King's Ransom

by Jackie Ashenden

  But he ignored me, turning his mouth into my hair and nuzzling against my ear. The press of his knees was hard against my thighs as his fingers stroked unhurriedly through my folds, getting me hot, getting me wet.

  He pinched my nipple harder then found my clit with his other hand and pinched that too. ‘You’re mine, woman,’ he said roughly in my ear. ‘You want to play this game with me, then that makes you mine for the duration. And you do whatever I want, understand?’

  Oh, yes, I understood. And I was totally on board.

  ‘Okay,’ I panted. ‘I’m fine with that. Just...more, please.’

  His fingers spread possessively over my pussy and he pinched my nipple yet again, making me groan. ‘That’s not up to you. Not now.’ His teeth grazed my earlobe. ‘I’m going to give you something and you’re going to put it on me.’

  I nodded quickly, the intense pressure between my thighs an ache I was desperate to relieve, his light touches only maddening me further.

  He pressed something into my palm—a foil packet still wet from the pool. He must have got it out of his wallet before he’d stripped.

  I sat up and with shaking hands ripped it open, taking out the condom. Then I leaned forward to put it on him—or at least I tried. He made it difficult by toying with my other breast and teasing my clit with his finger, making me pant and tremble with the brutal, wicked ecstasy of his touch.

  Eventually I got the condom on and then he was taking over again, holding me open with one hand while he gripped himself with the other, fitting the head of his cock against my slick flesh.

  He pushed inside me and I cried out at the stretch of him, the slow, aching slide of his flesh into mine. Then he gripped me, holding me still, his hips pushing upwards, forcing himself deeper, his knees pressing my thighs wider apart.

  Pleasure cut like a knife and I arched again, writhing helplessly against him, my hips jerking against the relentless push of his.

  But he held me there, not letting me move, making me feel every inch of his cock as he slid it out then back in, driving upwards in a hard, brutal motion that had me shuddering.

  My hands tried to find something to hold onto, settling on his forearms, my nails digging into his skin as he thrust harder, deeper.

  The angle meant I couldn’t quite get the friction I wanted and I’m sure he knew that. And took complete advantage of it, every thrust driving me further and further towards madness.

  I could feel the orgasm approaching, so close and yet just out of reach. Moans escaped me, desperate cries for him to relieve the growing pressure.

  But he didn’t. He made me wait. Pushing and pushing and pushing, until I clawed at him, twisting in his grip. Then his fingers at last found my clit and he stroked me in time with his thrusts, the pressure firm, his cock inside me achingly hard.

  I exploded around him, stars shooting behind my closed eyelids, my cries echoing around the pool. It was only then that he withdrew from me and flipped me over so I was lying face down on the lounger. Then he came behind me, gripping my hips and pulling me up on my knees, sliding into me from behind.

  I buried my burning face against the linen cover of the lounger and groaned, my pussy oversensitive and still pulsing with the aftershocks. But he didn’t stop and I didn’t want him to.

  That first time, up in his bedroom, he’d been holding back and it was only now that I understood how much. Because he certainly wasn’t holding back any more.

  He drove into me hard and fast, low guttural sounds of pleasure coming from him as he thrust, and I gripped tight onto the cushions, more stars exploding behind my eyes, a second orgasm barrelling down on me.

  I loved it. I loved how he simply took what he wanted from me without asking. It meant I couldn’t fail or disappoint him, because I didn’t have to try to be something I wasn’t, or make up for something I didn’t do.

  It was enough to be myself.

  And then his hand slid around my hip and down between my thighs, finding my clit and stroking relentlessly, and I stopped thinking.

  The orgasm broke over me, making tears sting behind my lids and sobs choke in my throat with the intensity of the sensation.

  ‘You’re mine, woman,’ Ajax growled from behind me, shoving me rhythmically into the cushions as he fucked me harder. ‘Understand? Only mine.’

