by Hannah Ford
He pushed it back toward me. “Look,” he commanded.
I looked and when I did, I gasped. It was beautiful. Bright blue and green, so sharp I swore I could almost see the swirling gases.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
“Its visibility will be highest tomorrow. I’ll show you.”
My hair had fallen over one of my shoulders when I’d bent to look through the viewfinder, and he was so close that his breath tickled my neck as he spoke.
Instinctually, I leaned back into him, my back pressing against his chest. He was made of granite, rock hard and strong. It should have scared me, should have freaked me out that he was so big, so strong, that he was basically holding me captive here.
His hands were still on the telescope, effectively trapping me. I turned around, but he kept his hands on the scope, not letting me out.
If you do a good job, I’ll pay your father’s debt.
His eyes were on me, blazing with heat, the electricity flowing and crackling between us. My nipples poked through my thin t-shirt, more erect than ever, once again betraying the effect he was having on me.
I ducked under his arm and out from under him, took a step back and tried to gather my bearings.
His dark eyes hooded as he looked at me, that same sexy little smirk playing over his lips. “Time for bed for you.”
My body broke into goose bumps. “In your room?” I blurted.
He waited a beat before he answered me, prolonging the torture. “You can have the guest room.”
“Okay.” I let out the breath I’d been holding, relieved. But underneath my relief was a tiny little sliver of disappointment. Images of Liam and me in the same bed together flashed through my mind, his dark hair in my hands, my nails scraping up his back, the way his bare chest would feel against mine, the weight of him flattening my naked breasts against his muscles.
“Your bedroom is downstairs,” he said, and then he held his hand out to me.
I hesitated, then slipped my hand into his.
His palm was warm and comforting, and inexplicably, I felt safe with him.
You’re not safe with him, Emery, I told myself. This is what psychopaths do. They charm you and make you feel like you’re safe with them. But you’re not. And don’t you ever forget that.
We took the elevator to the second floor, then walked down a short corridor. Liam opened a door at the end of the hall.
He flipped the light on and I gasped. The room was the size of the whole entire floor of my dorm, and one side of it was all glass, just like the living room upstairs. We were on the second floor, so of course the ceiling wasn’t glass, but it was painted to look like the night sky, in swirling shades of blue and purple and black, the stars so realistic they seemed to twinkle.
The bed was a California king with a slatted headboard, and there were heavy drapes hanging from a rail in front of the window that followed the curved perimeter of the room.
My mouth dropped open at the expanse of everything that was before me.
“I take it this is acceptable?” Liam asked, noticing my reaction.
I shut my mouth. “It’s fine.”
He crossed the room toward the en suite bathroom, turning on the light in there as well. “There are towels in there, toothbrushes, whatever you need.”
“Okay.” Thank you was on my tongue, an automatic reaction, something I would normally say to someone who was letting me stay as a guest in their home. But I wasn’t a guest in Liam’s home. I was a captive.
“I’ll be right back.”
Liam left the room and returned a moment later. In one hand, he held an oversized maroon t-shirt and a pair of navy pajama pants. In the other hand, he held my purse.
“How did you get my purse?” I asked, reaching for it.
He held it away from me. “I took it from you. You must not have noticed.”
I glared at him. “Yeah, I must not have noticed when you were abducting me.”
“Abduction means you’re being held against your will, Emery.”
“Aren’t I?”
“No. You’re free to leave anytime you want.”
“Oh, really? And then what?”
“And then your father will be killed.” His voice was deadpan, with no trace of emotion.
“Which basically amounts to me being held against my will,” I spit and made another grab for my purse. But again he held it out of my reach.
He rooted around inside and pulled out my phone, then handed it to me. “Tell your friends you’re okay, that you left the party and went home.”
I took my phone from him.
I had it in my hands.
I could call 911.
I could text Maddie, tell her where I was, that I’d been taken by Liam Rutherford, that I was at his house in the city.
And then your father will be killed.
But did I really even know that for sure? It could have been something Liam had made up, something he’d told me to keep me from trying to get away. And even if it was true, why did I care if my father was killed? It wasn’t like he’d ever been there for me, wasn’t like he’d ever done anything for me.
I remembered something I’d told a therapist once, back when I believed that therapy was something that could actually work:
He was worse than her because he let her get away with it.
I pushed the button on my phone for my text messages.
Three texts from Maddie, all of them asking where I was, the last two sounding slightly frantic.
Went home, I texted back while Liam watched me carefully. Sorry, got tired. Will call you in morning.
I sent it.
“Nice touch,” Liam said, taking the phone from me.
“What?” I asked innocently, even though I knew exactly what he was talking about. He was referring to the fact that I’d told Maddie I would text her in the morning. Which meant someone would be keeping tabs on me, expecting to hear from me.
But Liam stayed silent.
I picked up the clothes he’d set down on the bed and clutched them to me.
