My bed definatly needs replacing. Frowning, I move my hand around under my back, feeling for what spring has managed to worm its way up through the top of my mattress this time. I open my eyes to a purple black blanket with fuzzy edges and dotted with lights glowing like those Light Brights I used to play with as a kid. Groaning, I raise myself up on my elbows and take a glance at my surroundings, the blanket righting itself along with the world and rendering itself recognizable as the sky, its fuzzy edges the trees ringing a clearing. I smirk. And those Light Brights? They're not some child's toys hanging above me, they're the stars, and for once in my life I have a view of them not made less bright by the lights on the doorstep of The City That Never Sleeps. The sight of them takes my breath away. And then I remember who I am, where I come from, and just how strange it is to be propped up on my elbows in the middle of the night in a forest. Where am I? The question hovers in my mind, like a fly buzzing around a choice piece of left over meat, but I shy away from it. After all, there are just far too many stories nowadays about women being abducted from their homes, and then being raped/killed/tortured, or all of the above. Still, shouldn't I remember my abductor? Shouldn't I remember him, it had to be a him, breaking in, knocking me over the head, yelling "Boo!", something instead of this yawning hole of black stuck smack dab in the middle of my memory of last night, right after I had curled up in the plush red armchair in my room with my favorite book, The Black Jewels Trilogy, and right before I woke up here, with a head that felt like it was more full than it had any right to be, and a memory strangely empty. Really though, it doesn't matter now. Obviously I have been abducted from my home, while my parents have been out, and now my attacker had left me here, probably assuming I would be unconscious while he was gone, and he would come back with enough implements of torture to satisfy a room full of sadomasochists and ill intent. I let that image play in my head a moment before a thought crosses my mind, it's chilly prospect blowing the question of my whereabouts out altogether. What if he had already used me for whatever purpose he had taken me, and had now left me for dead. What if, when I looked down at my body, it would only be a heap of mangled, bloody flesh, my body so full of adrenaline, or, I shudder, so near to death that I can't feel the pain. As if to state the validity of this thought, I shiver as a breeze picks up and plays across my skin, and I can feel it on every corner of my body, without the protection of clothes. But my body feels whole, and I can even wriggle my toes. Is this real, or are the things I'm feeling simply the phantom limbs of the decapitated? I sigh, and the sound mingles with my little betraying breeze now playing in the treetops. There is really only one way to find out. And if I really am a mangled, bloody, pulpy mess, at least I'll only have, tops, and hour to contemplate my death, and that entirely pain free. Oddly enough, that though comforts me and I pluck up the courage to look at my self. Everything is where it should be, my legs are whole and what's more, there is no blood to speak of. Despite this I still feel mildly uncomfortable. My clothe less state causes my cheeks to burn, and I instinctlvely look around to make sure that I am alone. Stupid, I chide myself. The only person likely to see me would be my abductor, and if he shows up, I'll have bigger fish to fry. So thinking I stand up and take another look around me, this time with escape in mind. What if he came back? I couldn't very well be lying here, still alive and naked when and if he did. That would be stupid. So slowly I turn a circle, trying to find the best-looking direction to go in. This whole situation is so insane that I suppress a giggle. What does it matter which way I go? I have absolutely no idea where in the world I am, and so, sniggering to myself, I lick my forefinger and hold it up as I've seen people do in the movies, and all I achieve is a cold finger as I realize that I have no idea if this means there is wind, and if so where it's coming from. Shaking my head against a manic urge to laugh, I turn toward on of the walls of trees surrounding me, and feel my heart stop. Right in front of me, leaning against a tree some twenty feet in front of me, is a man wearing the biggest smirk I think I've ever seen. His arms are leanly muscled, his sturdy looking slacks black in the moonlight, as are his boots. Everything else is gilded silver, and there is something about the languid way that he leans there, utterly at his ease, that reminds me irresistibly of a feline. The fur trees above him shadowed the rest of his body, from his shoulders up, and all I could see of his face were his teeth, furthering my impression of some wild cat.
My first instinct is to cover myself, but an image of myself from his point of view flashes across my mind, grabbing vainly at body parts that I have no hope of covering, and I still my hands. Besides I reason, with the part of my brain that hasn't frozen with horror, he has already seen everything there is to see, why cover up now? In a voice that is surprisingly steady, considering the pandemonium going on in my brain, I manage, "Who are you, and what do you want?"
The grin widens, and in a voice that the only word to describe is caressing, he answers me, "I think the valid question is, my lady, who are you, and what are you doing here? You see, I own this land, and while the sight before me isn't exactly unpleasant, I have to wonder what you're doing here, naked, in the middle of my forest."
I stand here, shivering, from the cold as well as the shock of my whole situation, utterly unable to comment back. The confusion in my head has grown deafening, and only one thought surfaces: So he isn't my attacker?
After an uncomfortable silence, on my part, since he seems to be totally at ease, he says, as if trying to help me figure out just exactly what I am doing here, nude, in the middle of the woods, "You aren't near a lake, so you couldn't have been swimming, as unlikely as that would be this far away from the Hall, so…were you here with a lover? Did you wake to find him gone?"
Despite the fact that he said this with total dispassion, I am stung! How dare he imply that I had been left here by some man, naked and alone! And in the woods no less!
"I'm afraid not", I say in the coldest voice I can muster. "I have about as much idea what I'm doing here as you do. If you want the truth, I woke up here, naked and alone in your forest, and my last memory was of reading my book in my house, which isn't near any woods. And I was clothed."