  Then his big body slammed into mine one last time before stiffening, his roar buried against my skin as he bit my shoulder.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Ajax

  IMOGEN RELAXED BENEATH ME, her luscious body hot and pliant. She’d turned her head on the lounger cushions, her cheek flushed, strands of hair stuck to it. Sunlight struck gold sparks from those strands and the thick, soft lashes that rested against her skin.

  She was panting.

  Her pussy was clenching tight around my cock and I could taste her from where I’d bitten her shoulder, her skin salty and sweet. I could see the mark my teeth had left there too, a small bruise already darkening her pretty skin.

  A dark, possessive satisfaction spread out inside me.

  I’d marked her. She was mine. I wasn’t listening to that fucking voice in my head telling me that I didn’t deserve her. That she was somehow the start of the slippery slope I was going to fall down.

  It didn’t matter. I’d have to let her go eventually but, until then, she was completely and utterly mine. And it felt good. It had been a long time since I’d had anything that was mine. If I ever really had.

  I eased out of her then put a hand on the back of her neck, pressing lightly. ‘You okay?’ I’d been rough and demanding and she was, after all, extremely inexperienced.

  ‘Yes,’ she said in a scratchy voice. ‘In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been better.’

  I smiled. My little one was as insatiable as I was.

  ‘Good.’ I pressed a little harder. ‘Wait there.’

  I got off the lounger and went into the house, getting rid of the condom in the downstairs bathroom. Then I went back outside.

  Imogen was curled up on the lounger cushions and as I approached she turned her head, looking up at me from underneath her lashes. She smiled, green eyes dancing in the sunlight.

  That thing that kept catching me in the chest caught me again. Harder.

  She turned over, lying on her back, then she flung her arms up over her head and stretched, her back arching, her toes pointed like a dancer.

  So fucking sexy. I was hard again, instantly.

  ‘Little one,’ I murmured. ‘Are you trying to kill me?’

  She opened one eye, clearly pleased. ‘Is it working?’

  ‘Maybe.’ I grinned. ‘Are you up for more? Because I’m not finished.’

  Her eyes glittered, the hunger in them in no way diminished by the two orgasms I’d already given her. ‘Good. I was hoping you’d say that.’ She rolled onto her side, facing me. ‘Tell me what you want next.’

  Perfect. She was absolutely goddamn perfect.

  I put her onto her back next then came over her on my hands and knees, my head between her legs so I could eat her out. Then I had her suck me at the same time, telling her she couldn’t come unless I did.

  She managed the task pretty well considering I had my tongue in her pussy the whole time, proving that the woman could clearly concentrate extremely well when given the right incentive.

  After we’d recovered, I gathered her up into my arms and took her inside to the en suite bathroom next to my bedroom. Pulling her into the shower, I washed her, running my hands all over her satiny skin before lifting her up and fucking her slowly against the tiled wall until she sobbed with pleasure.

  By that stage the day was edging into late afternoon and she was starving, and so was I. So I took her down to the kitchen, where I made us both a BLT.

  She insisted on watching me closely as I cooked the bacon, h
er bright eyes alight with interest. Then she demanded to have a turn pushing the bacon around in the pan so I handed the spatula to her and let her try.

  ‘Please tell me you’ve at least cooked something,’ I commented as she poked at the bacon.

  ‘Nope,’ she said, completely unashamed. ‘Not a thing. Dad had a lady who came and cooked for us. I never even thought about doing it myself.’ She gave the bacon another poke then looked at me, her pretty face beautifully flushed. ‘Can I cook something tonight? Like...an egg or something? I’ve never even boiled one.’

  I leaned against the kitchen counter. ‘You didn’t learn how to do it in school?’

  ‘No. I didn’t go to school. Or high school. Dad hired tutors for me.’

  Of course she hadn’t. She’d been kept isolated and deliberately so.

  I studied her face as she gave the bacon the same fierce attention she’d given to my dick not an hour earlier.

  Poor little one. She’d been alone for a long time yet she hadn’t let it crush her spirit entirely. She was still curious, still interested, still alive to the possibilities of the world.

