12. Close encounter

This time they stopped by a hotel in the middle of a larger village. Sandrine was not paying much attention to what was going on. Together they walked into the building. She wondered a bit about the behaviour of the guy handing out the key, but she gave it no further thought. Pick talked a moment with him and then they went up to their room. Sandrine sat down in one of the chairs. The quality of the room was not to good, but at least nothing was crawling over the floor.

Van Cleaf went to the small freezer and took out the small "welcome-bottle". The drink burned in his throat and that was exactly what he needed right now. As far as he noticed he was able to move his shoulder without any restrictions. He thought it was better to be cleaned, before it got infected. The hotelkeeper was nice enough to ask, if he could bring him anything to take care of the matter.

So a few minutes later a girl knocked at the door an gave him a packet including towels, something to disinfect the wound and some special adhesive plasters. The price was also acceptable. He locked the door and went to the bathroom. He removed his shirt and took a closer look on the wound. The bleeding had stopped, but still a lot of the sand from back there was still in the wound.

Sandrine was not sure why she had looked at him, but as she saw that he had been shot, the sinister feeling was gone. The girl felt even a bit odd for not noticing this earlier. Somehow she felt responsible for it. Of course - if they had left her alone all this would not have happened, but her thoughts did not lead in that direction. As she saw that he was trying to reach the wound on his back, she stepped behind him.

He turned his head and looked at her suspiciously.

"It's better I do this, at least I can see what I'm doing."

Pick smiled and handed her the pads over. Sandrine was not sure weather this had been a good idea, nonetheless she began to clean the wound on his back carefully. Although the pad was between her and his skin an undeniable tension ran through her fingertips.

The antiseptic fluid burned in the open wound thus sending small but sharp waves of pain through his shoulder. It was quite enjoyable. Not because Van Cleaf liked to feel pain - he could tolerate it. It was about the adrenalin flowing through his veins combined with the pleasant touch of the girl's hands. After all not many girls used to stay that close to him. Those few behaved slightly different - screaming, scratching and all that useless stuff.

Being finished with the wound on his back she stepped in front of him. For a moment she looked in his eyes and hesitated. The she concentrated on his other wounds. Van Cleaf was even more surprised and enthralled. The girl was attractive. Standing in front of him this was impossible to ignore. He just had to look down to see deep into her décolleté. He bet that her skin was as soft as her touch.

Pick wondered what would happen if he touched her right now - besides Fouchon killing him. Pick knew to well what would happen if he got a hold on her in this situation. While pressing his hands against his hips, his mind considered the possibilities. Whether it was to find an argument for leaving her or not, he was not so sure. His longing for the girl had become even stronger than he had imagined. Was that about her or about the long time he had spend with her.

"That should do it", she told him after pressing the plaster on his wound.

Pick watched her throwing the pads into the trash-bin behind her and then walking past him. Without really intending to, he grabbed her wrist. This was what he wanted - no matter the consequences. He pulled her closer and searched her face for the answer he had wanted from the beginning. Like he had expected she looked scared, but nonetheless stayed calm. She glanced back and said with a firm voice: "Let go off me."

It was the first time it happened to him that a woman in her situation issued such a clear demand. In a few minutes he would see if Sandrine continued her steady behaviour. He wrapped his free arm around her and grabbed her neck. There was no way for her to escape his kiss. She struggled a bit, but soon realised that it was useless.

Van Cleaf barely recognised Sandrine's motions. He felt like burning his lips upon kissing her. He liked that and hungry his lips went down her neck. Pick moved her arm to his back and lowered his arm to press her waist against his body. He wanted to have her as close by his side as possible.

Sandrine had feared this moment and she was even more scared than she had imagined. As she felt his mouth moving over her body she had only one thought in her mind.

"Stop it - please," her voice almost faltered.

Suddenly Van Cleaf looked deep into her eyes. She closed hers, but what she had seen in those three seconds was enough. Cold and cruel like always and yet she noticed the burning hunger behind this.

"Nothing you say or do will stop me", he said slowly observing her reaction. She breathed heavily in and out, but besides that she stood still. He felt her breasts pressing against his chest. Then with a quick movement he took her and carried her into the living room. After placing her on the bed, Pick crawled on top of her.

Sandrine found herself lying under him - trapped, also there was no actual contact between them. Until his hands grabbed the waistband of her jeans. Still his eyes were fixed on her face. He felt that Sandrine was not going to take it well. As he saw that she was going to say something with her eyes shimmering, Pick knew that he did not want her to break.

"Don't beg", the words came out fast and his voice was hard and cold. Almost instantly he realised that he only made it worse. Van Cleaf saw the horrified look in her face and prepared himself to stop any silly counter strike she might try. However nothing happened. Then with weak anger hidden behind the helpless tone of her voice, the girl asked him: "Isn't that want you want?"

Sandrine felt like going mad. Whenever he touched her skin a strange sensation run through her body. She wanted it to stop. Her mind knew what was taking place, but she could not understand it. Most of all she wondered why it happened now.

First Sandrine thought it was because she had been to careful while cleaning his wounds. In the end her stepfather might have been right about men taking kind gestures for an invitation. Then she had the impression it was simply his nature showing her that after all she was just something to play with. Until his next answer proved her wrong again.

