BOUND

by Akeroyd, Serena

  Lucia wanted to curl up into a ball and sit on her grandma's knee like she'd done as a kid. Only now, she didn't think her bruised body would comply.

  The sores she hadn't even known existed were making themselves known today. Every single ache, every single bruise was pounding out a message. And her toes, God help her, they were painful enough to make her weep.

  And she hadn't wept in all the time she'd been at Josiah's.

  She peered down at her foot in inquiry, wondering why they hurt so much, and saw her foot was in a cast. “I broke my foot?”

  Lorna, her mother, murmured, “Two toes. Victoria, the other girl, said at the end, you kicked him.”

  Pops squeezed her hand again, pride beaming out of him. But from her parents, who were standing at the foot of the bed, there was always that vague sense that she'd disappointed them somehow.

  Obviously, they'd have liked her to escape from a serial killer in a more dignified way.

  As the bitterness welled, she realized she'd been through too damn much to let it overtake her anymore. Her parents could think all they wanted. They could be as disappointed as they wanted, she wasn't taking it.

  After what she'd been through, Lucia figured she was free to be selfish for a little while.

  “You did good, kid,” Pops told her, keeping hold of her hand as he dragged out one of the hospital armchairs beside her bed. When her grandmother did the same, her parents were left standing there, like the odd ones out.

  There was a sense of disjointedness. Almost as though they were strangers looking in on a private moment, but she was too exhausted to care.

  “I'm so tired,” she whispered.

  “You sleep. We'll be here when you wake up.”

  At her grandma's words, and with the deliciously horrible smell of Opium in the air, Lucia fell asleep with a faint smile on her lips.

  * * *

  “There's nothing wrong with her.”

  Pop's stout voice had her lips twitching. He stubbornly refused to believe that there was anything the matter with her. Bless him.

  “You hiding from the truth won't make this go away, Graham,” Lorna spat, ever the voice of cold, hard reason.

  “Those goddamn shrinks you sent her to say the same. She's coping with this as best she can.”

  “You think this is coping? Locking herself away, hiding? She has a form of PTSD, throw in detachment and dissociation issues, it's a wonder she hasn't walked out onto the road and ended it!”

  Graham hissed. “Don't you dare say anything like that in my hearing, ever again. Do you hear me? That girl's a fighter. She didn't break out of that bastard's lair just to die out here. This, now, it's the best she can do at the moment, Lorna. For God's sake, woman, have some compassion.”

  “That's enough, Dad.”

  “Shut up, Andrew. Defend your daughter, for once in your life. The poor little thing has just gone through something we can't even imagine, and all you want to do is send her to a convalescent home?” He sneered. “Convalescent home, my ass. More like asylum.”

  “She'll be with people who understand her, who can care for her in the right way.”

  “She'll be away from you and your careers. She can't stain them, if she's not around to be seen or heard,” Pops snapped.

  “How dare you suggest that I want anything other than the best for my daughter!”

  “I suggest it, because it's the truth, and it's always been the truth. Lucia has always been your last priority. I just can't believe that she survived a serial killer, actually managed to best the son of a bitch who's killed over twelve women, and you still can't cut her any slack. What the hell does she have to do to make you proud of her?”

  “You want me to be proud that my daughter stabbed a perverted monster in the eye? That she kicked him, over and over, until his bowel perforated? You want me to proud that she hit him on the head with a tray, causing him brain damage?”

  “Am I hearing this right? What the hell would you have had her do?” Pops bellowed. “Stomp on his toe and say, 'Excuse me, sir, can you let me go?'”

  “Now, Graham, calm down.” Her grandma, ever the voice of reason.

  “No, I won't calm down. She's a survivor. I raised her right.”

  “I always knew she spent too much time with you,” Lorna sniped. “I should have put my foot down, Andrew.”

  Lucia's father finally spoke up, “That's not fair, Lorna. Dad's right. She did what she had to do to survive.”

  Lucia's heart nearly stopped at those faint words of praise from her father. In comparison to the faint disgust in her mother's voice, they were actually quite kind.

  She wasn't shocked at Lorna's words. She'd felt the revulsion emanating from her, whenever they were together. It was actually a relief to have the words out. To know what the other woman really thought of her.

  Pops was, she finally realized, right.

  There was nothing she could do to make her mother like her. Not even survive a serial killer.

  Some women were just not born with a maternal instinct, and Lorna Kingston was one of them. She wouldn't have been surprised to find out she was the result of an abortion that hadn't worked or something. Lorna just hadn't taken to Lucia. Simple.

  That admission had her expelling a breath and, with it, every ounce of rage she'd hoarded against her mom. It would take time to really be in control of it, but it was a start.

  The next step was doing something for herself, not for anyone else, but her own healing. “I'll go.”

  Her words were loud enough to break up the argument taking place in the hospital corridor.

  The doors banged open, and Pops strode in, fury on his face. “You don't have to go anywhere.”

  “I do, granddad.”

  “See, the child knows what's best for her.”

  “The child is no longer a child. She's a woman, and she's capable of making her own decisions.” Lucia glared at her mother. “I'll go, but on a voluntary basis. I need time to get over this and back home, with people I know looking at me, staring and questioning...” She shook her head. “A break will do me good.”