  Unlike you.

  Yeah, I knew what the possibilities of the world were. Violence. Murder. Torture. Pain. Betrayal. At least that’s what they’d been for me.

  She should have better.

  The thought was like a meteor streaking across the front of my mind, blazing, full of light. And I had no idea why.

  It wasn’t my job to make her life better. She was my prisoner and now maybe my toy, but nothing beyond that. I’d keep her in my bed for a few more days and then I’d let her go.

  ‘What did you want to be when you grew up?’ she asked me suddenly. ‘Like, when you were a kid?’

  It was such an out-of-the-blue question that I answered without thinking. ‘A sailor,’ I said, memories of watching those boats on the water coming back to me. ‘I always wanted to sail over the edge of the horizon, see what was on the other side.’

  She smiled. ‘That sounds so cool. Did you ever get the chance?’

  ‘No.’ I managed to keep the word casual and not full of any dark undertones. ‘What about you? What did you want to be when you grew up?’

  Her expression shifted, rippling with something that I thought was curiosity, and I tensed, waiting for her to push.

  But she didn’t. Instead she looked back down to the pan. ‘What didn’t I want to be? A nurse. A fairy. A princess. A firefighter. An ambulance driver. A doctor. A painter. An astronomer. A historian.’ Her mouth turned up. ‘I was interested in everything, which basically meant that I could never decide.’

  That seemed to fit her quicksilver mind.

  ‘You never found the one thing you really wanted to do?’ I asked.

  ‘Part of the problem is that I want to try everything.’ She gave a little sigh. ‘But then, once I figure it out, I lose interest.’

  She was bright and I suspected there was an intelligence to her that her curiosity only hinted at. What would she be like if she didn’t lose interest? If she found that one thing and concentrated on it?

  She would be...formidable.

  Yes. She bloody well would be.

  ‘Why do you lose interest?’ I asked.

  She lifted a shoulder. ‘I don’t know. I just get obsessed by something and then, once I’ve found out all there is to know about it, it’s like I’m...not interested any more. Or something else catches my attention.’ Her small white teeth sunk into her lip. ‘It’s frustrating, to be honest.’

  ‘Maybe you simply haven’t found the thing that’ll hold your interest yet,’ I said. ‘You’re still young. The world is a big place.’

  ‘You say that like you’re eighty years old.’

  ‘I feel eighty years old.’ I found myself staring into her eyes. ‘Especially when I look at you.’

  Her mouth, with its tiny, adorable birthmark, curved. ‘I know I’m young, or at least younger. And Dad is always accusing me of behaving like a child, but...’ The smile faded, darkness flickering in her eyes. ‘I’m not. I’m Dad’s daughter. And no kid should ever have a childhood like mine.’

  That strange tightness caught in my chest again, harder this time. All I could think about was how different we were—light years apart in life experience—and yet how similar we were too.

  Our fathers, hers and mine, enemies. Our childhoods twisted by the same kind of monsters. She’d been sheltered from it more than I had, but she hadn’t escaped. It had touched her too.

  I wanted to ask her how she’d coped, but I suspected I already knew; that quicksilver mind of hers had protected her, always moving, always finding something new to concentrate on, distracting her from the truth of her existence.

  I’d had the protectiveness that lived in me, that I cursed sometimes for the way it drove me, the way it denied me.

  But in the end it had been the thing that had saved me too.

  ‘No, they shouldn’t.’ I reached out to cup her cheek. ‘And you shouldn’t have either.’

  ‘He hurt other people worse. He never touched me.’

  ‘Hurt doesn’t have to be physical—you know that, right?’

  She looked away, her skin soft against my palm. ‘He had his reasons.’

  Something stilled inside me. ‘What reasons were they?’

  ‘I mean, he was right—I’m not that great at controlling myself even now. And besides, he said I owed it to her.’ She let out a shaky breath, staring down unseeing at the pan. ‘My mum.’ Another pause and I waited, because I knew there was more.

