Saved by Him

by M. S. Parker

  Saved by Him

  New Pleasures Book 3

  M. S. Parker

  Belmonte Publishing, LLC

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 Belmonte Publishing LLC

  Published by Belmonte Publishing LLC

  Contents

  Reading Order

  Free Prequel

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Also by M. S. Parker

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Reading Order

  Thank you so much for reading Saved by Him, the final book in the New Pleasures series. If you’d like to read the complete series, I recommend reading them in this order:

  1. Claimed by Him

  2. Played by Him

  3. Saved by Him (This Book)

  Free Prequel

  Get an exclusive prequel to New Pleasures! Click Here to subscribe to my newsletter and start reading the exclusive 50 pages prequel – NOT available anywhere else.

  One

  “I told you what I want, but it doesn’t change that you’re hurt.”

  “It’s too bad. Because that means I’ll have to lay down on that nice comfy bed and make myself feel better.”

  Pain. Darkness. Fear.

  Every pull of his mouth went straight to my clit, and I writhed under the heavy weight of his body. Skin and muscle, friction and pressure. So, so, so good.

  Metal and copper. Dirt and mildew. A faint medicinal taste under all of it.

  “J, J,” I whimpered. “I need more. Harder, please. More.”

  “I’ve got you.” His lips brushed across mine. “I’ve got you, Rona, and I’m not going to lose you again.”

  Lost. Lost. Drifting in darkness. Surrounded by darkness. Cold. Cold.

  His hips jerked upward, driving into me with the exact right amount of force to push me toward climax.

  Head throbbing. Muscles aching. None of it with pleasant associations.

  Being blindfolded required trust, handing over control, and that was what he was offering me. His trust, his control. The blindfold in his hands.

  Thick darkness. Suffocating. Each gasp of air was work.

  He stretched out beneath me, all tanned skin and rippling muscles. I could spend hours tracing every dip and plane with my tongue. Maybe later I would, but right now, I needed him inside me again.

  My mouth was dry, my tongue swollen. The nasty taste made me want to spit, but I didn’t have any saliva in my mouth.

  He groaned as I lowered myself onto his thick shaft, his hands flexing on my hips.

  “I want to see you,” he said as I dropped down until he was completely sheathed inside me. “Gorgeous tits and those china-blue eyes. Please, Rona, let me see you.”

  My temples throbbed in time with my heartbeat, and as muddled as I was, I could tell it was sluggish. This wasn’t a hangover.

  I rocked back and forth, letting my body adjust. My hands went to my breasts, fingers teasing my nipples until they were hard little points. I tugged on them, the jolt of pain making me moan.

  Pain in my wrists. My ankles. A different pain in my head. Something beyond the thick, stuffy feeling.

  He surged upward, keeping on the blindfold even as his arms went around my waist. He pulled me tight against his chest, the hair there chafing my nipples in a way that made me want to squirm. But I couldn’t. His embrace was unbreakable.

  I tried to move, but I couldn’t. My limbs were weighed down. Heavy. Restricted. But I didn’t feel safe, not like I did when he had me underneath him, his body essentially pinning me in place.

  I whimpered as he bit the side of my neck. I’d never known that there was a part of pain that could be pleasurable, not until Jalen Larsen came into my life. His blunt nails scratched across my back, not doing any damage, but sending little pricks of near-pain running across my nerves.

  The fog was starting to lift from my mind, giving way to a clarity that I suddenly didn’t want. It was better to stay with Jalen in my mind. When I knew what was happening, I couldn’t unknow it. The knowledge would always be there, and whatever it was, I didn’t want it.

  “I love you,” he whispered against my lips. “You’re my home, Rona. The only woman I want, the only one I’ll ever want. Nothing can change that. Not even–”

  The baby.

  Shit.

  Jalen’s supposed-to-be-ex-wife, Elise Marx, was pregnant. And Jalen was the father. So she said.

  I didn’t want to be one of those women who automatically took her man’s side. The sort who assumed women were lying or that if a man was cheating, it was the other woman’s fault. Not that what happened between Jalen and Elise had been cheating. It happened before Jalen and I even met. And what was happening between Jalen and me wasn’t cheating either. He wasn’t the one dragging his feet in the divorce.

  All of this came rushing into my mind in one nearly overwhelming flood, making my head spin. I didn’t try to stop it though. As much as I wanted to go back to that dream world where Jalen and I were making love, I knew this was more important because this was real. The first part of my half-dream had been based on reality. After sex, Jalen told me that he wanted me to blindfold him, a display of trust that had made my heart race. We hadn’t done it, though, because it was at that moment that Elise had come barging into the house with her news.

  I’d left, I remembered suddenly.

