Chapter 9

As Janie washed the supper dishes, she was as silent as she had been earlier in the day. He made various attempts to get her into a conversation, without success until finally she seemed to relax.

"Do you like the radio?" he asked.

She answered without turning from the sink. "It's nice. A lot better than the one I had."

"Is there anything else I can get for you?"

She turned to face him. "Ellen said you have a lot of books. Could I borrow something to read?"

"Sure."

During the brief interval that she turned toward him, he saw there was no fear in her face.

Emma had been the most frightened. When he saw her earlier in the day she still appeared frightened. Janie had also been frightened when he first kidnapped them-less frightened than Emma, but more than Ellen and Irene. Now there was no fear in her-at least temporarily. She had adjusted.

She finished drying the dishes. When they were in the bedroom, while she looked through the shelves of books, he stood so close to her he could smell the flower-like fragrance of her perfume. Her breasts were small round bulges against her pink blouse. He glanced down over the short length of her body to the smooth curving lengths of her legs and she turned toward him while he was still staring at her legs.

As if she could read his thoughts, her face paled. Her eyes widened, her gaze seemed to fasten on the bed in a wild horror. She had selected two books and, when she turned toward him again, the books slid from her fingers to the floor. She seemed not to notice.

"You-you won't hurt me, will you?" Her voice was small and frightened, a small girl's voice, pleading.

"I won't hurt you." He moved closer to her. It would be easy now, he realized. She expected it. And she was too frightened to fight.

He saw her falling and rushed to catch her, but she struck the floor before he could reach her. When he carried her to the bed, he noticed the bruise on her forehead.

Gently he laid her on the bed and sat beside her. He checked her pulse, placed the gun on the floor and studied her.

The brown eyes were covered now. The small round breasts rose and fell in an irregular pattern against the pink blouse as if she were asleep and having a nightmare. She had a round, sweet face, a cute, pointed, pixy nose.

Her mouth was small, her lips without lipstick were pale and tender. He saw the even rows of small white teeth, the moistness of her mouth, the pink tip of a tongue. Her legs were spread in a wide V, her skirt resting between them, outlining clearly the contours of her loins.

He began to feel sweaty and a hot excitement burst in his loins. It would be so easy ... so damned easy! Her legs were short and soft and smooth and curving. It would be so easy to take off his pants, pull up her skirt, jerk off her panties and plunge into her while she was still unconscious. So damned easy...!

If he were quick enough, he could do it before she could struggle. When she regained consciousness it would all be over....

He looked at her arms. They were the arms of a girl, without the length and strength of Ellen's arms. They had never done much work, and the hands were like the soft hands of a child....

The brown eyes were suddenly wide, fluttering, then staring at him.

"W-What happened?"

"You fainted."

She moaned and one small hand flew to her forehead. She felt the bruise and moaned again. Her lips began to quiver, her eyes grew moist, suddenly there were tears trickling down the smoothness of her cheeks.

He lowered his head and pressed his lips against the tender, quivering mouth. For a moment her lips were still as if in surprise at the kiss and he tasted the warm sweet softness of her mouth. He took the gun from the floor and stepped away from the bed. "Okay. Let's go."....

After he locked Janie in the cellar, he went to the kitchen and poured a glass of whisky. He sipped the whisky and stared at a point in space.

He was a hell of a kidnapper and a hell of a rapist. He'd had the golden opportunity-a young virgin stretched across his bed, unconscious, helpless.

What had he done? He'd kissed her! What the hell was the matter with him? Did he expect Janie to ask him to screw her?

He finished the glass of whisky and realized the hot excitement had not left his loins. It would stay there until he relieved it and right now the easiest way to relieve it would be Ellen

When he brought her out of the cellar, when he closed the storage room door, she turned and smiled at him.

"Romeo," she said.

"She told you?"

"She told us. She couldn't understand why you didn't rape her."

He had intended to take Ellen directly to his bedroom, to make love to her and then return her to the cellar. Now he said, "Let's go to the kitchen."

When they reached it, Ellen saw the bottle of whisky and the glass on the table. Without hesitation she went to the refrigerator and got a bottle of Coca Cola, then went to the cabinet for another glass. She sat at the table across from him and poured some of the Coca Cola into her glass.

