Tamed: (A Dark Romance Kidnap Thriller) (The Dark Necessities Trilogy Book 2)

by Felicity Brandon

  The last few days had been different. The ramifications of the conversation in the lounge had been significant. Despite his better judgment Connor had to agree that the idea of having the whole of Molly, rather than just the shell of the pet, was alluring. He wanted to see if it could work, and he had invested time and energy into the idea. Yes, the woman beside him was still naked and chained. She still ate from her dog bowl and crawled around the place on all fours. She still made him hard in all the right ways. The cock in his hand right now was proof of that fact. She was his obedient little kitten, getting wet for him whenever he gave an obscene order, but she wasn’t just that. She was more than that. Connor had allowed fragments of the woman to surface again.

  Things had started small. He’d tended to her bruised behind in the immediate hours following that afternoon, and instead of gagging her, he’d let her talk. Understandably, she was initially hesitant, but as the time passed, she seemed to open up. He asked again about the life she had left behind, and Molly began to tell him. Names of friends and family were mentioned. Pieces of the puzzle which had made up her life before Connor.

  That was it at first. All he had done was listen in between fucking her and feeding her in the most debasing ways, but it planted the seed. After that, he made a point of finding out more about her each time they awoke from their sex-induced stupor. For the first time, he actually sought her answers. Stupid things became important. Connor found out that her favorite color was red, and that she was born on a Wednesday, and she adored the amaryllis. That was why a version of the flower had adorned the cover of her last six books, and why she’d had plans to use it going forward. The captive was no longer just an animal; his animal. She was a person. It sounded so straight-forward when he thought about it that way, but for a while there, he had almost forgotten the fact.

  “Master?”

  Molly’s husky tone stirred him from his train of thought, stilling the fist at his cock as he twisted to gaze down at Molly.

  “Good morning, pet,” he replied, brushing his lips over her slightly parted mouth.

  Even that term was different now. He had chosen it to demean her, to make her less than him; less than herself. A pet was an animal with fewer rights than its owner, but he’d overlooked one key factor in that calculations. Pets were also loved by their owners. In fact, in some cases they were utterly adored. There was power in being the small one, the one without control, and Molly had made him see that. In all the years he’d kept Lydia here with her consent, that simple fact had never been clear to him. Lydia was a thing to play with. Someone to keep, to command, to fuck. Connor had probably loved her in his own sick way, but the emotion was born from his own selfish desires, and not much more.

  Molly was different. Molly made him see things differently. She offered much more.

  “Did you sleep?” she asked him croakily.

  He smiled at the innocence of her question. “A little,” he told her. “At least you did though.”

  Molly was nodding as she shifted in her place, the chain attached to her tightening with the movement. “What time is it?”

  “I have no idea,” he replied honestly. “Does it matter?”

  Dark strands of soft hair fell around her face as she acknowledged his question. His cock throbbed urgently at the look of her. “I guess not,” she answered him, raising her body a little to meet his lips.

  Connor permitted the kiss, not because he wanted Molly to have control, but because of what it represented. That caress symbolized her willingness to submit to him, her willingness to stay with him, her willingness to write for him, and that’s what he wanted. Possibly for the first time in his life, Connor actually wanted someone else to be happy. If she was happy, she wouldn’t try to leave him, and maybe that meant there was a future for their story. A woman who proactively sought the kiss of her captor was no longer really a captive. Was she?

  He met her kiss with an urgency which he hoped his lips translated. Molly groaned in response as he shifted his weight, spreading her legs beneath his body as he positioned himself between them.

  “Fuck me, Master?” she moaned breathlessly.

  She was giving orders again, making demands on him. A part of him knew he shouldn’t like the fact, that he should care, but he had to be honest. Right now, he couldn’t give a damn. Right now, being back inside her perfect cunt was the only thought in his mind.

  “Do you need your Master’s cock, pet?”

