by Lynsay Sands
The muscles in his neck began to ache with the strain of keeping his head raised to peer at the door. Heaving a sigh of defeat, Greg let it drop back onto the pillow and began to mutter under his breath about his own stupidity.
It had come to his attention tonight that he was a complete idiot. Greg had never thought of himself as an idiot. In fact, he’d always considered himself somewhat intelligent, but that was before he’d climbed into the trunk of a strange car and locked himself inside for no good purpose that he could think of.
“Definitely an idiotic move,” Greg announced, but then perhaps insane was a better description. Stupid would have been accidentally locking himself in a trunk. Climbing in and calmly pulling it closed was more along the lines of inexplicable insanity. And he was starting to talk to himself, he pointed out. Yes, it would appear he’d lost his grip on sanity. He couldn’t help wondering exactly when he’d lost his mind, and how.
Perhaps insanity was contagious, he pondered. Perhaps he’d caught it from one of his clients. Not that Greg had any clients he’d have diagnosed as insane. He dealt mostly with phobias in his practice, though he treated a few patients with other, more long-term, difficulties. He supposed he could have had the seed all along, and tonight it had simply sprouted into full-blown madness. That was a thought. Perhaps insanity ran in the family. He should check with his mother on that, find out whether they had a madman or two in the family history.
It wasn’t just the climbing into the trunk that bothered Greg, that had only been the first of his mad actions tonight, and one he’d regretted as soon as the trunk lock had clicked into place. He’d lain in the dark, cramped space, calling himself all kinds of a fool for at least half an hour as the car had driven to this house. Then the car had stopped, the trunk had opened and what had he done? Had he leapt out, apologized for his unnatural behavior, and gone home? No. He’d stood and waited as the pretty brunette from the elevator had gotten out of the car to join him, then had followed her—docile as you please—into this huge house and up to this room.
Greg had been as cheerful and trusting as a five-year-old as he’d—without even being asked—climbed onto the bed and splayed himself for her to tie down. Greg had even returned her smile when she’d patted his cheek and announced, “My daughter is going to love you. You are my best birthday gift ever.”
After she’d left the room, he’d lain there, his mind blank for several moments before the situation he’d got himself into had begun to sink in. Greg had spent the time since then in bewildered contemplation of what had happened. His own behavior—never mind the woman’s—didn’t make any sense. It was as if he’d temporarily lost his mind. Or control of it. Unable to solve the quandary, he’d turned his thoughts to more immediate concerns, such as what was going to happen now that he was here?
“My daughter is going to love you. You are my best birthday gift ever.” These words—along with the fact that Greg was presently spread-eagled on a bed—had first made him fear he was some sort of sexual gift. A sex slave, perhaps. That possibility had immediately had him imagining being ravished by some huge, homely creature with a bad complexion and facial hair. For surely only someone terribly unattractive would need a man kidnapped and tied to her bed to get sex in today’s sexually free climate?
Just as Gregory had started to hyperventilate at the imagined horror, he’d given himself a mental slap. The woman—the mother—couldn’t be more than twenty-five or thirty years old at most. Surely no daughter of hers would be old enough to want a sex slave? Or even to know what to do with one. Besides, why would anyone want him for a sex slave anyway, he’d asked himself.
Greg had a healthy self-esteem, and knew he was attractive, but he wasn’t a rock star or GQ-model gorgeous. He was a psychologist who dressed in conservative suits, had a conservative haircut, and lived a conservative life based around work, his family, and little else. Well, his work, his family, and attempting to escape all the blind dates his sisters, aunts, and mother would have set him up on, he corrected himself wryly.
Greg’s thoughts were disturbed when the bedroom door opened again. Stiffening, he jerked his head up to peer toward the door and saw that it was the woman from a moment ago. He eyed her with wary interest. Except for her long blond hair, she looked very like the brunette who had brought him here. She was beautiful, with full lips, an oval face, a straight nose, and the same silver-blue eyes as her brunette counterpart. Obviously, they bought their contacts at the same place.
