Lauren hadn't brought me lunch yet, so it couldn't be past midday. He never returned this early.
I looked up at him, alarmed at the almost violent way he was handling me. His dark eyes were fixed on his task: unlocking the chain from my collar. As soon as it fell away, he lifted me up and tossed me over his shoulder, knocking the air from my chest.
"Put me down!" I demanded, twisting in his hold as panic spiked.
He hadn't spoken to me, he wouldn't look at me. Anger was evident in the stiff way he held me, the too-sharp smack of his hand against my upper thigh.
Fear fluttered in my chest, my heartbeat picking up speed. This wasn't my indulgent captor who cradled me against his chest and kissed me. This man who held me so dispassionately scared the shit out of me. It reminded me of his cold detachment the night he'd strapped me to the spanking bench and flogged me.
"I didn't do anything wrong," I protested, squirming against him as we entered the playroom.
No. Torture room.
Because we were headed straight for the spanking bench.
I beat my fists against his lower back, thrashing like a wild thing. "No! Please."
He ignored me, handling me roughly as he pinned my body down on the bench and strapped me in place. Tears dropped down my cheeks as the false image of him I'd built in my mind shattered. He wasn't doting. He wasn't nice.
He was unstable, insane.
And every small kindness he'd shown me had been a lie, a manipulation.
"What did I do wrong?" I heaved out on a sob as terror took hold of my mind. He’d been harsh with me, but he’d always been fair, in his own way. "I didn't do anything. I didn't. Please."
Once I was fully bound beneath him, he paused and finally looked down into my eyes. His face was drawn, his scar puckered and twisted as he clenched his jaw tightly. He stared down at me for several agonizing seconds, then he drew in a deep, shuddering breath. He trailed his fingers over the leather restraints that held my body at his mercy, and his fierce expression eased. He reached out and brushed at the wetness on my cheeks. I tried to cringe away, but there was nowhere to go.
"Please," I whispered brokenly. "I promise I didn't do anything wrong. Don't hurt me."
"I'm not going to hurt you," he promised, his accent thick. "Much," he amended. "Hush now," he said in his usual soothing tones as he stroked my trembling body. "This isn't a punishment."
"But you're angry," I said tremulously. "You're going to hurt me."
"I'm not angry with you," he replied, calm settling over him as he continued to pet me. "My brother..." His fingers firmed on my skin, pressing too hard. He drew another deep breath and resumed stroking me, concentrating his attentions around the leather straps that held me down, as though seeing me helpless and at his mercy comforted him in some perverted way. "I need to accelerate your training," he said. "My brother is not a patient man."
I tensed. Andrés continued stroking me, his focus shifting to my hair.
"I'll protect you," he promised. "But I've been too indulgent with you. You must learn your place."
"So you're going to beat me," I said in soft accusation.
"I'm going to train you," he countered. "You will experience a little pain, but you will enjoy it. I know you will. You like your spankings. You'll like this, too."
"I don't want you to flog me again," I whispered.
"I don't want you to be scared of me, cosita," he said instead of responding directly.
"I thought you like it when I’m frightened," I said bitterly, remembering all the fucked up things he'd said about my lovely eyes when I was crying from fear.
His lips firmed, and he cut his gaze away from mine. "That doesn't mean I want you to fear me. But yes, a part of me likes your fear."
"Please let me up," I begged. "You don't have to do this."
His gaze snapped back to mine, hard with determination. "Yes, I do. It's for your own good."
I didn't dare say how crazy that statement was. I was too intimidated, and he held all the power. He could do anything he wanted to me, and there would be nothing I could do to stop him.
He placed his hand on the back of my neck, lightly squeezing. In his messed-up world, this was a comforting gesture. At least, it seemed to comfort him. It was a demonstration of control, of ownership.
"You'll like this," he said. "You'll see. You have to trust me."
