Keeping Her: A Dark Romance (Keep Me Series Book 1)

by Angela Snyder

  It's what I paid for, after all.

  She hesitates at first, but then she eventually begins to cross the room towards me. The dress hugs every curve of her luscious body, her hips swaying slightly as she walks. She's walking timidly and on her tiptoes as if she's used to wearing high heels.

  I don't allow shoes to be worn in my home, and Maria always instructs the girls of that fact.

  She stops about a foot from the chair and stares at me. Our gazes lock in a tense-filled moment before I gesture for her to sit in the chair I presented to her. She hesitates a moment longer before finally pressing her delectable ass into the plush chair. I gently push her in until she's at a comfortable distance from the table before I take my own seat just several inches to her left.

  The table is long and seats fifteen. She could have sat anywhere really, but I want her close to me. I want to enjoy her since our time here is, unfortunately, limited.

  "Hello. You look lovely," I tell her, hoping for a response, but disappointedly not receiving one.

  I want to hear the sound of her voice. I talked to her on the first night, but she was just waking up out of a drug-induced fog and no doubt in pain. I imagine her voice to be melodic, and I can't wait until she decides to finally speak to me.

  The girl simply tears her gaze away and stares at the empty plate before her.

  Frowning, I grab a freshly laundered linen napkin and place it on my lap. Then I unbutton my cufflinks and methodically roll up the sleeves of my dress shirt over my strong forearms, being careful to roll each side the same number of times. I lost my suit jacket a while ago, having been too anxious and overheated while waiting for her arrival to dinner.

  The first course, a cream soup, is served a few short moments later.

  Seven stares at her bowl as if something is going to jump out and grab her. Hesitantly, she picks up her spoon, and I watch her hand tremble as she dips the utensil into the soup and slowly brings it to her mouth.

  "Am I making you nervous?" My deep voice echoes in the large room, causing the girl to jump and dribble soup down the side of her mouth and chin.

  Normally, the sight of food on someone's face would have me retching uncontrollably, but the fear in her eyes at doing something wrong has me concentrating on nothing but her reaction to me. Clearing my throat and surprising even myself, I grab one of the extra linen napkins from the table and gently wipe the soup from her pretty face.

  "I didn't mean to frighten you," I whisper as I make sure every drop is wiped up. Her eyes are wide and trained on me, her breath coming out in short gasps, caressing my hand. My eye twitches as I begin to think about where her mouth has been. How many people has she kissed? How many cocks have been in that filthy mouth; juices and fluids and…? So many questions swirl around in my mind until I can't concentrate.

  And that's when it happens.

  My fingers accidentally graze across her lips, and it's like an electric shock going through me. I snatch my hand back and toss the used napkin to the floor.

  I'm barely able to gain control of myself as my mind races, thinking about her breath on my fingertips and the fact that I touched her mouth…her mouth that is crawling with bacteria. I squeeze my eyes shut, reciting in my mind what the tests showed me earlier. I have the damn paperwork memorized. She's clean. She's been tested; she's clean, I tell myself over and over.

  Nevertheless, I grab a bottle of hand sanitizer from my pants pocket and apply it liberally to my hands. I know I won't be able to continue on with my meal until I do so. I rub the antiseptic-smelling liquid into every crease and crevice, making sure that I get every inch of skin that may have been in contact with her.

  After a while, I'm able to settle myself down enough that my heart stops racing and my breathing returns to normal. When I look up, I realize the girl's staring at me, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. It's making me feel extremely uneasy, so I clear my throat and tell her sternly, "Eat."

  Her head bows and her eyes meet the table as she grasps her spoon in her trembling hand and eventually scoops a mouthful to her lips. This time she doesn't spill a drop, and I'm pleased. In fact, she continues to eat quite eloquently, almost as if she's been trained.

  We make it through the first course without talking, both of us consumed with our own thoughts. I'm angry that I almost had a meltdown in front of her. I don't let the women I purchase see that side of me. None of them had any idea that I'm…not normal. They didn't spend enough time with me to determine that.