"Not from you", his voice sounded bitter. He was not good in human relationships, whatever he told her would not change anything. Whatever relationship had developed during their voyage, he already had destroyed it. This vexed him, but he told himself that now he could as well go on and enjoy raping her. After all he had always enjoyed any act of violence and especially the fear and agony of his victims. Also he felt less enthusiastic - if he tried hard he would enjoy this, too.

Most of all because this time his head would roll for sure and maybe he deserved it. If he killed her, Fouchon would finish him anyway and even if he escaped before Sandrine trusted her father enough to tell - his friend would find him. So he removed her shorts. Sandrine pressed her legs together and put her hands protecting before her breasts. A clear sign that she was about to collapse.

Undressing himself he thought about how he could fasten it up. He believed that the sooner she behaved like the others, the easier he could go on and treat her properly. A swift attack of his tore her blouse apart and the girl found her hands draped behind her head. Sandrine knew that her nerves could not stand anymore. There had to be something that could stop him. "Didn't you say he wanted me unharmed?"

His laughter sounded cruel and mocking. Then he bend down. While he ripped her slip away he was whispering into her ear. "In case it makes you feel better, he for sure will kill me, if you tell him." Then he leaned back and chuckled as he saw her unbelieving expression.

Did she really hear right or was this part of his mocking? His hands started wandering over her body. Thus she found it difficult to think straight ahead. It seemed like his hands were all over her. All kind of thoughts flashed through her mind.

'At least fight - even if it is no good - Why I am so scared - I should have left him alone - Would he risk his own death ... - Tell him if he stops now you won't tell anything - He must know that I won't lie - Why should he - 'cause I don't want him dead.'

She looked at him and gained a triumphing and cruel smile. "You are sure you want me to stop?"

Van Cleaf expected that this mocking would break through her shell and his words obviously had struck the right point. Tears were running form her closed lids and the girl's face was a mask of her inner despair.

'I should want him dead - He deserves it - Asking this -of course I want him to stop', Sandrine thought. She should tell him this again and again, but she could not. It was not that she thought it was useless or that she lacked the strength. She knew it was a lie. If she was underneath afraid of him, it did not matter. Most of all she was afraid of herself and also a bit ashamed. Upon realizing this she could not stop her tears.

Pick was just about to pay closer attention to the lower part of her body as he saw in the blink of an eye that she was looking at him. "No," an almost silent whisper came from her. He thought he had got it wrong, but then he felt her body relaxing. She wrapped her arms around him. Suspicious as he was, he thought she intended to scratch, but he only felt her soft fingertips wandering gently over his back.

Van Cleaf had no idea what was going on, but he felt his blood moving. The desire for her became even painful. This was what he had wanted and for some strange reason she seemed to want it, too. Yet he could see that she was scared and her body trembled a bit. He took her face in his hands, but there were no answers to his questions. His hands moved down her neck over her breasts until they reached her legs. He spread them which caused Sandrine to turn her head and close her eyes. Still her hands were pressed against his back. He moved inside her.

The sudden pain - also expected - caused Sandrine to announce a short gasp. She pressed her fingers into Pick's back - carefully avoiding to hurt him by touching the wound. This was no time to think about right or wrong. Only once she had felt all her senses - only then she had been too afraid to enjoy it. Now as he embraced her and pulled her closer to him, there was nothing she feared anymore.

Van Cleaf could not believe that it felt that good to have her. It was not that he never had a virgin before, but it was the first time one gave herself completely up to him. She was holding onto him and he began to feel more than delighted in his role as her protector.

Sleeping with Sandrine was different from any sexual encounter he had before. He had never cared about any woman he had slept with. Maybe it was the way she was responding to him. Even the women who had been willing to sleep with him had always fought against him in some sort - trying to get their own fun out of it.

The girl was inexperienced and thus very attending to his movements. However, he realised that he was trying to make this pleasant for her. Not really something he had much experience with, but he was sure that Sandrine's moaning - both silent and loud - was a good sign.

Sandrine was kind of overwhelmed. It felt good and odd, but she was sure she liked it. At least as long as it lasted. After Pick rolled from her and slowly her breath and heart beat returned to a normal rate, she felt awful. Sandrine did not want to look at or talk to Pick. After he left for the bathroom, she looked down at the bed. She had felt that the linen was wet, but how much of it was red disturbed her.

Pick felt her withdrawing after the act. He wondered whether this was a normal behaviour. He decided it was better to leave her alone. Anyway he was neither in the mood nor had the intention to talk. Thus he left for the bathroom.

Also feeling uncomfortable it took her some time to get up. Before she could think about covering her nakedness, Pick came back into their room. She hushed into the bath and locked herself in. After some time she had a long shower.

As she came back into the room the light was out. She did not believe that he was asleep, but it would have made no difference - she had not the feeling that there was any place to go for her. Then she realised that he was lying in the other bed. She stood on the threshold and considered the possibilities. Finally she switched the light in the bathroom off and walked over to him. A few seconds she stood there, but it did not mattered anyway.

Pick was surprised as she crawled beside him, but he took it as a good omen for the length of his life time.