I bit back the retort that I'd never trust him. He might be calmer, but his mood was precarious, violence lurking just under his skin. No matter what he said about me enjoying whatever he was about to do, he needed to hurt me. I could see it in his eyes; I could see the all dark things that stirred in their black depths: desire, anger, pain.
Something about what had happened with his brother had triggered him, and he needed me to soothe him. If he were a normal man and we were in a normal relationship, I'd hold him and kiss him and tell him everything was okay.
But this wasn't normal. He was my captor, and right now, he was on the edge of sanity. There was only one way the madness inside him would be soothed: my complete subjugation. Already, just having me bound and crying beneath him seemed to have quieted his more volatile emotions. Next, he'd extract pleasure from my screams.
I shuddered, my teeth chattering as cold terror settled into my bones.
He dropped to his knees beside me, his face leveling with mine. Through my watery vision, I saw his brow furrow with concern.
"Samantha," he said my name almost hoarsely. "You're okay. You're safe with me."
"I'm not," I said, my voice hitching. "I'm scared. You're scaring me. And you like it."
"I don't. Not like this. Please. Don't be afraid."
Please. I'd never heard him utter the word.
"I don't want to be in here," I whispered.
"All right, cosita. It's all right. You're safe." He started murmuring to me in a stream of soothing Spanish, running his fingers along my chilled skin as he released me from the cuffs that trapped me against the spanking bench.
A relieved sob heaved from my chest when he lifted me in his arms and cuddled me close. My hand fisted in his shirt, and I turned my face against him as I wept and shook.
He carried me back into the bedroom and settled me on his lap when he sat on the edge of the bed. He held me while I cried, all the fear and pain that lingered inside me from the night he'd flogged me spilling out to soak his chest with my tears.
"Lo siento." I caught the words several times as he continued to speak to me in low, calming tones.
I'm sorry. I knew what it meant.
That helped bring me back to my senses more than anything. My big, scary captor was apologizing. Blinking up at him, I studied his taut features. He seemed truly distressed, and when my sobs finally quieted, he pressed a tender kiss against my forehead.
"I was worried about you," he rumbled, his arms tightening around me to pull me closer to his warmth. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"You did," I countered quietly. "You wanted to see me cry. You wanted to hear me scream."
His eyes flicked away from mine, and he tensed beneath me. "I do want those things from you, Samantha," he admitted, his voice strained. "But not like this. I won't break you. I won't." He still wasn't looking at me, and he seemed to be speaking to himself as much as he was reassuring me.
"I don't want this," I said, my voice small. "I don't want to be here. I don't want to be tamed. I don't want to work for your brother."
"You don't have a choice in that. Neither of us do."
"What do you mean?" I didn't understand. Of course Andrés had a choice. He could hurt me, he could beat me, he could savor my pain. He could choose to do anything he wanted with me.
But he chose to cuddle me close and run his hands over my cool skin, imbuing my body with his steady warmth.
He didn't answer my question. Instead, he suddenly crushed his lips to mine in a fierce, hungry kiss. Every stroke of his tongue dominated my own, his mouth caressing mine hard enough to l
eave my lips swollen and tingling. I finally softened against him as my body warmed, the last of the chill of terror leaving my system as I found comfort in my captor’s desperate kiss.
Chapter 15
Andrés stayed with me for the rest of the day, holding me until Lauren brought lunch. She seemed surprised to see us together, and she had to come back a second time with more food for him. I wondered what had happened with Cristian to drive Andrés back to me in such a black mood, but I didn’t dare press him on the subject. I didn’t want the scary, violent man to resurface. I much preferred the sweet, caring man who petted me and draped my body across his chest while he leaned back against the headboard and read Watchmen with me.
I went back to the beginning of the story since Andrés had never read it before, and I found a strange joy in sharing it with him, almost as though I were able to experience it again for the first time myself. Only better than that, because he wasn’t jaded by years of warring fandoms. There was a weird innocence in watching him begin to enjoy the story, his lips curving with satisfaction as he turned the pages faster and faster.