  But Seven knows now. I could see the confusion and pity in her gaze. I clench my left hand into a fist under the table, trying to ease my temper. I don't need anyone's fucking pity.

  One of my staff comes to clear our bowls --- fine china that will be unceremoniously tossed out in the trash. I never eat from the same plate or drink from the same glass twice. The utensils are sterling silver and hand washed before being put into a high-pressure, high-temp, industrial-sized dishwasher and ultimately polished dry, so I do allow the staff to clean and reuse them. But everything else must go in the trash as a one-time use only.

  My gaze keeps straying to Seven. I can't stop staring at her, and I'm sure it's making her uncomfortable, but I don't care. She's mine to do with whatever I please, I tell myself. But I don't know if I truly believe that.

  As her delicate hand grips the crystal stemware to bring the glass of wine to her lips, I suppress a groan. I watch as she parts her lips and presses them to the rim of the glass before drinking a long sip of the very expensive and very vintage wine. Even though I just freaked out a few moments ago when I touched those very lips, I can't help but want to know what it would feel like to press my own against hers. I've never kissed anyone before or ever wanted to, for that matter, so I can't say that I know exactly what it would feel like. Her lips are full, like two soft pillows with a perfect cupid's bow.

  "What's your name?" I find myself asking her even though I never bothered to care what the other women's real names were until they were leaving. And I never called the other girls by anything but their number.

  I always kept it cool and impersonal from the start when it all began with the first, Number One.

  "Adeline," she says in a throaty whisper, and her gaze finally meets mine.

  Adeline.

  Seven. Seven letters in her name. It's almost like it's fate.

  She carefully picks up a linen napkin and dabs at that luscious mouth I can't stop staring at. Her pink tongue darts out to lick and wet her lips, and I can feel my thickening cock straining against my suit pants.

  Once again, I'm surprised by the level of attraction I have towards this girl. Her predecessors were pretty. Some might have even called them beautiful. But Adeline is in her own separate category --- absolute perfection.

  The main course is served, momentarily distracting me from my perusal of my guest, and I'm pleased to see that Maria has gone all out for this evening's meal. She's made a delicious roast with vegetables.

  I grip my fork and knife in my hand and watch as Adeline does the same. However, her gaze lingers on the sharp knife. I can't help but wonder if she would try to kill me with it. The thought of blood spilling onto the floor makes me physically ill, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the unwanted thoughts. My heart races as I think of every possible scenario that could happen with that single knife, the blade piercing my skin and infecting me with all sorts of airborne viruses and germs.

  When I can't seem to suppress my runaway thoughts, I open my eyes to find Adeline staring at me once more. Our gazes lock as my chest rises and falls rapidly with panicked breaths.

  She slowly sets down her utensils as if knowing exactly what I need in that moment. With the knife and ultimate threat out of her reach, it sends an immediate wash of calmness over me. My eyes search her gorgeous face, and I can feel my heartbeat begin to slow. Focusing on her helps me, I realize. It allows me to ward off my demons temporarily, and the relief I'm feeling because of her is unexpected. My breathing slow
ly returns to normal, and I force myself to focus on the meal before me.

  That's twice now you freaked out in front of her, I mentally chide myself.

  I stare at the food before me, not sure whether I'm still feeling hungry or not. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Adeline picks up just her fork and spears a small carrot. She brings the vegetable up to her mouth and chews delicately.

  I've never been so fascinated with someone before. It's as if every move she makes is some choreographed dance. She is flawless.

  Feeling calmer by watching her eat, I slowly pick up my fork and join her in eating the delicious meal. We eat this course in silence as well; and while I'm used to the quiet, I suddenly want to hear her melodic voice again.