No, Greg decided. The eyes weren’t exactly the same. They were the same color and shape, but the brunette’s eyes had held a sadness and wisdom that had belied the youth of her skin and features. This woman was lacking that. The blonde’s eyes were clear, untouched by regret or true heartache. It made her seem younger.
The blonde was obviously a relative of the brunette though, Greg thought as he watched her walk to the dresser against the wall adjacent to the bed and open a drawer. Probably her sister, he guessed. He let his eyes run over the short, formfitting black dress she wore, then to her shapely legs, and the thought crossed his mind that it was almost a shame that she was too old to be the brunette’s daughter. He wouldn’t have minded being her gift.
Rolling his eyes at his own wayward thoughts, Greg watched her close the dresser and waited expectantly for her to turn her attention to him, but she didn’t. Much to his amazement, she merely walked back to the door, obviously intending to exit the room without so much as a by-your-leave. Greg was so shocked that his mouth opened and closed twice before he managed to get out a simple, “Excuse me.”
The blonde paused at the door and turned to peer at him curiously.
Greg forced a stiff smile and asked, “Do you think you could maybe untie me?”
“Untie you?” Appearing surprised by the request, she moved to the bedside to peer down at him.
“Yes, please,” he said firmly, noting the way her gaze slid over his hands. Greg knew his wrists were red and abraded from tugging at his bindings. Their state seemed to confuse and distress her.
“Why didn’t Mother calm you? She shouldn’t have left you like this. Why—” She paused and blinked, then understanding filled her face. “Oh, of course. Bastien’s early arrival must have interrupted her before she could properly settle you. She probably meant to come back and finish with you after, but forgot.”
Greg didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, except that she seemed to think her mother had brought him here and he was positive she was wrong. “The woman who brought me here was too young to be your mother. She looked like you, but had dark hair. Your sister maybe?” he guessed.
For some reason his words made her smile. “I don’t have a sister. The woman you’re describing is my mother. She’s older than she looks.”
Greg accepted this with some incredulity, then his eyes widened at the ramifications of what she was saying. “Then, I’m your birthday gift?”
She nodded slowly, then tilted her head, and said, “That’s an odd smile. What are you thinking?”
Greg was thinking he was the luckiest son of a bitch alive as his mind automatically readjusted his earlier imaginings of a large, ugly woman stripping and climbing on top of him, to this woman doing so. He allowed himself to enjoy the fantasy for a moment, but then realized that his body was enjoying it way too much, a noticeable bulge was growing in his pants. He gave his head a shake. As delightful as a night as this woman’s sex slave might be, he had plans—a trip full of sandy beaches, palm trees, and half-naked women gyrating on a dance floor. And it was already paid for.
Now…if after his trip this woman wanted to go on a date in the normal way, then tie him to a bed and have her way with him…Well, Greg liked to consider himself an obliging sort. Besides, in this case, he thought being a sex slave might not be so bad. Realizing his thoughts were wandering into areas better left alone for now, Greg gave himself a mental kick and forced a stern look to his face. “Kidnapping is illegal.”
H
er eyebrows rose. “Did Mom kidnap you?”
“Not exactly,” he admitted, recalling how he’d climbed into the trunk under his own impetus. Kidnapping generally required being forcibly taken away. Greg supposed he could have lied; however, he was a poor liar. “But I don’t want to be here, and really I don’t have any idea why I climbed into the trunk of your mother’s car. It seemed the most natural thing to do at the time, but I’ve never…”
Greg’s voice trailed away as he realized that the blonde wasn’t listening to him. At least, she didn’t appear to be. She was staring at his head with concentration and a deepening frown. She was also moving closer to the bed, though he suspected it was a subconscious action. She seemed wholly concentrated on his hair, but then she shook her head with apparent frustration, and muttered, “I can’t read your mind.”
“You can’t read my mind?” Greg echoed slowly.