In a sort of choked voice-that rendered it, however, no less appealing-he says "Ahh, well then." I thin that it is all he can manage without falling into a fit of laughter. I suppose I do look a bit comical, standing here, with not a stitch on, arms crossed and glaring daggers at the man in the shadows. Not that I think I'll be laughing any time soon, but I can at least appreciate his humorous mood. With a large sigh, I say "So mister, are you going to stand there grinning like an idiot all night, or are you going to help me out here? Guys don't really need shirts, and it's really cold out. Do you think I could borrow your shirt? I promise I'll give it back, if you can take me to the…the Hall did you say?"
I waited, and his body language seems to suggest thoughtfulness, though I still can't see his face. After a moment he says, "Well, you see you have put me at a disadvantage." I snorted. Who talks like that anymore? Without appearing to notice, he went on, "As you said it is cold, and without my shirt I'll be at nature's mercy." I could see where this was going, and a cold trickle of fear went down my spine. "So", he finishes, "it will cost you." My whole body is cold now, and images of me at his mercy root me to the ground like a deer in headlights. He chooses this moment to advance on me from the trees, and I see his face for the first time, and had I not been scared shitless, it would have knocked the breath out of me. He was movie star handsome, with a rough edge to his face that suggested he hadn't shaved in a while. His hair was a little wild, and his large, deep-set eyes were set under thick winged brows. His nose, roman and long, was just above a mouth that is possibly the most sensual mouth I have ever seen, even on a woman. But there is a hardness about him, a sardonic quirk to his mouth, a lifelessness about his eyes that suggests him to be just the tiniest bit ruthless. I feel my fear take a deeper hold on me. About two feet away from me, he stops, and he smiles, and suddenly my fear of him is lessened just the tiniest fraction. "A kiss will buy you my shirt, and your warmth." To his huge amusement, I splutter. A kiss? This is not at all what I expected, and a wave of relief shudders through me so that I think I might faint. And I am not a big fainter. I think he sees this, because his expression quickly turns to one of concern. I give a shaky laugh. "Alright then." I say, as if I make these kinds of deals with strange, handsome men all the time, and I extend my hand. "Shake on it." With a bark of surprised laughter, he grips my hand. "It's a deal.," he says, and it's my turn to laugh at the absurdity of it all. I take a deep breath, square my shoulder and walk up to him. It can't be that hard. Dumb blondes do this practically from birth don't they? I can do this. No problem. Swiftly, without thinking, I close the last distance between us, and peck him swiftly on the cheek. Ha, I think. I never said I would kiss him on the mouth. Internally congratulating myself on a con well done, I almost miss his appreciating glance. "Hmmm, "he says with a rueful smile. "Well done. But you see, even though I realize that I didn't specify what kind of kiss this was to be, I still have my shirt. And you are still, well, you still don't have one. And in light of that fact, I think I can be dishonorable, and say that I won't give you this shirt until I am well pleased with your efforts." His smile is unashamed as I fume. I can't do this. I have no experience, and yet I can't let him know that. I won't hear the end of it. Is a shirt really worth this sort of humiliation? Somehow, the thought of walking into the Hall-whatever that was- in nothing but my birthday suit is looking more and more appealing.
Seeing my hesitation, he smiles, "What's wrong?" he laughs. "Not good looking enough for you?" I shake my head, not wanting to tell a stranger that I have never done this, and that kissing a total stranger, with the added humiliation of being naked, is just the teensiest bit daunting. Seeing however, that he expects an answer, I mumble, "I've never exactly done this before." And am greeted, as I thought I would be, with a low rumbling laugh that causes my head to droop, and my cheeks to burn. But when I look up, it's to see a fleetingly tender expression touch his face, replaced by a mischievous one so fast that I wonder if I saw it at all. "Well, since this is your first one, I suppose I'll show you how it's done." And with no further ado he gently slides his hands underneath my hair, and I shiver a little, though this time not from the cold. Leaning down, he gently brushes his lips over my eyelids-that have, of their own volition, slid closed-, and then they drift over my cheeks, bringing in their wake a fiery sensation that I feel in every fiber of my body. Finally they come to rest on my lips, and somehow, almost against my will, I am kissing back, matching everything he does tit for tat. He pulls back, barely breathing hard, while I feel like I just ran the hundred-meter dash, and says in a superior tone, "And that, is how it's done. Now it's your turn." I reach up and tentatively wrap my arms around his neck, dragging my nails slightly against his skin, to curl my fingers in his hair, before I bring my lips to his. Determined to make him breathe as heavily as I was, I press myself against him, and bite his bottom lip hard, causing him to gasp. I take this opportunity to deepen our kiss, and he groans into my mouth as I slide my tongue over his. One of his arms wrap around my waist while the other digs into my hair, and pulls my head back as he kisses down my neck. A moan escapes my throat as his lips find mine once more, and I pull away long enough to whisper throatily into his ear, "Are you pleased with my efforts yet?" He pulls away from me, and disentangles me from his arms. Eyeing me warily, he says, "I thought that was your first kiss."
Utterly bewildered, I reply, "It was." Shaking his head, he smiles ruefully, and begins unbuttoning his shirt. "Could have fooled me." Grinning, he pulls his shirt off and hands it to me, and I gratefully pull it on and begin doing up the buttons, glad to have something to do besides stand there and ache to begin our kiss again. I had had no idea what I was missing. My task done, I look up to find him looking at me with an amused expression on his face. "So my little vixen, what's your name?" he asks me, and startled at the normalcy of the question, it takes me a moment to remember the correct answer to his question. Before his amusement can deepen any more, I answer, "Alice. And you?" My stranger was already heading toward the clearing's edge, and he looked back at me over his shoulder to answer, "Satan. Satan SaDiablo the third, to be precise. Pleasure."