  It takes me several tries before I'm able to ask her a question. She's reduced me to feeling like a nervous teenage boy talking to a pretty girl for the first time. "Adeline," I say, my voice sounding hoarse and needy. Her eyes snap up to meet mine, and suddenly my train of thought goes right out the window.

  I can see a myriad of emotions flash through her pretty, green eyes, and then she blurts out her own question instead. "Why am I here?"

  Again, her confusion frightens me. How could she possibly not know what she's gotten herself into unless… I shake my head, not wanting to think about that worrisome possibility. "I bought you."

  She nods in acceptance considering I already told her on the first night that I had purchased her. "But what do you want from me?" she asks.

  Steeling myself, because I'm fearful she truly doesn't know the answer to her question, I tell her honestly, "Your virginity."

  CHAPTER 11

  ADELINE

  I DIDN'T KNOW what to expect when the older woman, who eventually told me her name was Maria after practically dragging it out of her, came to my room and told me to dress for dinner. Dinner with my kidnapper.

  Facing him was going to be no easy task. Even though I'd seen him the night I was brought here, it was dark, and I was drugged. I can't clearly recall what he looks like except for the profile of a handsome face and piercing, dark eyes that make me shiver every time I think about them.

  That first night when he told me he bought me, I figured he was some ruthless and demonic sadist who would tie me down and whip and torture me. The thoughts that have run through my head the past few days have made me crazy with worry. I've sat and waited for him to come for me, but he never did. And his absence only left me more confused and more nervous about what was to come.

  When Maria took me to the dining room, I kept wishing for the floor to open up and swallow me whole. I'd never been so nervous in my entire life.

  As I stood in the entrance to the room by myself, nervously playing with my finger, wishing I still had my engagement ring, something familiar to keep my mind at ease, I could feel his presence from across the room.

  When I finally collected enough courage to face him, I almost gasped in shock. He was young, much younger than I thought he would be…and handsome. So incredibly handsome that he stole my breath the instant my eyes met his beautiful face.

  For a brief moment, I thought that this couldn't possibly be the man who kidnapped me. It was hard to believe that a man who looked like this could be capable of such heinous proclivities.

  But when I stared into his dark eyes, I remembered them immediately. Two penetrating pools of dark chocolate that seemed to intensely watch and study my every movement with a calculating gaze.

  I realized that my perception of this man was completely the opposite of what I had expected, of what I'd feared.

  And now, as I sit beside him at a table big enough for a large family, I can't help but steal glances at him, wondering why I'm here, why he brought me here…and when or if he'll let me leave.

  Lucien seems dignified with manners. He's wearing a white, woven, long-sleeved dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up over his muscular forearms, with a dark green tie that matches the color of my dress.

  I study him as he moves his silverware into a perfect line and places a linen napkin neatly on his lap. Everything about him screams precision. Even his dark hair, which is longer on top and shorter on the sides, is swept back off of his handsome face and gelled to perfection with not a single hair out of place.

  Glancing around the large, immaculate room with antique furniture in every corner and three crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings, I can't help but wonder how much Lucien actually paid for me. It's very clear that he's rich --- beyond rich. From what I have seen of this place so far, it dwarfs my father's mansion and is nothing short of majestic.

  I have no idea what Lucien does for a living or why he needs to kidnap girls, and I'm hoping to find all of that out soon. But every time I try to think of a question to ask him, my throat closes up tight with anxiety. Although Lucien appears like a Greek god on the outside with his chiseled features and handsome face, he strikes me as someone who is powerful and used to getting what he wants.

  And he wants me.

  We start the first course, a cream soup that smells delicious. Even though my stomach is uneasy, I force myself to pick up my spoon. My hand is trembling as I dip the bowl of the spoon into the soup and slowly bring it to my mouth.

  "Am I making you nervous?" His deep voice echoes off the walls in the large room, and I jump, dribbling soup down the side of my mouth and chin.

  I hear his intake of breath, and I sit stock-still in my chair, so afraid of his reaction to my mishap that I can't even move. To my surprise, he grabs a linen napkin from the table and begins to wipe the liquid from my face.

