She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood as another gasp tried to escape. She felt the rumble of his chuckle behind her. The sick bastard knew what he was doing to her, was enjoying the way she fought.
She felt the heat growing in her stomach, challenging her mind’s adamant statement, telling her she wanted this release. She hadn’t needed him to whisper the words in her ear to know her body’s betrayal was coating his fingers as he repeatedly pushed them deep inside her, teasing her clit with his thumb. Her hips bucked against his hand as her legs began to tremble.
This wasn’t right. It needed to stop, but her pleas only seemed to encourage him and the more he drove her towards the edge the more she had to fight the urge to push into his touch, to ride his fingers and find the promised release.
Arousal clouded her mind. It had been so long since anyone had touched her like this, each sensation seemed impossibly heightened, her fear mingled with the confusion of his skilled hands playing on her adrenaline and vulnerability. Her body begged her to let go, to enjoy the attention that had turned butterflies into fire-breathing dragons inside her stomach, and it seemed intent on doing so, on responding no matter how loud her mind and voice screamed no.
Her breathing quickened, pleasure punctuated with sobs as she ground against his hand, hating herself for seeking release. She could no longer think clearly, she needed this to stop and there was only one way that was going to happen, if she surrendered.
“That’s it, pet.” His hand released her breast and somewhere through the haze she heard the sound of his zipper followed tearing of something. “Damn, I wasn’t going to do this again, but you’re just too much.” He adjusted her position slightly until she could feel his erection rubbing between her legs and barely had a chance to scream before he was thrusting inside her. The pain and mental anguish combined with pleasure as he continued to tease her clit, keeping her on the edge. A place it should have been impossible to be.
She squeezed her eyes closed, her vision becoming static as thrust again and again until she could no longer bite down on the moans escaping her, moans that only encouraged him to thrust harder, apply a little more pressure until her world became one of raw sensations.
The stinging bite of metal against her wrists, her burning muscles, the searing fire left by his belt, and the soft caress of his breath through his guttural groans as each powerful thrust pushed her right to the tips of her toes until her knees buckled and her wrists and his grasp on her became the only thing keeping her upright as he drove himself into and her hips tilted, her body welcoming him.
Her pleas took on a new desperation, she didn’t know if she was begging him to stop, or to let crash over the edge and lose herself for a moment in that filthy bliss he stoked within her. She was just begging.
She heard him growl as she tightened around him, her voice crying out in both pleasure and disgust as her orgasm hit. Light exploded behind her eyes chasing through the static as tremors overtook her, making her feel dirty and ashamed as she arched her back riding the remaining quivers as he found his own release.
“Next time you beg, you call me Owner.” She felt the sting of the belt across her back, her legs still too weak to hold her weight. She just hung there, limply. “Next time you ask permission before you orgasm, am I making myself clear?”
Crack
“Y-y-y-yes.” Her voice trembled with the shivers of her body, shame and disgust crashing down on her in a wave of confusion over what had just happened when the next lash came.
Crack
“Yes, what?”
Crack
“Yes, Owner,” she sobbed.
“If you try to escape, I will punish you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Owner.” She braced herself for another strike, it didn’t come, was that because she’d called him Owner, was that what it took to stop the pain? Owner, Owner, Owner. She could do that. That was nothing to relinquish, it was just a word. Owner.
“You are mine, I own you, say it.” She must have waited too long as three consecutive strikes assailed her, causing her already weakened legs to buckle again. “Who owns you?”
“You do, Owner.” Through the blur of pain the word felt different on her tongue that time.
“Good girl.” He threaded his hand in her hair pulling her head back to kiss, his teeth grazing her lips. A second later his phone was in his hand, casting sickly illumination on his flushed face as his fingers swiped across the screen to make the winch began to uncurl. He released her waist, and she collapsed to her knees at his feet. “Now, I’m going to let you spend some time alone, thinking about your new life while I wait for your test results to come back. When I return, if you’re a good girl, I’ll might let you earn your contraceptive. Although I can’t wait to see your belly swollen with my child.” With those words he left, taking the scraps of her ruined clothes with him.
Pulling her knees to her chest, she curled up on the floor and began to sob. Disgust burning in her body as the cold air from the vents above caressed the wetness on her thighs. The treacherous wetness that told her she’d enjoyed it.
She’d orgasmed. How could she have derived pleasure from such violation? She didn’t want it; she knew she didn’t, and yet she’d orgasmed. What did that say about her? She flinched as the room was plunged into complete darkness. Drawing in a panicked breath, she lifted her head, looking for even the slightest sliver of light as she shivered against the concrete floor. There was nothing, just the cold, the darkness, the coarse floor, and her shame.
So much shame.
CHAPTER TEN
He hadn’t intended to fuck her again, not until her tests results came back, but seeing her there like that, being so responsive to his touch, it was just too tempting. He had denied himself for too long, preparing for the opportune time to take her, to make her his.
And she would be his. She would call him Owner, she would submit to his will. She would bring forth his every desire.