He glanced down and noticed me watching him.
“Am I more interesting than your superheroes?” he asked, ruffling my hair.
“Anti-heroes,” I corrected him. “Well, some of them, anyway. That’s what makes them interesting.”
“Then why are you looking at me?”
I shrugged. “I already read it. I know the story.”
He set the book aside. “Then I’ll get you a different one. I don’t want you to be bored.”
“I’m not,” I answered honestly. “You can keep reading it.”
His smile twisted. “I don’t want to read right now. Not when you’re watching me like that, my curious gatita.” He took my hand and pressed it against his growing erection. His suit was rumpled from laying on the bed with me for hours, but he still looked powerful. Magnetic. The feel of his desire for me through his slacks made power pulse through my veins. This was for me. I wasn’t scared of him when he was like this, even though a part of my brain acknowledged the fact that my captor’s arousal should definitely terrify me.
But he’d never used me against my will. He’d never forced me to take his cock. He might have conditioned me to like it, but the knowledge that I’d been conditioned didn’t make his training any less effective.
My core fluttered and heated, my lower lips growing slick with my own arousal.
His hands closed around my waist, and he shifted my body off his. “On your hands and knees,” he ordered, his voice dropping deeper with desire.
I got into position without argument. After the intense fear and vulnerability of our scene in the playroom that morning, I was feeling particularly clingy. I wanted to be close to him, for him to touch me and tell me I was safe. Even though he had been the one to scare me in the first place. It was fucked up, but I ached to please him, to make him laugh and look at me with pleasure in his dark eyes.
I told myself that my weird feelings were a survival imperative; if my captor was happy with me, he wouldn’t hurt me.
But I’d seen the pain that lurked alongside the rage when he’d strapped me down to the spanking bench. I’d seen the calm that came over him once he had me bound, unable to escape him. He needed this from me.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured as he traced the line of my spine. “Stay.”
He left me briefly to retrieve a few items from the chest of drawers where he seemed to stash a multitude of kinky toys. I waited, trying to remain calm without his touch to ground me. It was unnerving, this… need. I craved physical contact with Andrés, and even in those few seconds of separation, a hollow sensation began gnawing at my gut.
Subdrop. I’d read about it online. Submissives could go into a depressive state after an intense BDSM scene, and they needed to be cuddled by their Doms until the feeling passed.
Only, Andrés wasn’t some dreamy Dominant partner I’d willingly gifted with my submission.
My animal brain warred with my rational mind.
Rational mind: resist, fight, escape.
Animal brain: pet me, hold me, kiss me.
“Settle, cosita,” he ordered, smoothing a hand down my back when he returned to my side. He’d read the mounting tension in my body, and it was soothed away as soon as he touched me.
My animal brain won. With Andrés so close, it was impossible to cling to rationality. I was too fragile from my breakdown a few hours ago, and neediness obliterated my brittle willpower to maintain emotional distance from him.
“I’m not going to restrain you, so you’re going to have to be very good for me,” he said, continuing to pet me. I sighed and relaxed under his hand, enjoying the sensation of his skin on mine. “Just like that,” he approved. My heart squeezed at the pleasure evident in his twisted smile.
“I want you to trust me,” he said. “So I’m going to trust you, too. I’m going to trust you to stay in position for me. I wanted to tie you down so you wouldn’t be able to move away from me. It’s safer for you if you stay still. That way, I won’t inflict pain unintentionally.” He shushed me before I could question him about inflicting pain. “You’ll like this,” he continued. “I’ll make sure you do, I promise. But you have to trust me. Can you do that for me?”
Fine lines of strain appeared around his eyes. He was asking for my trust, not demanding it. He was leaving me free to resist, to fight. It was my choice to submit or not.
And the fact that he gave me a choice made the decision for me.
“Yes,” I said softly. “I can trust you.”
His grin dazzled me, knocking the air from my lungs. There was no dark satisfaction in it, no triumph at my defeat; only pure joy at my willing surrender.