  Pops squeezed her hand. “Only if you're sure.”

  Her smile was weak. “I'm as sure as I'll ever be.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Present day

  Martinez rolled up onto his knees, aware that Lucia was watching him like a rabbit who was caught in the crosshairs of a hunter's shotgun.

  Ever since he'd told her he was going to make love to her, she'd frozen up on him, and considering her past, how could he fail to understand how big a deal this was going to be for her?

  By the simple act of letting him inside her, she was conceding to him, her body embracing him, submitting to his cock. He knew why she was frightened and hated that it was the case, but they needed to do this.

  This was the first step.

  There was a long way to fall. Ever since he'd realized what she meant to him, he'd been frightened himself. Fear of loss. It was plaguing him.

  If he fucked this up, then he fucked it all up.

  He'd never see her again. All he'd see was the dust her tracks left behind, and a world without this crazy, wonderful, beautiful, fucked-up woman was a world he didn't want to live in.

  After sucking in a breath, he murmured, “Come on, baby, lie down. Relax, we're going to take this slowly.”

  He'd have to be blind if he hadn't seen her shudder—and not in a good way—but she did as he asked, rolling onto her back and lying flat. He knew that when it came to it, she might not be able to handle him being on top of her, and he was ready for that, but still, there were plenty of things he could do to her in this position, and he wanted her to enjoy every single one of them.

  Martinez trailed a hand down her leg and on to her foot, letting the gentleness of his touch soothe and hopefully excite her. He moved his hand back up, tracing the sharp points of her hip bones, the muscular abs that had his cock twitching properly for the first time in two hours.


  She was ripped, every part of her strong, tensile strength coursing throughout her body. Her breasts were barely there, especially in this position, but her nipples made his mouth water. And while in the past, he'd lusted after big-titted blondes, this was Lucia, and everything about her was more of a turn on than the double Ds he'd so enjoyed in the past.

  He let his fingers curl over her nipples, relieved to see the muscles in her stomach rippling a little, in enjoyment. He looked up, wanting to see her eyes, but they were closed, and he let her be knowing she needed the privacy, and he was willing to give it to her this time.

  As he studied her, for the first time in the light, he saw the scars Josiah had left. The sevens flicked into her skin with a sharp knife. It was almost textbook what he'd done to her, but Martinez, with all his psychology degrees, could in no way find any way of resolving what that bastard had actually done.

  Each scar filled him with fury, and once again, he wished he could gut the bastard himself. A slow, agonizing death he might have had in jail, but it wasn't enough for him. It would never be enough.

  She tensed up, and he realized he was tracing all of her scars, his fingers blindly going from one to another, tracing the number. He hushed her and whispered, “You're beautiful, Lucia. You're beautiful, ¿me entiendes? You understand?”

  Her nod was hesitant, and only when he ceased touching the numbers, did she relax.

  His fingers began to massage her arms, plying the hard flesh, before sinking down to rub her hands, to touch the palms. He bent over her, trying to keep his weight from falling onto her torso, and reached for something he'd stored in the bedside table earlier that day. She flinched underneath him, but he ignored it, grabbing the bottle of oil and retreating to his position of before and in a matter of seconds.

  Martinez poured the liquid into his hand and whispered, “Roll over.”

  Another flash of tension, but she did as he asked, and he let the copious drops of oil tumble onto her. He started at her back, rubbing any and all tension away, massaging and gentling her flesh, moistening it with the slippery liquid.

  He slid slickened fingers down the backs of her arms, tracing her hands once more, before heading to her hips and ass. He gently kneaded her butt cheeks then slid down her thighs to her calves and feet. Anointing each area with oil and massaging her until she was a loose, limp bit of spaghetti on his now-greasy sheets.

  As he swirled his thumb at the piece of skin between the heel and ball of her foot, she groaned into the pillow, and he grinned at the sound. Knowing that he'd managed to calm her down, made him feel a hell of a lot better.

  He did the same to the other foot, the other calf, and then the other thigh. By the time he reached her inner thighs, she was wriggling about, her moans a constant part of the massage—they were a heady mixture of sensual and euphoric. His thumbs dug down, sliding along the muscles before slipping up, higher, higher until they were in the crease of her pussy. He lets his fingers dally there, sliding the slick digits from clit to slit, enjoying the rearing up of her hips as she jerked in time to his touch.

  Martinez thrust a finger inside her, and with his other hand, he caressed her clit. It took a matter of minutes for her to cry out, release pounding through her as her limbs shivered and shook with the pleasure ramming into her every nerve ending. She panted, the sounds loud in the otherwise quiet room, and a long, low moan escaped her as he helped turn her over onto her back.

  He said nothing, letting the orgasm afterglow drift through her senses, and went back to work. He started on her belly this time, massaging the hard muscles before sliding up to her breasts. He poured more oil here, taking time to make sure her nipples were thoroughly coated and taunting her in the process. He'd have been blind to fail to notice she kept spreading her legs, her hips tilting up. And while his cock had started to make demands of its own, he was forcing back his arousal. He needed her to want this more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life.

