream about?”

I jerked my arms, or attempted to. A familiar jingling came from behind the tree. I wasn't tied. I was cuffed.

“Rohypnol gives you weird fucking dreams. I didn't know that, until recently,” she said, and took the knife away. She sliced off a small piece of fish, and took a bite. That explained Shanna's dream trout.

An insane reality that couldn't be real at all started getting clearer and clearer. She set her plate to the side, and repositioned her blade against me.

“I could cut the fuck out you right now, Maddy. Tell me why I shouldn't.”

I can't talk, god damn it.

“Oh, that's right. You've got a gag in your mouth. Oops, it makes speaking really difficult,” she chuckled. “Duh,” she said, rolling her eyes and chuckling at her own statement to the obvious.

She adjusted herself, kneeling beside me, and started tracing patterns against my skin. The tip of the blade was warm, and slithered from my collarbone, to my abdomen, gradually making its way to my groin.

Oh, son of a….

I was naked.

Naked?

How the fuck did that happen?

How'd she get my clothes off?

I glanced to the side. There they were, folded neatly in a pile beside her supplies. Along with my shaving kit. My suitcase, too.

I looked back to her, my face asking a thousand questions that my voice could not. As for the knife, it was now nestled in the crease of my thigh. One wrong move, one wince, and –

Sofia leaned close to me. Not too close, just enough so that I could smell her sunscreen and get a slight whiff of coconuts. I didn't like coconuts, but they were food, and my stomach growled at the thought. I was starving.

A sneer curled her lip upwards.

“There are so many directions we could go here, Maddy,” she said, still sneering, drawing the tip of the blade closer to my scrotum. “But I'm going to take those gut gurgles to mean you're hungry? How about thirsty? Are you thirsty, too? Probably hella thirsty. Like, 'kill me now if I can't have something to drink' thirsty. Know how I know?”

The knife was directly beneath my balls, lifting them ever so slightly.

“I know because that's what roofies do to you. Your mouth feels like a big bag of cotton balls after you wake up, after you've been raped, or whatever. You use those funny little pills to rape girls, Maddy?”

I shook my head. I’ve never once used them to get laid. Never needed to. Sofia was the first, and looking at my situation right now...? She would be the absolute god damn fucking last.

“You think I believe you? That's hysterical.”

She jerked her arm at the shoulder. Every nerve in my body locked. I went rigid, expecting the burn, the warm rush of blood to spew from my ball sack.

She wanted to castrate me, right? Isn't that what all women