  Her gaze lifted, the green sharp as glass. ‘I killed her, you know.’

  It took effort to keep the shock from my face. ‘You killed her? What do you mean?’

  ‘I told you, remember? She died having me. And Dad...never forgave me for that. He told me that if I hadn’t been born, Mum would still be here, and that I owed him for her loss. That I...owed her too.’

  Jesus. Her dad had laid that on her? The bastard. The fucking bastard.

  I stroked her cheek with my thumb, the tightness in my chest aching at the pain in her eyes. ‘You don’t owe him anything, Imogen, not a damn thing. And you didn’t kill her either.’

  Her mouth got that vulnerable look. ‘Dad thinks I did. If I hadn’t been born, she wouldn’t have had that haemorrhage and she’d still be alive.’

  ‘He’s wrong. Grief makes people do odd things and blame others when they shouldn’t.’ I’d seen enough of that in my lifetime. ‘I’m sorry your mother died, but...’ I paused. ‘I think she would have wanted you to be born.’

  Imogen had gone very still. ‘She wouldn’t have wanted to die.’

  I stroked her again, feeling the softness of her. ‘No, but she would have been glad that you’re alive. That you’re here.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘I know what it’s like to want to protect the people you love. To sacrifice things for them.’ I didn’t understand what was making me say this stuff to her, not when she wasn’t supposed to matter to me, but I couldn’t stop myself. ‘Your mother loved you, Imogen. And she would have sacrificed everything for you to make sure you existed. Even her life.’

  A tear ran down her cheek and then another. ‘But...why?’ She looked at me as if she genuinely didn’t have any idea. ‘She didn’t even get a chance to know me.’

  ‘Why? Because you’re beautiful.’ I wiped away the tear with my thumb. ‘And you’re very brave. You’re strong. And you’re fiercely intelligent. Why wouldn’t she?’

  ‘But I... I’m not any of those things.’

  ‘Bullshit. You’ve done nothing but be resolutely unafraid of me since I kidnapped you. Hell, no one talks to me the way you do—no one would fucking dare. Then there’s how you took everything I had to give you in bed, all the while screaming for more. And now... I want to see
what that amazing mind of yours can accomplish when you find something you want to focus on.’ I brushed away another tear. ‘Because I have a feeling that when you do you’re going to work miracles.’

  Shock rippled over her face, along with something else I didn’t recognise. She stared at me like she’d never seen me before in her entire life.

  ‘How...?’ Her voice was scratchy. ‘How do you know all this stuff?’

  ‘My mother died when I was young too, but I had brothers,’ I said quietly. ‘And I would have done anything for them.’

  Behind her, the oil in the pan began to smoke.

  ‘The bacon, little one,’ I reminded her gently. ‘It’s burning.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Imogen

  I ROLLED OVER and blinked as the early-morning sunlight fell over my face.

  Ajax wasn’t in bed with me, but that seemed to be normal with him. He hadn’t been there the past couple of days when I’d woken up either, though I hadn’t woken this early before.

  He must have been up even earlier.

  I slipped out of bed, finding one of his T-shirts on the floor and pulling it on over my head. The cotton was cool against my bare skin and it smelled of the dark, delicious male scent that was all him.

  It gave me a little shiver of pleasure.

  I couldn’t have put into words how happy the past couple of days with him had made me.

  After that day in the kitchen, when he’d said those things to me about Mum and sacrifices, I’d felt lighter than I had in years. And in the days that followed I felt lighter still.

  It wasn’t as if we did anything major. Just...spent a lot of time in bed, talking. Or watching TV. Or swimming in the pool. One evening I’d curled up in his lap in the library, his hand stroking through my hair as we read books together. I hadn’t wanted to move, not once.

  Being with him eased something frenetic inside me. With him it quietened, as if his presence lulled it.

  He still hadn’t talked about himself in any meaningful way, though, apart from that one comment about his brothers. His past and his thinking processes were still as much of a closed book to me as ever.