Captive, Mine(29)

“Sir?” I asked when he returned.

“I’m going to take your blindfold off now. It’ll take a minute for your eyes to adjust.”

I nodded, waiting as he took it away. The sight of him was fuzzy for a moment before I had to close my eyes again, the light too bright after too long in the dark. He waited while I rubbed them and slowly, I opened them again, blinking fast while they adjusted.

I looked up to find him watching me.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Can I come back here tonight please? I don’t want to be out there anymore. I’m really sorry.”

Without a word, his fingers hooked into my collar and raised me up by my neck while he squatted down. My heartbeat picked up at his violent handling of me, but my need to get closer to him overrode any fear, or at least equaled it.

“I expect you to be on your absolute best behavior for the rest of the time we spend together. When I say jump, you start jumping before you even ask how high. When I say sit, you drop to a seat wherever you are. When I say suck, you open your mouth. And when I tell you to get the strap, you get it and you bend over and offer your ass for punishment, understand?”

I nodded frantically, desperate to be back here and not in the bad girl’s room. Desperate to be back in his good graces. “Yes! Yes, sir. Yes.”

He looked at me, his expression stern, and I really looked at him. It had been so dark in the other room that I’d not seen his face in the days I’d spent there. He hadn’t shaved in a while, the stubble along his jaw the beginnings of a beard now rather than a five o’clock shadow. His eyes looked different too, or maybe I was just really seeing them for the first time. There was more than hardness in them. Tenderness and hurt also took up space there, and worry furrowed his brow.

It was that that brought me back to the realization of why we were here in the first place. Of what was going on outside of the sanctuary of the isolated cabin where he’d brought me against my will, where he hid me from Randall and his men.

“Bath time, Lily. Crawl.”

I swallowed. Now that I was without my bonds and in the light, part of me resisted, but I pushed through that, the knowledge of what would happen if I didn’t obey too close. I crawled, instead, with Lake walking behind me, his whistle of appreciation solidifying to me my place as object or possession.

His object. His possession.

Steaming water had almost filled the tub, and Lake switched off the water. I couldn’t wait to get inside it, feeling cold and filthy, even though he’d washed me — or more sponged me off — when I had been in the bad girl’s room. I looked up at him, feeling very much the pet, and when he gave me his nod, I climbed into the tub, sinking into the too-hot water but not caring, needing that fiery heat to cleanse me as I closed my eyes and submerged entirely. I opened them underwater to find Lake waiting, watching me, his form massive from my angle. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t look angry either, and when I emerged once again, my eyes locked on the hard length of him barely contained behind his jeans, and my body began to prepare itself, as if it were conditioned to do just that.

We remained silent as he cleaned me. I was no longer desperate, blind, or hungry, and my mind began to work again, to recall the situation.

But I didn’t want to think about that, not yet. The feel of his hands on me, a soapy cloth rubbing the intimate contours of my body leaving suds behind to cover my breasts, their hardened, dark nipples standing out among the white clouds. He had me on all fours, my bottom out of the water, and I simply complied, looking forward as he’d instructed while he, with soapy fingers, cleaned between my legs, my pussy, my ass, paying extra attention to my clit until I moaned. Then, with the greatest care, Lake shaved me, and, just as the water began to cool, he drained the tub and wrapped me in a towel before lifting me out of the tub to dry me.

I stood there, looking up at him as he did, looking at his eyes, his mouth, realizing I’d never once kissed him, really kissed him, not in a fit of passion, but differently. We’d done everything else, he’d fucked me every way possible and we’d tasted each other, but not once had he kissed me with tenderness, just to kiss me, and all I wanted in that moment was that, was that touch of his lips against mine.

He paused and I wondered if he felt it too when his gaze fell to my swollen lips as I licked them, preparing. Then, surprising myself, I stepped an inch closer and stood on tiptoe to brush my mouth against his, hesitating, lingering there, growing bolder and taking his lower lip into my mouth and sucking. My heart’s beating was interrupted momentarily. His hand came to my waist, touching me softly while he opened his mouth. Power was exchanged again when that hand slid to the curve of my hip, taking possession, and his tongue dipped between my lips, my teeth, exploring, gentle, soft as he tasted me. I reached up to put a hand to his face, then wrapped that hand around the back of his head to bring him closer, wanting more, softness morphing into passion, lust.