He had intended to demonstrate he could bring her pleasure, to make her crave him, but she even as she fought against her body’s desires she had been so responsive. So fucking responsive that he knew he had to bury himself inside her and feel the orgasm ripple through her. She came hard, tightening so wonderfully around his cock it had taken very little for him to finish.
He knew it had been a long time since she’d been with anyone, something that made his touch more desirable, but he’d not expected her to crumble so easily, for her to so readily call him Owner after only several lashes with his belt.
Her test results would be back by the end of the day, but he’d be patient and not touch her again for a little while, not until the darkness and isolation weakened her resolve. He would be her warmth and light, her only source of food and water. She would come to rely on him, crave him. Layer by layer, he’d strip away her resistance until her sole remaining desire was to make him happy.
He didn’t need to tell her he had no intention of giving her the contraceptive. He couldn’t wait to see her confusion when she discovered she was with child, or maybe if she was naughty he’d make a show of ripping off the plasters he’d had made to look like the patches. That sounded better. It would be another chip in her resistance.
The other women he’d played with like this with were different. He’d never met them before the game started, only exchanged emails and phone calls. He was upfront about what his fantasy entailed, and in exchange for their participation they were paid handsomely.
The game always began at the hotel under the pretence of a job offer, because he’d always intended for this to be how he abducted her, and the hotel being familiar with his game was essential, just in case mistakes were made when it mattered most.
Tiffany attended to his needs. She had no idea that with Ivy hadn’t been a consenting target. He’d made such dalliances his secret pleasure for years. The hotel manager was used to catering to the requirements of her more eccentric clientele, and for each game he ran she receive
d a generous payment.
Her involvement was minimal. He would pay for the suite, and a when the woman of his choosing would arrive she would explain the job was no longer available, and offer a week’s free stay at the hotel as compensation. This was the start of the game. Signing the second NDA meant they agreed and were willingly participating. It was all detailed in the white text that his previous players had known to look for. If they had any reservations, the game stopped there. Only a few had ever had second thoughts.
Once they were settled in, it was his turn to hunt them down. He would find them, innocently woo them, and devise an inventive way to abduct them without being seen. At first there had been a lot of mistakes. The hotel staff were discrete, but discretion wasn’t the point, being unnoticed was. It had taken him a while before he’d managed to get the travelling trunk crafted. It seemed to be the obvious solution.
His test subjects knew that this would be a sex game, and the rules were simple. Do whatever it took to escape. If they could escape they received an additional bonus. At the end of the game they were paid the remaining amount and were returned to the nearest airport, even if some of them had wanted to stay.
All of this groundwork had been for this moment. Every time one of his women found a chink in his armour, a way to escape, he fixed it for the next run. The last three had gone so smoothly he had known it was finally time to put his plan into operation. It was just a matter of making her vulnerable enough not to overthink things, as she so often did. He needed her desperate, an emotional wreck, and the best way to achieve that was to strip away everything she loved.
Her father should have died instantly, allowing him to hit her with one life destroying event after another, leaving her homeless, penniless, and distraught. Getting to her father had been easy, but instead of the planned heart failure, a miscalculation on the poison’s dosage meant he’d had a stroke.
She’d moved him to her home, as he had suspected she would when he learnt of the complication, and seeing the toll it was taking on her he let it play out a little longer before giving the nurse the nod to let him slip away. He’d made her father’s power of attorney documents disappear and let her eat through her savings for his care and funeral expenses. She’d been so predictable that, without even realising, she’d played right into his hands.
Tearing his sight away from the monitors, he checked his email, smiling. There had only been one loose end in need of trimming. He’d had a ticket booked for her on a flight to London, but he knew that alone wouldn’t be enough to stop her friends trying to contact her, and the last thing he needed was for them to become suspicious when she didn’t reach out, but he had already resolved that.
His contact in London confirmed the recipients would soon receive the letters. He’d spent days typing them, reading them through to make sure they sounded enough like her that her friends wouldn’t question her disappearance. They had been the only problem. If they didn’t hear from her, they’d know something was wrong. Now that had been cleared up too.
He’d had James, his personal security, empty her room of any personal items during the quarterly system maintenance that saw the cameras temporarily offline for updates, and he’d checked her out on the hotel’s automated systems the day before he’d left, ensuring the checkout time was enough to she wouldn’t miss her flight. She’d even completed automatic check-in so no one would even realise she wasn’t on the plane, and if they were suspicious, his generous donation to a certain hacker had been enough to ensure that, electronically, it looked as if she had been there. He’d paid a lot of money for her, but she was worth every penny.
Miles pushed his hands through his hair, a habit that was becoming all too familiar. He continued pacing even after ending the call with the last company on the list. He felt so useless, so helpless. Ivy had kept meticulous records of every agency and job application, and after hours glued to his phone, he had called every single one. None of them had offered her any positions or referrals.