  Jalen had demanded a paternity test, saying that he didn’t believe the child was his, a statement that had reminded me of my father’s accusations of infidelity against my mother. I’d gotten my head on straight about that though. Jalen had caught Elise literally in the act of having sex with another man. His doubts regarding who she’d been sleeping with were completely founded.

  But I’d still left. Why? I hadn’t been angry at Jalen, and my feelings about Elise were…multi-layered. I’d been invited into the house, asked to stay. Elise hadn’t. Even though Jalen had clearly wanted to talk through this with her, he hadn’t asked me to leave. I’d done it on my own.

  Another memory clicked into place.

  I’d wanted to give them time and space to work out all the ways their lives were about to change. And I wanted some space of my own. I hadn’t broken up with Jalen, but I had told him that I needed time to figure out how he would fit into my life differently now that he had a baby on the way.

  Cold. Damn cold. Not surprising considering it was the beginning of December in Colorado. Snow in the mountains could come year-round. With Christmas on the way, I was surprised I hadn’t been snowed in yet.

  I was cold because I’d been walking. I called for a car, but I hadn’t wa
nted to stay at the house with Elise and Jalen while I waited.

  There’d been a car, I remembered. No, not a car, a van. A dark van.

  Someone had gotten out of it.

  I gagged, the memory of a damp cloth, the same sickly-sweet smell that was now coating my tongue. Shit. Chloroform. The name didn’t matter though. What mattered was that my brain had finally caught up to my surroundings.

  I’d been kidnapped.

  Someone had literally knocked me out and taken me somewhere against my will.

  Saying it a different way didn’t make it any less surreal.

  What the fuck?!

  I let myself have a few seconds to panic, and then I forced myself to focus. I hadn’t gotten through hell with my father only to die here, alone, tied up in the dark. I’d lived through nearly being eviscerated. I would live through this.

  With that thought in mind, I took inventory.

  My head hurt, but it didn’t feel like I was bleeding from anywhere. I didn’t remember hitting my head. That was good. It meant I didn’t need to worry about a concussion or anything like that. My headache was just the after-effect of the chloroform. Unless whoever had taken me had dropped me on the floor, and I’d hit my head then.

  I opened my eyes, but it didn’t make a difference. I really hoped it was because wherever I’d been stashed was dark and not because I was blind. My eyes didn’t hurt, but if I’d gotten hit hard enough… no, I refused to consider that. It was just dark in here.

  That was fact number one. Fact number two was that my hands and feet were tied. Based on the lack of give and how sticky it felt, I was going with duct tape. I knew how to get out of it. I’d been one of the best in my class when it came to escaping various kinds of restraints. I needed to evaluate my situation more before I decided whether it would be advantageous to have my hands free or not.

  I’d probably have only one shot at escaping, and I didn’t want to ruin it because I got impatient.

  I wasn’t gagged, which meant I was most likely stashed somewhere isolated or soundproofed, maybe both. If they were worried I could attract attention, they would’ve gagged me even while I was out. Which meant screaming wouldn’t do any good, even if it might’ve made me feel better.

  I cleared my throat, then coughed. The sound didn’t echo, but it wasn’t flat either. My gut told me that I was in a room, but not a huge one. No windows. I put my hand on the ground and felt something smooth, cold. Probably tile or concrete. Same with the walls. It reinforced my thought that I was in a basement.

  Wonderful.

  Two

  I would’ve thought that the worst part of being tied up in a pitch-black room was not being able to move, but that wasn’t it. At least not yet. When I needed to pee, I was sure I’d change my mind, but for right now, the fact that I couldn’t tell how much time had passed was driving me crazy.

  I’d left Jalen’s place sometime in the late afternoon, early evening. I had no idea how long I’d been unconscious, and because there were no windows, I couldn’t tell what time of day it was. Was it still Thursday or was it Friday already?

  It couldn’t be any later than Friday because I hadn’t wet myself, though the pressure in my lower belly indicated that might not be the case soon. I was hungry and thirsty, but I could ignore my stomach for a while. Dehydration would kill me before hunger.

  Kill me.

  Fuck.

  I could die here.

  No. I shook my head. No, I wouldn’t die here. Not like this. Not when I had…

  A half sob caught in my throat as Jalen’s face flashed through my mind. Rich brown hair, brilliant turquoise eyes, the sort of face that could only be described as ruggedly handsome. Six-four, with broad shoulders and muscles that weren’t just for show.

  After everything Jalen and I had been through, it couldn’t end like this. We’d just said, “I love you” and, sure, this thing with Elise was going to make things tense, but I wanted us to get through it. I wanted us to work through everything, to build a relationship.

