by Anna Zaires
Bind Me
Capture Me: Book 2
Anna Zaires
♠ Mozaika Publications ♠
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 Anna Zaires and Dima Zales
www.annazaires.com
All rights reserved.
Except for use in a review, no part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
Published by Mozaika Publications, an imprint of Mozaika LLC.
www.mozaikallc.com
Cover by Najla Qamber Designs
najlaqamberdesigns.com
Photo by Lindee Robinson Photography
Models: Sarah Stroven and Adam Stroven
Edited by Mella Baxter
e-ISBN: 978-1-63142-133-4
Print ISBN: 978-1-63142-134-1
I
His Captive
1
Yulia
Prisoner. Captive.
With Lucas’s heavily muscled weight pinning me to the bed, I feel that reality more acutely than ever. My wrists are restrained above my head, and my body is invaded by a man who just showed me both heaven and hell. I can feel Lucas’s cock softening inside me, and my eyes burn with unshed tears as I lie there, my face turned away to avoid looking at him.
He took me, and once more, I let him. No, I didn’t just let him—I embraced him. Knowing how much my captor hates me, I kissed him of my own accord, giving in to dreams and fantasies that have no place in my life.
Giving in to my desire for a man who’s going to destroy me.
I don’t know why Lucas hasn’t done it yet, why I’m in his bed instead of strung up in some torture shed, broken and bleeding. This is not what I expected when Esguerra’s men brought me here yesterday and I realized that the man whose death I thought I caused was alive.
Alive and determined to punish me.
Lucas stirs on top of me, his heavy weight lifting slightly, and I feel the cool breeze from the air conditioning on my sweat-dampened skin. My inner muscles tighten as his cock slips out of me, and I become aware of a deep soreness between my legs.
My throat constricts, and the burn behind my eyelids intensifies.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. I repeat the words like a mantra, focusing on keeping the tears under control. It’s harder than it should be, and I know it’s because of what just transpired between us.
Pain and pleasure. Fear and lust. I never knew the combination could be so devastating, never realized that I could soar right after being plunged into the abyss of my past.
I never imagined I could come mere moments after remembering Kirill.
Just thinking of my trainer’s name makes the knot in my throat expand, the dark memories threatening to well up again.
No, stop. Don’t think about that.
Lucas shifts again, lifting his head, and I exhale in relief as he releases my wrists and rolls off me. The prickling sensation behind my eyes recedes as I take in a full breath, filling my lungs with much-needed air.
Yes, that’s it. I just need some distance from him.
Gulping in another breath, I turn my head to see Lucas get up and remove the condom. Our eyes meet, and I catch a hint of confusion in the blue-gray coolness of his gaze. In the next moment, however, the emotion is gone, leaving his square-jawed face as hard and uncompromising as ever.
“Get up.” Lucas reaches for me and grabs my arm. “Let’s go.” He drags me off the bed.
I’m too shaky to resist, so I just stumble along as he marches me down the hallway.
A few moments later, he stops in front of the bathroom door. “Do you need a minute?” he asks, and I nod, grateful for the offer. I need more than a minute—I need an eternity to recover from this—but I will settle for a minute of privacy if that’s all I can get.
“Don’t try anything,” he says as I close the door, and I take his warning to heart, doing nothing more than using the toilet and washing my hands as quickly as I can. Even if I could find something to fight him with, I don’t have the strength right now. I’m drained, both physically and emotionally, my body aching nearly as much as my soul. It was too much, all of it: the brief connection I thought we had, the way he suddenly became cold and cruel, the memories combined with the devastating pleasure.
The fact that Lucas took me even though he has that other girl, the dark-haired one who spied on me from the window.
My throat closes up again, and I have to choke back a sob. I don’t know why this thought, of all things, is so painful. I have no claim on my captor. At best, I’m his toy, his possession. He’ll play with me until he gets bored, and then he’ll break me.
He’ll kill me without a second thought.
