His Hostage(43)

I remember what he said in his sleep, and while part of me is terrified of him really wanting to knock me up, the other part is worried he’s changed his mind. Or that it was just a dream. That he doesn’t want to be tied to me, and it’ll be easier to just kill me. So I’ve behaved. I’ve listened to everything. I’ll do whatever I have to in order to survive.

“We need to have a talk, Elle.” He rounds the grey granite countertop and walks into the kitchen. The open concept design of the space gives a light and airy feel, but I’m practically suffocating from nerves.

“I’m listening,” I say, and take another sip of coffee. My eyes stay on him so he knows he has my attention. He’s wearing those pajama pants slung low on his hips again. He gave me an identical pair to wear, but I’m drowning in them.

“I need for you to be patient with me.” He looks out of the window and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I believe you, sweetheart, but they won’t. Even if they do, they won’t risk it.”

“Won’t risk what?” I ask.

“Rule one.” He holds up a finger and walks back over to the dining room to take a seat at the chair next to me. He leans forward in his seat as he looks at me intently. “Don’t ask questions.”

I open my mouth to ask why, but then I close it and purse my lips. An asymmetric grin grows on his face. “Learning already.”

“No questions. Understood.” I really don’t like that. I like to ask questions so I can know things. But then again, I already know too much.

“What do you remember, baby?” he asks.

I take a deep breath and set the mug down on the dark maple tabletop. “I remember--”

He cuts me off. “Nothing. Rule two, you don’t remember a damn thing, and you don’t know what anyone is talking about.” My eyes dart to his. His face is all hard lines and seriousness.

I pick up my mug and take a sip. “I don’t remember a damn thing.”

“That’s right--you don’t.” He leans down and picks my feet up to put on his lap. His thumbs dig into the soles as he massages my feet. I moan into the cup. It feels so good. “I’m going to take care of you until things settle down. Everything is going to be fine, alright?”

I meet his soft gaze and nod. “Mmm hmm.”

He gives me a tight smile. “That brings us to rule number three.” He keeps rubbing my feet and holds my gaze. “Who do you belong to, Elle?”

I feel my eyes widen and my heart skips a beat. I know the answer, but it’s caught in my throat. I swallow the lump in my throat and answer him with a whisper. “You.”

“That’s right. And you’re going to listen to what I say, aren’t you, sweetheart? You’re going to do as you’re told.”

My pussy clenches at his words. He obviously doesn’t realize how fucking hot that makes me. I’m fucked up in the head for wanting him like that in this very moment, but I do. I nod my head to try to keep the lust from coming through my voice.

“Answer me, sweetheart.” There’s an admonishment in his tone and he stops rubbing my feet.

“Yes. I’ll do as I’m told.” My voice comes out breathy and a smirk kicks up his lips. He drops my feet to the floor and moves closer to me, but a hard knock at the door interrupts us.

He stands up, then bends at the waist to cup my jaw and plant a kiss on my lips. It’s forceful and full of need. “Stay here, sweetheart.”

My heart races in my chest. I’ve agreed to be his, and I fucking love that idea. But I have no idea if it’ll be enough to save me.

I hear Vince open the door and I grip the mug with both of my hands. Surely anyone in my position would say they’d listen. They’d do whatever they could to stay alive. I just hope he believes me. Because it’s true. I’ll listen to him. I want to listen to him. Some sick part of me wants to be his.

Heavy footsteps bring my eyes up past the kitchen to the foyer. His father has an arm braced around Vince’s shoulders and he’s talking in his ear. I don’t like it. It makes me feel uneasy, like he’s trying to convince Vince to get rid of me.

Vince must feel my eyes on him, because he looks over in my direction and stares back at me. He smiles at me and turns to his father. His warm expression relaxes me some. My shoulders feel heavy with weight of the heating pad so I pull it off and stand on shaky legs.

“No need to stand for me, Elle.” Vince’s father gives me a tight smile. His hair is peppered with grey and his eyes are a light blue. The laugh lines on his face make his age apparent, but his body is still muscular. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s lethal.