But he stopped it then, breaking off the kiss, pulling my forehead to his lips and holding me like that for a moment, our breath ragged between us, the sound of my racing heartbeat the only other sound in the room.

It was only a moment of tenderness before his hand grew harder in my hair and he pushed me to my knees, releasing his cock and giving me that one command again: “Suck.”

I opened my mouth to take him and my pussy throbbed with need even as my heart saddened a little when that one little word put me back in my place, back on my knees before him while he used me, fucked me in any way he chose. That kiss may have affected me but it couldn’t have touched him, even if I had seen tenderness in his eyes, even if there had been tiny kindnesses from him, even if there had been moments where he’d held me so gently, protectively even while he thought I’d slept. I had to remember that I only needed to survive this and I couldn’t confuse dependence with anything more.





Chapter 15



The morning sun poured through the kitchen windows, the dirty glass rendering the sunlight into an almost hazy glow. Lake sat at the little table, the wood of the chair hard and cold against his ass. The coffee he brewed had burnt a little — the price of nodding off as it brewed — but the heat and the caffeine were welcome after another night on the lumpy, worn couch. He missed his bedroom, but he needed to be out in the living room. He could protect her better out there. He wondered why he didn’t simply go to her, take her to his own room, make her lie with him, curl her warm, trembling body around his and take the comfort she so freely offered now.

But that would defeat the purpose of what he was trying to get through to her. So lumpy couch it was.

She’d taken the lesson to heart. He just wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. He’d rather liked teaching her to obey. To comply, without question. She knew it now, down to the marrow of her bones. He hadn’t had to punish her in days, and, even though a dark part of him was tempted to strap those plump buttocks simply for the pleasure of watching the lush flesh bounce and wobble under the blows, he’d resisted. As long as she kept it up, kept listening and behaving, he’d leave that strap hanging on the wall in the Bad Girl’s room.

You need to stop wishing she wasn’t so well behaved. And start thinking about how you’re getting your asses out of this.

Lake looked up at the sunlight, the angle of it already lower. Cold weather wasn’t far away, and winter at the cabin was a brutal, grueling affair he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. Time was running out, and though the diversions were more than enjoyable… he knew a reckoning was coming.

And soon.

Sighing, Lake reached into his pocket, laying his cell on the nicked, faded wood of the table. He took a sip of the acrid, but still blessedly hot coffee, and leaned to the side, pulling out the pistol. Laying it on the table next to the phone, he stared at it then looked at the phone. Back and forth, one to the other.

You better know what the fuck you’re doing, Lake.

He looked toward Lily’s room. The morning light still hadn’t reached the hallway, the shadows darkening the corridor such that he could only vaguely make out her door. Did she still sleep?

It would be better if she did.

Lake laid his left hand over the gleaming, polished metal of the M1911. He didn’t even know why he still carried the old hand cannon. The Beretta was far more accurate, though without the satisfying punch of the .45 caliber Colt.

Somehow, holding it made him feel better. How far had he fallen when the only two things that made him feel better anymore were his weapons and the captive woman thirty feet away who’d still probably kill him if given half the chance?

No time for self-pity anymore, asshole. It’s time to do what has to be done.

He lifted the pistol from the table, resting an elbow on the wood, turning the weapon in the sun, the light glinting off of it in blinding flashes. Lake looked down that hallway one last time.

“No going back from this, Lake.”

His whisper seemed harsh in the quiet of the cold morning.

He picked up the phone, his thumb punching in the numbers fast before he thought better of it. Odds were good that the number wasn’t even in service anymore, but it was worth a shot. A call from him would be unexpected — and he needed every ounce of surprise he could squeeze out of the FUBAR jam they were currently in.