Sanctuary

are.”
    He grew hard as they opened, dulled with pain and confusion. “Beautiful, just beautiful. Look here, look right here now. That’s the way, baby. Focus.”
    Delighted, he captured understanding and fear. He set the camera down as she began to stir. Her movement would blur the shot, and he didn’t have any backup film of faster speed. Still smiling, he picked up the gun he’d laid on his neatly folded jeans. And showed it to her.
    “Now, I don’t want you to move. I want you to stay still, really still, and do everything I tell you. The last thing I want to do is use this. Now you understand that, don’t you?”
    Tears began to swim in her eyes, then leak out. But she nodded. Terror bubbled in her brain, and though she tried to remain motionless, shudders racked her.
    “I’m just going to take your picture. We’re having a photo shoot. You’re not afraid of having your picture taken, a pretty woman like you.”
    He exchanged gun for camera and smiled winningly. “Now here’s what I want you to do. Bend your knees. Come on now, that’s the way, and move them over to your left side. You’ve got a lovely body. Why don’t we show it off to its best advantage?”
    She did what he asked, her eyes wheeling over to stare at the gun. The chrome glinted and shone. He just wanted pictures, she told herself, as her breath hitched and shuddered. He would leave her alone then. He’d go away. He wouldn’t hurt her.
    Terror bulged in her eyes, turned her skin milky white and had him throbbing viciously. His hands began to tremble, signaling him that he could no longer wait for the next stage.
    His heart thudded in his head as he carefully set his camera down on his shirt. Very gently he put a hand on her throat and looked deeply into her eyes.
    “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “And you’re helpless. You know that, don’t you? There’s nothing you can do. I’m in control. I have all the power. Don’t I?”
    She jerked her head down in a nod, small sobs muffling against the silk. When his hand closed over her breast and squeezed, she moaned out pleas and tossed her head wildly. Her heels dug into the sand as she tried to escape.
    He straddled her. “It won’t do you any good.” He shuddered as she bucked and twisted under him. “The more fight you put up, the better I like it. Try to scream.” He squeezed her breasts again, then bent down to bite at them. “Scream, goddamn it. Scream.”
    A harsh keening sound ripped out of her, burned her throat. Desperate, she fought against the gag, struggled to use her teeth, her tongue, her lips to drag it aside.
    He pried her thighs apart, deliberately bruising the flesh. And thought of Jo as he raped her. Thought of Jo Ellen’s long legs. Jo Ellen’s sexy mouth. Jo Ellen’s heavy-lidded blue eyes, while he pounded himself with sweaty violence into her substitute.
    The orgasm was towering, brought tears of surprise and triumph to his eyes. So much better than the last one, he realized, and absently closed a hand over her throat, pressing down only until she stopped fighting.
    He’d chosen well this time, he thought, as the climax eased off into sweetness. He’d found his practice angel. The breeze cooled his damp skin when he rose for the camera.
    He remembered how the process had been outlined in his journal and reminded himself not merely to duplicate but to improve.
    “I may rape you again, I may not.” He smiled, attractive creases forming around his mouth and eyes. “I may hurt you, I may not. It all depends on how you behave. Now you just lie there, angel, and think about that.”
    Satisfied that she was quiescent for a while, he changed lenses. Her pupils were enormous black moons with only a sliver of pale brown encircling them, her breathing was short and shallow. He whistled contentedly as he loaded fresh film. He shot the entire roll before he raped her a second time.
    And he’d decided to hurt her. After all, the choice, the mood, the control were all completely in his hands.
    She stopped fighting him. In all but a physical sense she’d stopped being there. Her body was numb, belonged to someone else. In her mind she was safe, with Tom, sitting together on the patio of their pretty new house on Peach Blossom Lane.
    She barely felt him remove the gag. She managed a quiet sob, made a pitiful effort to draw in breath enough to scream.
    “You know it’s too late for that.” He said it gently, almost lovingly, as he wound the scarf