He had known his father was right about the job offer being a honey trap the moment the words had left his mouth, but he still hadn’t wanted to admit it. He couldn’t believe someone would want to harm her, not until he had ruled out every potential lead. And he was getting damn close to having done that. He kicked the trashcan, sending balled up papers scattering across the cheap blue carpet of the hotel room.
He had moved out of the guest house the same day he discovered his mother’s involvement in Ivy’s disappearance. He couldn’t even bear to be anywhere near her right now. In a few days he would be picking up the keys to his own place. Until then he was staying here, in a cheap hotel. He needed the drab scenery to keep him focused. The dull beige walls and dark desk that held the instant coffee sachets and a small kettle offered no room for distraction, and yet he still found himself staring at the textured walls, his mind racing with horrific thoughts.
The room was scarcely large enough for the twin beds, but seeing the empty one always reminded him of the times he and Ivy would share when he was on leave. For a brief moment, when he managed to sleep, he could almost pretend she’d been in the room, pretend she was lying behind him soothing his nightmares and not lost.
His phone chimed again, no doubt another message from his mother. She kept saying she was sorry she’d upset him, but not once did she think to apologise for whatever had befallen Ivy. He had needed to put distance between them before he did or said something he’d regret, something Ivy wouldn’t forgive him for.
On one of the rare occasions he’d brought up his mother in an exasperated rant about how she’d been driving him mad, Ivy had made it clear that he should be happy he still had her, even if they didn’t always see eye to eye. At the moment, though, she wasn’t his mom. She was the woman who’d endangered the woman he’d loved, and he couldn’t stand the thought of being anywhere near her.
His father’s P.I. was still investigating. Someone had gone to great lengths to make it look like Ivy was still alive—no not alive, still free, because the thought she could be dead was too much to face right now—There were records suggesting she had been on a plane to London.
If it wasn’t for the fact her passport had been stolen, everyone may have been inclined to believe it, especially when the letter arrived in his mailbox yesterday. Except they had overlooked more than just her missing passport, because in all the years he had known her, Ivy had never printed letters. She hand wrote everything, no exception. He remembered telling her that printed letters were better because she didn’t have to restart if she made a mistake, but, in all honesty, his heart had always beat a little quicker when he’d seen the beautiful curve of her writing at mail call.
He stared at the stamps from England; the postmarks detailing its journey before opening the letter again. He’d read it several times already, but maybe he was missing something, a clue, a hint as to where she could be, or who could have taken her.
Something about this letter had to tell him something. It had to. Because she sure as hell hadn’t written it, which meant whoever did this to her had to have.
Tails,
I hope this letter finds you well.
I wanted to do this in person, but it was too difficult. I know if I speak to you my resolve will falter and I need to do this for me. The job in the Bahamas didn’t work out. On the bright side, the insurance company released the money to my account, so I've decided instead of coming back I should go home, to England that is. There are too many painful memories here for me. I need a fresh start. I need to put everything that happened there behind me.
I really am pleased for you, Bay Legends is a great catch and I hope the two of you will be happy. I’m going to chase my own happiness over the pond.
You know how I feel about you, so I’m sure you’ll understand why I have to cut all ties.
Maybe one day I will heal enough to visit, and when that day comes I look forward to meeting the woman who has made you happy.
Your friends always
,
Ivy.
Whoever wrote this had the start right at least, but that was the only part of the letter that sounded like her and not like someone trying to imagine how she’d write something. Ivy didn’t follow celebrities. He knew for a fact she didn’t even know who Bay Legends was. She would have called her Streetwalker Barbie, like she had in her other letters. She’d never return to England. Everything there reminded her of her mother, of the way her family had turned their back on her when her health began declining because of her heart.
They’d always talked about the future. While Ivy’s father was wealthy, she never viewed his money as her own, despite him trying to set up a trust fund for her. The compromise had been him paying for her university and her expenses while studying, and despite this she’d still got a job to pay some of her own way.
He’d asked her once, as they sat watching The Bucket List in a hotel in Brooklyn, if money was no object, and she had to leave New York, where she would go. He still remembered how she’d slipped a chocolate kiss into her mouth, waiting for it to melt to buy her time before needing to answer. Her eyes had become intense as she weighed her options seriously before announcing it was a three-way tie between Canada, Norway, or Alaska, but only if the Internet was good.
He smiled fondly at the memory, recalling how seconds later, Matthews, JJ, and Sparky had piled through the door, taking charge of the TV and bringing beer. He remembered her playfully offended look when, with a beer in one hand, Sparky offered her a bottle of some pink girly wine drink. She’d snatched the beer from his grasp, opening it against the table in the same way she’d seen them do a hundred times before, and took a swig, tossing him the game controller.
Her face had positively glowed when she announced she hoped his gaming was better than his taste in drinks, but if it wasn’t she was sure, she and Matthews would be more than happy to paint his nails and braid his hair. This, of course, resulted in a fit of laughter since Sparky was as bald as a coot.
Breaking Sin: A kidnap abduction story (Addicted to Sin Book 1) Page 14