  He was already reaching for the nearest condom as he asked, ripping the edge of the packet as he took in the look of the writhing woman beneath him. Reflexively, he slid the condom over his hardness, just as it found her already slick entrance.

  Molly arched as best she could underneath his body. “Yes, Master,” she panted. “Please.”

  That nearly undid him, and Connor took a second to reorder his thoughts as he lowered his mouth to those puffy lips again. He had just plunged himself inside her hot wet snatch when his curiosity was really spiked. The sound of a slamming door caught his attention, and even in the frenzy of desire, Connor’s mind knew what that noise was. A car door had just been closed, followed by the sounds of other car doors. Two, and then three of them.

  His cock stilled inside her, his senses heightened. Who the fuck would be out here? No one ever came here. Even the postman seemed to avoid the place as though he could sense the lingering scent of Lydia’s death.

  “Master?” Molly blinked up at him, those blue eyes wide, searching his face. “What is it?”

  “Someone’s here,” he murmured in response, slipping from her pussy despite the arguments his body made to the contrary. “Wait here.”

  Molly groaned in reply, arching her back as he left her apparently bereft body on the bed. “What else can I do?” she snorted, gesturing toward the metal chaining her to the bed.

  Connor smiled. She had a fair point. “You can be quiet,” he urged her. “I’m not expecting visitors today.”

  “You’d better gag me then,” she advised him with a small smirk. “You don’t want me attracting attention up here while I’m unsupervised.”

  That made him stop, the buckle of his pants hanging loose as he stared at his willing little captive. Was she really asking to be gagged in his absence? It was such a strange request for his pet to make, but then he supposed nothing about their set up here was normal, and neither could it ever be.

  “Good thinking,” he admitted as he rushed to his bedside drawer and pulled out her favorite ball gag. “Open up.”

  He needn’t have given the command. Molly’s mouth was wide open even before his knees hit the covers again. Securing the gag into place, he surveyed her splayed on the bed, ignoring the throb of his cock. She was collared and gagged, just the way she wanted to be. Her hands were free, and she could remove the plastic in her mouth any time she wanted to, but the fact was, Molly didn’t want to. She was loving this every bit as much as he was.

  Fuck, she was too perfect.

  Three hard knocks on the front door splintered his tunnel vision. Heart racing Connor dashed for the bedroom door, casting one brief glance over his captive before he closed and bolted the wood. As he ran down the stairs, his belly lurched. The silhouette of two tall men stood on the other side of the glass, and everything about them screamed police.

  “Mr. Reilly!” One shouted from beyond the partition. “Are you home, Mr. Reilly?”

  Connor’s blood ran to ice at the sound of the voice. Shit, he thought, flying into a panic. They must know about Molly, but how? He’d been so careful. Only taking her out via the integrated garage and keeping her gagged and quiet in those early days of resistance. Plus, anyhow, this place was miles away from any other houses – a rare feat for England. No one else could possibly have seen or heard her.

  “Mr. Reilly?”

  The volume of the visitor’s voice had increased, making his fist clench. For a moment he considered just ignoring them and retreating back to the bedroom. They couldn’t have
a warrant or they’d have smashed the door down by now. They could only be here to question him, and ignoring them could buy him some time. That was when the logical part of his brain took control, instructing him to do up his belt and come to his senses. Connor didn’t retreat. If they didn’t have a warrant to search the house, he could stall them on the doorstep. Or worse case, he could take them to the reception room and answer a few inane questions. His eyes scanned the hallway briefly. The lounge door was closed, and everything else looked in order. There was nothing to scream abduction. All he had to do was stay calm and deflect their inquiries.

  He’d reached the door just as the guy was about to knock again. Opening the frame, he eyed the visitors with feigned surprise. “Is there a problem?” he asked, innocently.

  The tallest of the two guys assessed him with interest. He was an older guy, maybe in his fifties, with a tired expression. Neither were wearing uniforms, and as Connor’s gaze scanned the cars on the drive, he couldn’t see a police vehicle amongst them, but both of the men in front of him reeked of the police. He noticed there were another two guys sitting in a dark sedan, watching him.