She shook her head.
“I see…and…er…is that a problem?” he queried. “I mean, can you usually read people’s minds?”
She nodded, but it was an absent action, her thoughts were obviously elsewhere.
Greg tried to ignore the disappointment suddenly pinching at him as he acknowledged that the woman was mad, or at least delusional if she thought she could read minds. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. The mother couldn’t exactly be normal, or she wouldn’t allow strange men to climb into her trunk—for she’d been behind him and had to have seen him climb in. Anyone else would have run screaming for building security instead of taking him home with her.
It seemed madness was running rampant tonight. The first example had been his behavior, then the brunette’s, and now the blonde thought she could read minds. It made him wonder if there wasn’t some sort of citywide madness occurring. Perhaps men all around Toronto were climbing into trunks and letting themselves be tied to beds. Perhaps it was some sort of drug released into the city’s water reservoir; a terrorist plot to incapacitate the men in Canada.
On the other hand, perhaps this was all just a weird dream, and he was really still at his desk at work, head down and sound asleep. Greg decided that was the most likely possibility. It provided a most satisfactory explanation of his own inexplicable behavior in getting himself here. Of course, none of that really mattered. Asleep or awake, mad or not, he was here, and even if it was a dream, he wanted to get himself home. He had a flight to catch.
“Listen, if you could just untie me, I promise I’ll forget all about this. I won’t bring in the authorities or anything.”
“The authorities?” the blonde echoed. “You mean like the police?” She seemed startled at the prospect, as if it hadn’t occurred to her.
“Well, yeah,” Greg said with a frown. “Okay, so I came here apparently willingly enough,” he admitted reluctantly. “But now I want to go home, and if you don’t untie me, it’s forcible confinement, and that’s a criminal offense.”
Lissianna began to gnaw on her lower lip. She’d tried to slip into the man’s thoughts to soothe and control him as she’d done earlier with Dwayne, as her mother should have done before leaving him, but she couldn’t get into his thoughts. It was as if there were an impenetrable wall around his mind, and while she’d heard of this, she’d never run across it herself. Lissianna had never met a mortal she couldn’t read and control. Though she had run across individuals she found it difficult to read and control. Usually, that difficulty eased or disappeared altogether once she was feeding on them.
She tilted her head and eyed her gift, debating whether to try feeding off him to make it easier to slip into his thoughts and soothe him. The only problem was that if she couldn’t slip into his thoughts even a little, Lissianna wouldn’t be able to keep him from experiencing the pain when her teeth first sank into his neck. Unless…
Mirabeau had once told her about coming up against a similar situation. She’d said she’d kissed and caressed the man, relaxing him, and had managed to slip into his thoughts the moment her teeth sank into him.
Lissianna considered the matter briefly. She’d never seduced anyone before. Born and raised in Georgian England, her life had been rather sheltered, and while society had grown more promiscuous the last fifty years or so, Lissianna’s life hadn’t. Her parents were old, with old values and beliefs that were slow to change and modernize. While her mother might have allowed her more freedom, her father would never have bent to society.
Still, she simply couldn’t leave the man lying there distressed, Lissianna decided. Besides, she wouldn’t mind a little preview of her birthday dinner, rather like a lick of the icing off a cake before it was served. Okay, she’d like a little more than the equivalent of a lick, but just a quick bite, just enough to ease her hunger, she assured herself.
Yeah right, Lissianna thought dryly. This man looked yummy enough that she’d be tempted to suck him dry, a temptation she couldn’t recall having in several decades.
“The rope is really tight.”
Startled out of her thoughts by his complaint, Lissianna glanced again toward the burns at his wrists and felt her uncertainty melt away. She’d been taught that it was bad form to play with your food or allow it to suffer needlessly. And this man was suffering. It was her duty to get into his thoughts and soothe him. It was hardly her fault that she couldn’t do so the normal way and was going to have to try more extreme measures.