  Having him in such close proximity throws me into a panic. My breaths are coming out in short gasps as I stare at him, waiting for his next move. Will he hurt me now? I have no idea what his triggers are or what he intends to do with me.

  "I didn't mean to frighten you," he whispers as he continues to obsessively clean my face, the napkin now chafing against my delicate skin.

  His right eye twitches as my panicked breaths fill the quiet room. His lips move as he murmurs to himself, and I don't think he's even aware that he's doing it.

  And then his fingers graze against my lips, and his whole demeanor instantly changes. He snatches his hand back from me as if I'd just burnt him. I watch as he leans forward in his chair, his face contorting with pain. He squeezes his eyes shut as his lips move a million miles a minute.

  I stare at him in disbelief and glance around the room, wondering what the hell is happening.

  How could this strong, powerful man be reduced to a mumbling, anxiety-stricken mess in the matter of a single touch?

  After a few minutes, he grabs a small bottle of hand sanitizer from his pocket and squeezes a copious amount onto his hands, scrubbing and scrubbing until he covers every inch of skin on his hands and wrists.

  And then, almost as quickly as the panic attack started, it's all over with. Lucien is able to eventually come back to reality and a somewhat relatively normal and calm state.

  When he notices me staring at him with what is probably a shocked and confused look on my face, he tells me in a stern, unforgiving tone to eat.

  I stare down at the soup in front of me and will myself to concentrate on it and not the fact that my captor is clearly unstable. His volatility scares me more than anything. He could fly off the handle over the smallest and simplest thing, and it reminds me instantly of my father. I've been walking on eggshells my entire life. And it looks like it won't be any different here.

  I manage to get through the first course, thankfully, without spilling another drop.

  As a young man emerges from the kitchen to clear our bowls, I wrap my fingers around the stem of the wineglass in front of me. I'm suddenly feeling very parched, and the cold, fruity wine feels good running down my dry throat.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Lucien is staring at me, but I refuse to meet his gaze. He shifts in his chair, watching my every move as I set the glass down and continue to stare at the table
, ignoring him until he asks me a simple question.

  "What is your name?"

  I almost feel relieved by his request. When one of my sisters was kidnapped and held for ransom by an enemy of my father, I befriended a retired FBI agent my father had hired to help get my sister back.

  He had told me that if the same thing ever happened to me that I should try to get my captors to see me as a human being instead of an object in exchange for money. "Talk to them," he had said. "Make them see you as a person. That will make them less likely to harm you."

  So in light of the knowledge I garnered from the retired agent, I decide to indulge my captor. "Adeline," I answer him in an almost whisper.

  His reaction is slight, but I can see a change in him. His lips move rapidly, but I can't hear what he's saying. I think I catch the word "seven", but I'm not totally sure. It's almost as if he's thinking out loud to himself, and I can't help but wonder if he does that often.

  I have a million questions I want to ask; but after the way he reacted to me earlier, I'm afraid to set him off again.

  He's clearly mentally unstable. Not that I didn't think that before. I mean, he did kidnap me and is holding me prisoner, after all. I didn't exactly think he was sane…but knowing that a raging lunatic could be lurking under that handsome exterior is worrisome. Someone like that could snap at any given moment, and I have no idea what type of crazy I'm dealing with here exactly.

  The staff brings out the main course, a beef roast with veggies. I watch Lucien pick up his utensils, and then I mirror his actions. I notice that the knife in my right hand is sharp, and I can't seem to tear my gaze away from the blade. It's suddenly so much more than a steak knife. This could be my way out of here.

  I'm ripped from my thoughts by the sound of Lucien's panicked breaths. When I turn to him, his eyes are squeezed shut, and I realize he's having another episode. I shift uncomfortably in my seat. He looks like he's in pain, and I suddenly feel sorry for him…even though I know I most definitely shouldn't.