  “Are you Mr. Reilly?” The taller man almost sighed. “Mr. Connor Reilly?”

  “That’s me,” Connor answered, holding the door open just enough to reveal his state of undress. “Who are you?”

  “Detective Sergeant Jones,” replied the other, smaller guy as he flashed a badge in front of Connor. “And this is Detective Inspector Finley. We have a few questions for you, Mr. Reilly. Do you mind if we come in?”

  “Questions relating to what?” Connor responded, ensuring his voice sounded irritated rather than concerned. “I was fast asleep when you arrived, so right now might not be the best time. Can we reschedule?”

  Jones arched a brow at him. “You were sleeping at seven thirty in the evening, sir?” he quizzed Connor cynically. “That seems rather an odd time to be in bed?”

  Connor inhaled quickly, biting back on the urge to tell this little prick where to shove it. “I had a late night, Detective,” he replied in an exasperated tone. “I didn’t think sleeping early was a crime?”

  “It’s not, Mr. Reilly,” assured Finley. “And we’re sorry to have woken you, but we’ll only need a few moments of your time. It’s in relation to Lydia Walker. I believe she was once your girlfriend?”

  Lydia.

  A fragment of what remained of Connor’s sanity fractured at the sound of her name. They were here about Lydia, not Molly. Fuck…

  “Lydia?” His eyes widened in genuine disbelief. “Have you found her?”

  Jones cleared his throat. “Found her, sir?” he repeated. “Can you tell us what you know about Miss Walker.”

  “Please,” interrupted Finley with a firm nod to his subordinate. “Let’s do this inside.”

  Connor’s heart was racing out of control as he opened the door to permit them both entry. He reckoned his mind was racing almost as fast.

  What if they go upstairs? demanded the tiny voice of paranoia. What if they go upstairs and find Molly?

  They won’t go upstairs, he reminded himself. They have no reason to suspect I have anyone up there, and anyway, they won’t be here that long.

  But what if they hear Molly? nagged the voice in its usual taunting tone. What if she gets up from the bed? What if she coughs into that pretty gag? You left her unbound… Anything could happen.

  Shit, he thought, pushing down his trepidation as his stomach lurched harder. He had left her unbound. Why the fuck had he done that?

  “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Reilly,” sighed Finley as they entered the narrow hallway. “Where can we talk?”

  “Straight down the hall,” instructed Connor as he closed the door behind Jones.

  The younger of the two already looked suspicious, and Connor found himself imagining how good it would feel to pound the seven colors of hell out of him.

  Passing the lounge door, the three men moved toward the light and airy reception room. It was passable for a real room, with its cream décor and high ceilings, but as Connor gestured for the two of them to take a seat, even he had to admit it didn’t feel lived in. He watched as the two of them sunk into the nearly white sofa, and chose the chair directly opposite.

  “We’ll be as brief as we can be, sir,” began Finley. “When was the last time you saw Miss Walker?”

  Connor stared at the man sat across from him. “It was maybe three years ago,” he told him, keeping his tone as casual as possible.

  He eyed Jones as he drew the small, regulation notepad from his shirt pocket, and began scribbling notes.

  “And where was that?” Finley probed.

  “Right here,” Connor replied without a pause.

  “In this house?” clarified Jones, who stopped scribbling and glanced up at him.

  “Yes, in this house,” confirmed Connor. “In this room, in fact. She had decided our relationship was over, and that she was leaving me. She told me right here,” he concluded, gesturing around to reinforce the point.

  “On the doorstep just now, you asked if we had found Lydia,” hissed Jones, as though he thought he was pressing some pathetic advantage. “Why did you ask that, Mr. Reilly? What do you think has happened to your ex-girlfriend?”

  Connor narrowed his eyes at him. “I had a visit from Lydia’s sister some months after she had left. She was looking for Lydia, and she was worried, so I figured you guys were looking for her?” He hesitated, glancing from one detective to the next. “Has something happened to her? Is she okay?”