Mind made up and conscience appeased, Lissianna settled on the side of the bed. “You shouldn’t struggle, and you shouldn’t worry. I hate to see you distressed this way.”
He glared at her, as if resenting that she knew he was upset. Or perhaps he was simply angry that she wasn’t untying him as requested.
“Let’s get this off you,” she suggested, and set the stockings she’d collected in her lap so that she could work at the bow around his neck. He sighed as it was removed, relaxing on the bed a bit, and Lissianna decided to remove his tie as well.
“There, isn’t that better?” she asked, sliding the silk cloth from around his neck.
The man started to nod, then caught himself and scowled instead as she undid the top three buttons of his shirt. “It would be better still if you untied me.”
Lissianna smiled with amusement at the way he was struggling with himself, then tried to distract him by running her fingers lightly over the bit of chest she’d revealed. Much to her satisfaction, a little shiver went through him as her long nails scraped gently across his naked skin. This seduction business was turning out to be easier than she’d feared. Or perhaps she was just a natural, Lissianna thought, and wondered if she should be worried over the possibility.
“Untie me.” He was trying to be firm, but it was obvious his heart was no longer wholly behind the desire to be free.
Smiling knowingly, Lissianna scraped her fingers lightly down to run along the cloth just above his belt. The provocative action sent his stomach muscles galloping, and his breath came out on a little hiss of air.
“What the hell,” he breathed. “There are worse things than being a sex slave.”
Lissianna blinked in surprise at his comment and decided she’d relaxed him enough. “What’s your name?”
“Greg.” He cleared his throat, and said more firmly, “Dr. Gregory Hewitt.”
“Doctor huh?” She raised one hand to run it lightly up his chest again, noting the way his eyes immediately dropped from her face to follow the action. “Well, Doctor…You’re a very handsome man.”
She moved her hand to his hair, running it lightly through the fine, dark strands and marveling at how soft it was. Her gaze slid to his deep dark brown eyes and the firm contours of his lips as she considered her next move. He was an attractive man. In her time, she’d seen men who were more handsome, but there was something about this one that appealed to her. Her gaze slid to the furrows on his forehead, and her fingers followed, running lightly over the lines to smooth them away.
“Would you mind terribly if I kissed you?” she asked softly.
/> Dr. Gregory Hewitt didn’t answer, he simply stared at her with eyes that had darkened with interest as she allowed her finger to drift to his lips and run lightly across the soft contours. When his mouth suddenly opened to suck her finger into his warm heat, she took that as permission, but Lissianna sat still, her eyes finding and holding his with fascination as she noted the fires smoldering to life there. Then he sucked her finger farther into his mouth, his tongue running along the side of her finger as he did, and Lissianna gave a startled little gasp of surprise.
Over two hundred years old, and I never realized the finger could be an erogenous zone, Lissianna thought faintly, as the fire smoldering in his eyes now began to grow inside her, but much farther south.
Gregory Hewitt was a dangerously distracting man, and she decided it might be best to regain control of the situation. With that intention, Lissianna slowly withdrew her finger from his mouth, then leaned forward to rub her cheek briefly against his so that she could inhale the smell of him. The action had been an instinctive one, a predator testing her prey’s scent. His was a spicy, dusky aroma that she quite liked. Lissianna smiled faintly, then brushed her lips against his cheek before trailing them across to his lips. She pressed them there a little more firmly and rubbed them gently back and forth.
Gregory Hewitt’s lips appeared firm and hard, but they felt soft. Lissianna continued simply to rub her lips gently over his, enjoying the erotic caress, until he raised his own head in an effort to deepen the kiss. When she felt his tongue slip out to run lightly along the crease where her lips met, she let them slip open. Her eyes widened with surprise at the sensations that assailed her as he slipped inside.
Lissianna had certainly been kissed over the last two hundred years—many times, countless times even if she were to be honest. Some kisses had been welcomed and some stolen, some enjoyed and some not, but this kiss…