  Everything I hadn’t thought I’d want, a life that I’d never pictured myself having, I saw it all now. I saw it with Jalen. A life. A family.

  But only if I got out of here.

  I had to be smart though.

  More time passed, but it could have been minutes or hours. I shifted myself around until I was sitting. At some point, I figured out how to tug down my pants and relieved myself in a corner. Not the high point of my day, but considering the rest of my situation, it wasn’t the lowest either.

  That’s what I had to prepare myself for. The lowest. The worst. The things that, as a former student of the FBI, I knew could be coming. It all depended on who had me and why.

  If they were looking for a ransom, they probably wouldn’t hurt me, especially if it was Jalen they were going to try to ransom me to. Except I doubted that was the case since not many people knew the two of us were together.

  Which meant it might be a random kidnapping. That wouldn’t be good. Adult women weren’t generally kidnapped by grieving mothers to replace a child. I’d done enough psychological work to know that a quick death would probably be the best outcome I could hope for.

  But there was one other possibility.

  My father.

  Any time in the last few years, I wouldn’t have been thinking about him at all, but ever since the second trial, he hadn’t been ignoring me like before. In fact, he’d been trying to talk to me. I’d kept getting collect calls from him, or at least I had before he’d escaped.

  Had my father arranged this? Was this his way of trying to control me from where ever he’d escaped to?

  The sad thing was, that possibility might be the best shot I’d have at making it out of here alive and unscathed. My father would want to take care of things himself. He wouldn’t want anyone else to kill me. Since he was most likely hiding somewhere closer to Indiana, that would be a problem. Which meant now that they had me, they had to figure out what to do with me while they waited. That meant I had time.

  Suddenly, a burst of light from the other side of the room blinded me. I cursed, holding up my hands in front of my face while blinking until my eyes adjusted. I heard a click, and an overhead light came on. It was a single, dingy bulb, but offered enough light for me to finally see my surroundings… and wish that I hadn’t.

  Cinderblock walls covered with peeling gray paint. A concrete floor, smooth but not finished. A cinderblock ceiling with the lone bulb that looked ready to blow.

  This wasn’t a normal basement. Normal basements had wooden or tiled ceilings. Unless we were in a warehouse or something similar, a basement like this had to be purposefully made, and I could only think of one reason why someone would do that.

  To hold someone like me.

  I resisted the urge to check closer, to look for signs that other women had been held here. It wasn’t hard to do, really, since a large, muscular man was now standing directly in front of me, a glower on his square-jawed face. Buzz-cut brown hair and ice-cold eyes all gave me the impression of one of those Soviet villains from eighties’ movies. Like the big guy in Rocky.

  This was bad. Really bad.

  I’d assumed that my father would’ve hired some scrawny, wiry ex-con who needed chloroform to take me down. This guy was big enough that, no matter how tough I knew I could be, he could’ve taken me down without drugs. It would’ve been messy, dangerous, and time-consuming, though, because I sure as hell wouldn’t have gone quietly.

  “What’s up?” I grinned up at him, not bothering to hide the anger I felt. Instead of playing the helpless, weak woman, I was going for disarming with bluntness. I’d never been any good at pretending to be a damsel in distress, anyway. I wasn’t even going to try.

  His eyes slid away from me for a moment, and then he sneered.

  Shame flooded me as I realized he knew I’d had to urinate in my little cell. I hadn’t done anything wrong, or anything that I’d really had any control over, but I was still as
hamed. I pushed the embarrassment down, knowing that my cheeks were still burning. I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin.

  “When you gotta go.” I shrugged. “Maybe you should’ve given me a bucket.”

  His hand flashed out, the back of it cracking against my cheek and jaw in an explosion of pain. My head snapped to the side, and I hissed out a breath of air. Fortunately, it was far from the most painful thing I’d ever experienced, and it took only seconds for my thoughts to gather again.

  “How is my father planning on getting here?” I gently touched the back of my hand to my cheek. “I know he’ll want to take care of me himself.”

  The man’s expression didn’t change as he reached down and grabbed the front of my shirt. He yanked me upright and slammed me against the wall. It didn’t feel great, but I wasn’t going to let it show. In fact, I couldn’t resist taunting him a bit.

  “How’s it feel to have an old man yanking your leash like some–”

  All the air rushed out of me as he buried his fist in my stomach. I curled forward, coughing and retching as I tried to stay on my feet. I hadn’t expected a punch to the stomach. A backhand to the face, sure, but I figured that was to let me know it was a good idea to do as I was told.

  “You are a problem.”

  His English was impeccable. That combined with the military haircut and the way he carried himself made me suspect U.S. military, but probably first generation from an immigrant family. My gut – aching as it was – still said something Soviet. Not that it mattered right now.