  “When did the sister visit?” asked Jones, his cheap ballpoint pen scratching across the notepad as he spoke.

  Connor sighed, running his fingers through the long strands of his hair. He really needed a haircut, it was getting far too long these days. “I don’t know exactly,” he lied. “Four, maybe five months after Lydia had left me? It was a real bolt out of the blue. I assumed Lydia had moved on and was happy.”

  “And Miss Walker’s sister could corroborate your story?” Jones inquired with an arrogant smirk.

  Connor’s fist balled at his side. “My story?” he replied, dropping his voice to little more than a growl. “What are you trying to imply, Detective?”

  “There are no implications, Mr. Reilly,” Finley interjected. “We only want to hear your answers to our questions, please. They are important. All my colleague here would like to confirm is that if we were to contact Lydia’s sister, she would recall this conversation?”

  Connor blinked at the older man. Clearly, he was also unimpressed with Jones’ performance. “Okay,” he conceded. “I assume she would remember it, yes. She was the one who came here, after all. I mean, you guys can check with her, right? You can check I’m telling the truth?”

  The two men glanced at one another for a moment, before Jones returned to his notepad.

  “We can, sir,” Finley confirmed with a small nod.

  “Good,” replied Connor. “Listen, I cared about Lydia. I cared about her a lot. If anything has happened to her, I…”

  His voice trailed away as he pretended to imagine the worst-case scenario. The truth was though, there was no need to imagine. Connor recalled exactly how broken her small frame had looked as he’d cleaned and wrapped it in black liners. With his brother Dalton and the others, he had dragged it to its final resting place. Every black moment was etched into his mind.

  “How long were you together, Mr. Reilly?” Finley’s voice broke the contrived silence. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “A couple of years,” Connor answered him at once.

  “Did you see the end of the relationship coming?” Jones asked curtly. “Did you expect it?”

  There was a brief silence as Connor pretended to think on the query. “I didn’t want to admit it at the time, but yes, I suppose looking back now, the writing was on the wall for us.”

  The writing was on the wall? mimicked the voice in his mind. Good one, Connor. It was certainly on
the wall for poor little Lydia, wasn’t it?

  Ignoring the mocking narrative playing out in his head, Connor looked between the two men in cheap suits sitting before him.

  “Is there anything else I can help you with?” he asked. “Because, I am seriously short on sleep and would like to get back to my bed.”

  Chapter Thirty

  He’d been gone a long time. Molly couldn’t hear everything that was going on downstairs, but the noises earlier definitely revealed the fact that someone had come into the house. The sound of at least one new voice had managed to permeate his bedroom floor, making her start. Another man was here? What the fuck did that mean?

  Molly’s hands rose to the leather at her neck, playing with the metal which connected to it. Who was downstairs with Connor? It could be an old friend. Someone he hadn’t mentioned, but then, Connor never mentioned anyone. She couldn’t recall a time he had even so much as mentioned another person. A friend, a family member, a girlfriend? It was like he was totally single-minded; his every waking moment dedicated to only one thing. Her.

  Her jaw was beginning to ache in that fucking wonderful way it did when the plastic has been forced into it for too long. The aching stirred her, making her clit throb. It had always been infuriating the way bondage and gags aroused her this way, but as her hips rolled forward, she knew she had to resist. For once, she couldn’t let her obsession with desire dominate everything else. Trembling hands rose to the back of her head, fumbling with the strap which fastened her gag into place. Within a moment, Molly had released it, pulling the plastic from her mouth. Rising to her knees, she followed the leash back to its place at the bedpost. Molly’s fingers stalled at the wood, her heart racing. In all the days since he’d found her in the woods and brought her back here again, there’d never been a chance of escape, and yet now, it was right here. She could be out of this room in a matter of seconds, down the stairs and out the door before Connor even knew it. Freedom was right there, waiting to be grasped.