He placed the gun on his lap and watched her as he mixed her drink. He reminded himself he would have to be careful with her, that there was no guarantee that she wouldn't try to escape. She had been friendly, the only one of the four that was friendly, but it could be an elaborate act to make him become careless. She could be waiting for a chance....

"All right, Romeo. What happened?"

He shrugged. "She's a kid."

"But you wanted her, didn't you?"

He poured another glass of whisky. "I wanted her. I changed my mind."

"You changed your mind because you decided she's too young?"

"She's just a kid. She's so damned young!"

"She's not too young."

He looked up at her. Something had happened. There was a partially hidden meaning behind her words and he wasn't sure he had read it exactly right.

He said carefully, "You sound like you're sorry I didn't rape her."

"I didn't say that."

"You're sure as hell implying it."

She sipped her drink. Her dark eyes flashed at him. "Maybe I am implying it. You're too obvious, Stan. You wanted Janie. She fainted and you didn't have the nerve to rape her. You take her back to the cellar. Then you have a drink and then you come and get me. You're too goddamned obvious."

"You had the hots for Janie but you didn't have the guts to go through with it. So then you come and get old faithful Ellen. You know you can screw me and get rid of your hots. You know I won't fight or give you any trouble. Why me? If you need one of us, why don't you take Irene or Emma for a change? Why is it always me?"

She gulped the rest of her drink. She poured another one, this time with less Coca Cola. She gulped it and coughed. They sat in silence. He watched her but she stared at her glass and did not look at him.

"Why you?" he repeated. "Maybe I came and got you instead of Irene or Emma because I like you better than Irene or Emma."

"You like me better because you know I won't fight you?"

"It isn't that simple." He knew it wasn't that simple. He had always felt attracted toward her-more toward her than any of the others. She was tall and strong but when she was in his arms, when he made love to her, she was feminine and yielding, soft and warm. In her love-making she was uninhibited, fiery. She was what he had always wanted in a woman.

She studied him, her dark eyes narrowing. Slowly-her eyes seemed to relax and the firm lines around her mouth softened. She seemed to go limp all over, to settle in the chair. "I guess you're right," she said softly. "It isn't simple. I like you. I don't know why I do, but I do."

He gulped his glass of whisky. It burned his throat and when it hit his stomach it seemed to explode there.

She leaned over the table, resting her weight on her elbows. Her breasts strained against her blouse and he could see the outline of her hardened nipples.

"I think I drank too fast," she said. "I feel ... almost drunk. Can a person get drunk that fast?" Her voice was husky and her dark eyes were heavy-lidded. "You're right, Stan. I won't fight. I know what you want and I'm willing to give it. Why shouldn't I?"

She unbuttoned her blouse and her breasts fell free-two pink-tipped pendulums of flesh. She placed his hand against one of her breasts and held it there. While he massaged her breasts and felt the nipples grow still harder, she rocked back and forth in the chair.

She was drunk. The whisky had hit her faster than he'd expected.

He watched as she shoved her chair away from the table and shrugged her blouse from her shoulders. When she rose from the chair, she turned her back to him, but from her movements he knew she was raising her skirt in front and taking off her panties. In a few moments she lowered her skirt and he saw her panties sliding down her legs to the floor. She stepped out of them.

"Have you ... ever ... done ... it ... this way?" She raised her skirt above her hips and sat on the edge of the table. She sat on the far side, with her back toward him. He put the Luger on the floor. He walked around the table, unbuckling his belt as he walked. When he stood in front of her, she helped him with his clothes and laughed. When he was ready, she spread her legs and raised her arms.

He walked to her and into moist enveloping flesh. Her thighs and knees clamped against him. She found a slight resting place for her heels in the hollows of his knees and her arms pressed against his back. In a few moments, as if not satisfied, as if wanting to feel his naked body, she slid her hands up beneath his shirt.

Her fingertips traced a pattern across his back while he made love to her. She rocked, grunting with her efforts. Her eyes were glazed and as they worked at the task of the rhythm of their half-naked bodies, he smelled the acrid odor of her sweat.

When she leaned suddenly against him, he felt the tremors rippling through her body-tremors that shook in the soft mounds of her breasts, that quivered in the clamp of her thighs and knees. A gasp was torn from her lips and in a few seconds he moved with a speed that blurred his senses. A hot explosion engulfed him.