His touch eased down my back, over the curve of my bottom, before tracing the line of my soft folds. I moaned and pushed back into him, welcoming him to press inside me. Two fingers entered me, slowly penetrating my tight channel. I’d adjusted to taking him like this, so there was no pain as he stretched me, sliding his fingers in and out as I rocked my body in a rhythm to match.
I stilled with a soft whine when something hard and wet touched my asshole. I craned my head back to find him watching me carefully. He captured me in his warm gaze.
“Trust me,” he urged. “This will feel good.”
His fingers withdrew from my sheath to play with my clit, and he increased the pressure of the small red anal plug against my tight ring of muscles. It glistened with lubricant, and I knew he was going slowly so he wouldn’t hurt me. As his calloused fingertips traced teasing circles around my clit, my muscles relaxed. The tip of the plug slipped inside me, reminding me of how he’d penetrated my ass with his finger for the first time in the shower. That seemed so long ago now. It had been scary, and he’d done it to demonstrate his complete ownership of my body.
This was different. It wasn’t a power play, even though the power dynamic was definitely shifting between us. The farther he pressed the plug in, the more I submitted. He made it pleasurable for me, taking care to ensure that I enjoyed every deliciously deviant second of my virgin hole being stretched. I surrendered to the pleasure, surrendered to him. Dark bliss sizzled through forbidden places, lighting up my body in ways I’d never imagined I’d accept. Anal play had always seemed too taboo, too humiliating to contemplate.
With Andrés staring down at me with such intensity, I certainly didn’t feel humiliated. I felt precious. Revered. His hands might be masterful, knowing exactly how to make my body flower open for him, but there was also something worshipful in his touch.
A light burning sensation threatened to erode my pleasure, but he rubbed my clit more firmly, giving me a hit of ecstasy to mitigate the discomfort.
“Almost there,” he assured me. “You’re doing so well. You’re going to love taking my cock in your ass, once you’re properly prepared.”
The widest part of the plug sank past my tight ring, and my muscles closed arou
nd the slender base as it settled deep inside me. I drew in short, panting breaths, struggling to adjust to the sensation of being filled.
His thumb stayed at my clit, and his forefinger returned to my sheath, sliding inside with aching care. I cried out, and my fingers clawed at the sheets beneath me as twisted pleasure washed over me. I could feel him stroking along the length of the plug through the thin barrier inside me. Although I’d learned to accommodate two fingers inside me, I felt almost unbearably full with the added pressure of the toy in my bottom.
“Come for me,” he urged, increasing the pressure on my clit as his forefinger found my g-spot. At the same time, he gently tugged on the plug. All my pleasure centers lit up at once, and I screamed as my orgasm claimed me. I felt my body clamping down on his finger and on the plug, and the sensations of my inner walls undulating around them heightened my release. I couldn’t push him out, could only submit to being penetrated and played with as he wrung the final drops of bliss from my shuddering system.
I gasped against the sheets, breathing hard. He finally pulled his hand away, but he didn’t remove the plug.
“Stay just like that,” he ordered, his voice thick with his own desire. “Don’t move.”
Before I could turn my head to see what he had planned, a small pop reached my ears and fresh sensation assailed me. A light sting bloomed on my bottom, and my inner muscles tightened and danced around the plug. I looked back at him as I cried out at the shock of pleasure.
I groaned at the sight of Andrés towering over me, dressed in his suit, a crop in his big hand. It was like something out of one of my dirtiest dreams. I’d never before envisioned a man like him—dark and unquestionably dangerous—but desire flooded my entire being as he smirked down at me.
He touched the tongue of the crop beneath my chin, letting me feel the buttery soft leather as he lifted my face. “I like when you look at me like this,” he said, his accented voice lilting with his own pleasure. “My kinky virgin.”
He slid the crop up to my lips, and the rich, slightly salty scent of leather intoxicated me. Without thinking, I kissed it, the same way I’d worship his cock.
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