  Pinching her nipples then elongating the buds and nipping them quickly, he continued up over her shoulders and throat, rubbing more oil into her slick flesh before retreating down to her hands and back up again. Not stopping until every part of her upper torso was a greasy, beautiful mess.

  He moved down to her hips, pressing his thumb into the tender flesh around her pelvis, sliding down one thigh and to her foot, and back up again to do the same to her other leg.

  At all times, he kept a hand on her, never letting the connection drop, letting her get used to his touch. When he returned to her pussy, curling his fingers into her slit, he looked up at her and saw her eyes were open, and she was finally watching him.

  Any of her earlier fear had disappeared. There was heat there, no ice. She was watching him with hunger, need coursing through her, making it almost tangible, possible for him to touch.

  As he started to caress her clit, her eyelids fluttered down to half-mast, but she watched him work her over, watched him as he patiently fucked her with his fingers, dragging her up and over into another orgasm.

  It was the most intimate moment of his life, and the best gift he'd ever received.

  She kept their gazes connected as he urged her into toppling over the cliff, soaring into ecstasy. It was then he knew he loved her, and it was then he realized she wasn't ready to hear that, that she might never be ready.

  He didn't let the thought sway him. Instead, he spread her legs and nestled between them. Her oily flesh brushed against his, transferring the grease, but he didn't care. By the end of the night, the sheets would be ruined and only four baths would get rid of the excess mess.

  He looked forward to those baths.

  As he burrowed between her legs, she continued to watch him, only rearing up when his mouth connected with her clit.

  “No!” Her gasped shriek had him smirking around the nubbin. He teased it, nibbling the little button, and she reared up again, higher this time, her hips bucking, her stomach muscles protesting as he carried on, slurping and sucking down, prodding the nub with his tongue, forcing her back up, higher, higher, making her climb that long road, never letting go. Her clit pulsed with the beat of her heart, as he suckled down, and only when she screeched, her orgasm punching her in the face, did he back off.

  Almost like she was in pain, her knees shot up toward her belly and she rocked, from side to side, keening all the while as pleasure rammed her in the gut.

  Knowing she was tense over her orgasm, nothing else, he quickly spread her legs, urging them apart when they were intent on staying closed together, and pressed his cock to her slit. She'd stilled when he'd parted her legs and stared up at him, panting as they looked at one another, their sexes finally touching on an even keel.

  A quiver ran along her jaw, making her lips shudder, but he stayed there, her legs raised high, resting against his chest, one hand on his cock, the other on her belly. He let his cock slip upward, nudging her clit again, and that move had her every defense dropping.

  “Put it inside me,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice raw from the incessant moans he'd forced from her.

  He nodded and quickly accepted the invitation.

  It was only as he thrust deeply, he realized he'd come home.

  * * *

  There was no place for fear, no place for anything other than Martinez in her body.

  She needed him. More than she'd ever needed anything in her life.

  She'd disagree with the thought later, but for now, she just wanted him deep inside her, erasing any trace of her past, giving her a memory that was a part of her present to be proud of.

  That long slide into her pussy had tension ripping through her again. Her cunt clamored at his presence, the walls of her sex gripping him in a vice-like clamp, both rejecting and embracing him. He had to fight for every inch, and along the way, her womb shrieked with remembered pleasure. What he'd done to her, what he'd made her experience, was immense.

  In their position, he could fit himself inside her deeply,
and every inch of her was rebranded by him.

  It felt so good, and after the three orgasms still electrifying her nervous system, she thought she'd rewritten the dictionary's definition of good.

  His thrusts were slow and gentle. At first. And she realized this position wasn't about expediency. Like this, his weight wasn't directly on her. Yes, he was fucking her, and yes, she couldn't say she was in control, but she felt different. It didn't feel like he was in charge, even though he was. Her mind hadn't gotten the memo that he was on top because her body was so fucking happy that this was happening.

  His thrusts increased in pace, and from the sweat on his brow, and the tension in his face, she could understand why.

  His patience was more than she deserved, and it was the most delicious gift anyone had ever given her.

  After that first climax, she'd fully expected him to get between her legs and rut away.

  By the second, a small part of her—namely her pussy—had been begging for it.

  And at the third, she felt sure she'd go insane if he didn't put his cock inside her.

  Now it was there, she could admit that this couldn't happen with anyone else.

  That nobody else would inspire this reaction in her.

  What that meant, she didn't want to contemplate just now. Instead, she focused on his shaft. On the delicious feelings he inspired in her pussy.

  She wasn't sure if she could come again, wasn't sure if she even wanted to, but when he impaled her on every inch and started to pull out, almost all the way, until the mouth of her pussy was left gaping about the upper tip of his glans, did she realize a fourth and probably heart attack-inducing climax was in her not too distant future.

  He maintained that agonizing retreat and sharp thrust until her torso had reared up off the mattress. Leaving her in an almost impossible position that had even her toned abs protesting. But she didn't care, she had to move, and like this, she couldn't. She let her elbows support her and wished she had something to hold up her head because the sight directly in front of her was mind blowing.