“So, what? You’re going to watch me change?” I imagined his eyes on me as I removed my jeans and t-shirt, and my nipples instantly felt hard and swollen again, a dull ache settling between my legs.
“No, Emery, I will not be watching you change.” I swallowed.
My body was on fire, still scorching from the inside out. I wondered what it would be like to kiss him, to feel his tongue sliding into my mouth, parting my lips, the faint stubble on his cheeks rubbing against my skin.
I looked away.
“Good night, Emery,” he said. And then he was gone, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. A second later, the sound of the door locking from the outside echoed through the room.
I changed in the bathroom after quickly surveying the room and making sure there were no cameras or recording devices mounted on the walls.
I didn’t see any, but I knew that didn’t mean anything. Liam Rutherford was head of a multi-billionaire dollar tech company -- if he wanted to outfit the place with hidden surveillance equipment, I’m sure it wouldn’t be difficult.
The t-shirt he’d given me was a Stanford University Cardinals shirt. I knew Liam had gone to Stanford, so it must have been his.
A secret little thrill ran up my body at wearing his clothes, but I pushed it away then stepped into the blue cotton pants, tying the drawstring tight. He was so big that his clothes hung on my body, bagging around my hips.
I brushed my teeth and washed my face, then returned to the bedroom.
I glanced at the door briefly, wondering why Liam had locked it if I was free to go, as he’d claimed.
My head felt heavy and there was a scratchiness behind my eyes. If I had any chance of getting out of here, of figuring this out, I was going to need sleep.
I scanned the room, thankful to see a thermostat mounted on the wall by the door. I couldn’t sleep if a room was too cold or too light. I liked it w
arm and dark.
So pushed the button on the thermostat until the digital display glowed 75, sighing in relief as warm air began to flood from the vents.
Then I closed the heavy drapes and groped my way to the bed.
I shut my eyes, praying that tonight, I wouldn’t dream.
But the nightmares came, just like they did every night.
It was a retread of an old one, one I’d had many times before, but it didn’t make it any less terrifying.
I was on a gurney, being wheeled down a long hospital hallway, the smell of antiseptic heavy in the air.
I kept trying to get up, but my limbs were like lead. I kept trying to talk, to tell the doctors that I was fine, that I wasn’t sick, that I didn’t need a surgery, but they couldn’t hear me.
They couldn’t hear me because I couldn’t open my mouth.
They wheeled me into an operating room, the lights glaring down from above, almost blinding me.
They lifted me from the stretcher and placed me onto an operating table, the cold from the metal underneath me seeping through my thin hospital gown. A nurse in a white cap tried to put a mask on me, to give me anesthesia, but I turned my head.
The walls were mirrored and immediately, I was face-to-face with my reflection.
My eyes were wide and frightened, and there was a zipper where my mouth should have been. I tried to scream and the zipper burst open as blood poured from my mouth.
I screamed and screamed and screamed.
I woke up to Liam’s voice.
“Emery,” he was saying. “Emery, it’s okay, you’re okay. It was a nightmare, just a nightmare.”
He was in bed with me, his arms around me, and I knew I should have been pushing him away, knew I should have been railing against him, but something about him felt strong, sturdy, and so when he pushed into me, I pushed back.
“Shh,” he said, and he was stroking my hair. He pulled away and looked at me. “You’re burning hot.”
He was right -- my skin was hot, and I felt sweaty and feverish.
He left the room and when he returned, he was holding a fresh t-shirt. For the first time, I noticed he was shirtless, naked from the waist up.
His body was spectacular, cut and muscular, his biceps huge, the expanse of his chest smooth and chiseled, his pecs defined.
His hips narrowed into a V around his six-pack, a thin line of hair starting at his belly button and disappearing into the waistband of his black athletic pants.
My body flooded with desire.
“Here,” he said. “Put this on.”
He turned around, and I slipped my sweaty t-shirt off and put the fresh one on.
Liam was over by the door now, turning down the thermostat. He’d left the door open, and the cooler air in the hallway already beginning to bring down the temperature of the room.
He came back to the bed and sat down next to me, handed me a fresh bottle of water.
I took a sip. “Thank you.”
He nodded, then turned on the tiny reading light that was on the nightstand. The light was muted and soft, and it illuminated his strong features. “You get those a lot?” he asked.
I took another sip of water and thought about lying, thought about telling him no, I didn’t the get nightmares a lot, that they weren’t a big deal. I was what I’d told Maddie when she found out freshman year, the first time we’d shared a dorm room together after an adolescence spent convincing her that my parents wouldn’t let me have sleepovers.
But something about the darkness, and something about him sitting there and me not knowing him, made me want to tell him. What the hell did I care what he thought of me? It would serve him right to think he’d kidnapped a crazy girl.
“Yes.”
“Every night?”
“Almost.” I twirled the plastic cap of the water bottle between my fingers nervously, and he reached out and took it from me, then placed it on the nightstand. Electricity zinged through my body from his touch, and I shifted away from him on the bed.
He didn’t ask me what the dream was about. Which was the first thing people always asked when they found out about my nightmares -- doctors, therapists, Maddie, my roommate first semester of junior year when Maddie was studying abroad in France.
The silence stretched between us, and I felt the need to fill it. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I wasn’t sleeping.” His eyes were on me now, smoldering, and I slid further back against the fluffy pillows behind me. But the covers stayed where they were, dropping down and pooling around my waist.
The t-shirt he’d given me was white, and I’d made the mistake of taking off my bra when I’d gotten ready for bed. My nipples poked through the material, even more prominently than they had earlier.
His eyes raked over my body, lingering on my breasts, and I grabbed at the covers and went to pull them up over me, but he put his hand on mine, stopping me.
He pulled the covers back down to my waist.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured.
I laughed. “Right.”
He frowned, his eyes knitting together in disapproval.
“I’m not beautiful. If you think you have to say that in order to get me to sleep with you, you don’t.”
“I know,” he said simply. “You’ll sleep with me anyway.”
I looked away, my face burning with embarrassment.
“Look at me.”
I shook my head no. I couldn’t look at him. I was way too embarrassed. Embarrassed that he’d caught me having a nightmare, embarrassed that he thought I was stupid enough to believe he thought I was beautiful, embarrassed that I was turned on, that he’d taken me here against my will and still my body was responding to him, to his built body, his dark features, his cut shoulders, and his chiseled jaw.
“Emery.” He cupped my chin in his hand and turned my face so I was forced to look at him. “When I tell you to do something, you will do it without question. His voice was a sexy, low growl, and warmth settled deep in my belly.
“That’s ridiculous,” I said, but the way he was looking at me was pebbling my nipples even more, as hormones raged through my body.
“Do you understand?” His thumb brushed my bottom lip, sending jolts of electricity soaring through me. And before I knew it, I was nodding.
Something about his tone was so commanding that it made me feel the need to obey him. The weird thing was, I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t scared at all. In fact, it was the exact opposite. The way he was talking, the dominance in his voice, was making me feel safe.
I waited for him to say something else, but instead, he took his hand from my face. Instantly, I wanted his hands back on me.
“Are you dealing with it?” he asked.
“Am I dealing with what?”
“Whatever is causing the nightmares.” He reached over and handed me the water bottle and I took another long, slow sip.
Again, I thought about lying and again, I thought, what the hell. I didn’t know him, and something about that felt much safer than telling someone like Maddie, who would look at me with sympathy and ask me why I’d never told her, why I’d kept it a secret all these years. And then she’d never look at me the same again. I would never be normal, whole. I’d be the girl who’d Gone Through Something Traumatic.
“No,” I said. “I’m not dealing with it.”
“Why not?” Liam pressed.
I snorted. “Trust me, it’s not something you can just deal with. It’s not that simple.”
He took the bottle of water from my hands and took a sip. Something about the gesture was very intimate, the two of us sitting here in the dark, sharing a water bottle. I inched away from him on the bed, suddenly needing to put distance between us, not because I really wanted to, but because I needed to prove that I could.
“You can deal with anything, Emery,” he said. “It’s whether or not you want to that’s the question.”
“I don’t want to,” I said automatically.
He set the water bottle back down on the nightstand and stood up, and I felt like I’d disappointed him in some way.
He crossed the room and shut the door, then checked the thermostat again. “You shouldn’t sleep with it so hot in here. It’s not good for you.”
Then he was back at the bed, sliding in under the covers next to me.
“What are you doing?” I asked, panicked.
“Going to bed.”
“In here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to leave you alone.”
I snorted. “You don’t find that ironic?”
“What?”
“The fact that you’ve kidnapped me, but you think you’re going to make me feel better by staying with me?”
“Do you always see things in such black and white?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
I stayed quiet, waiting for him to say something else, or to reach for me. When he didn’t, I turned around to face him.
We stared at each other in the dimly light room, and I bit my bottom lip.
My heart was beating so fast I was terrified he would hear it. “If I stay here with you, for the week, what will you make me do?”
His eyes blazed. “I’ll start slow.”
“With sex?” I asked.
He looked amused at my use of the word. “With fucking.”
He reached for me and rested his hand on my hip. His touch made me feel hot, even though the air temperature of the room was already started to drop.
“I’m not experienced,” I said, because I needed him to know.
He raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Your body was made to be fucked, Emery,” he said, and his hand slid up my side, over the curve of my breast through the thin t-shirt I was wearing. “Your tits were made to be sucked and fucked and played with.”
I shivered.
“It’s okay to be nervous.”
“Will you be gentle?” I whispered. I wasn’t sure why I was whispering. It was only the two of us here, both of us alone in the dark. But something about the whispering felt safe, almost like if I didn’t say the words too loud, they weren’t real.
I fully expected him to say yes, that he would be gentle, but Liam shook his head. “I’m not into gentle.”