You’re mine, he said as he was fucking me, and for a brief moment, I thought he meant it. I thought he felt as drawn to me as I am to him.
Clearly, I was wrong.
A thin film of moisture veils my vision, and I blink to clear it from my eyes. The face staring back at me from the bathroom mirror is gaunt and starkly pale. Two months in the Russian prison took their toll on my appearance. I don’t even know why Lucas wants me right now. His girlfriend is infinitely prettier, with her warm complexion and vibrant features.
A hard knock startles me.
“Your minute’s up.” Lucas’s voice is harsh, and I know I can’t delay facing him any longer. Taking a breath to calm myself, I open the door.
He’s standing at the entrance, waiting for me. I expect him to lead me back, but he steps into the bathroom instead.
“Get in,” he says, pushing me toward the shower. “We’re going to wash up.”
We? He’s coming in with me? My insides clench, heat spreading over my skin at the image, but I obey. I don’t have a choice, but even if I did, the memory of my showerless weeks at the Moscow prison is still horribly fresh in my mind.
If my captor wants me to take five showers a day, I’ll gladly do so.
The shower stall is big enough to accommodate both of us, the glass enclosure clean and modern. In general, everything about Lucas’s house is clean and modern, completely different from the tiny Soviet-era apartment in Moscow where I used to reside.
“Your bathroom is nice,” I say inanely when he turns on the water. I don’t know why I choose this topic of all things, but I need to distract myself somehow. We’re in the shower, naked together, and even though we just had sex, I can’t stop staring at him. His sharply defined muscles bunch with every movement, and his heavy sac hangs between his legs, where his semi-hard cock is glistening with traces of his seed. He’s not the only man I’ve seen naked, but he’s by far the most magnificent.
“You like the bathroom?” Lucas turns to face me, letting the water spray hit his broad back, and I realize I’m not the only one aware of the sexual charge in the air. It’s there in the heavy-lidded gaze that travels over my body before returning to my face, in the way his big hands curl, as if to stop themselves from reaching for me.
“Yes.” I try to keep my tone casual, as though it’s not a big deal that we’re standing here together after he fucked my brains out and sent my emotions into a tailspin. “I like the simplicity of your decor.”
It makes for a nice change from the complexity of the man himself.
He stares at me, his pale eyes more gray than blue in this light, and I see that unlike me, he’s not willing to be distracted. He wanted us to take a shower together for a reason, and that reason becomes obvious as h
e reaches for me and pulls me under the water spray with him.
“Get down.” He accompanies the order with a hard push on my shoulders. My legs fold, unable to withstand the force of his hands pressing down, and I find myself on my knees in front of him, my face at the level of his groin. His broad back deflects most of the water spray, but the droplets still reach me, forcing me to close my eyes as he grips my hair and pulls my head close to his hardening cock.
“If you bite me…” He leaves the threat unsaid, but I don’t need to know the specifics to understand that such action wouldn’t go well for me. I want to tell him that the warning isn’t necessary, that I’m too shattered for battle right now, but he doesn’t give me a chance. As soon as my lips part, he thrusts his cock in, going so deep that I almost choke before he takes it out. Gasping, I brace myself on the steely columns of his thighs, and he pushes back in, slower this time.
“Good, that’s a good girl.” His grip in my hair eases as I close my lips around his thick shaft and hollow out my cheeks, sucking on him. “Exactly like that, beautiful…” Bizarrely, his words of encouragement send a spiral of heat through my core. I’m still wet from our fucking, and I feel that slickness as I press my thighs together, trying to contain the ache within.
I can’t possibly want him again. My sex is raw and swollen, my insides tender from his harsh possession. I also remember that encroaching darkness, the memories that came so close to sucking me in. Being with a man like this—when I’m completely in his power and he wants to punish me—is my worst nightmare, yet with Lucas none of that seems to matter.
I’m still turned on.
His fingers fist in my hair as he thrusts into my mouth, developing a rhythm, and I do my best to relax my throat muscles. I know how to give a good blow job, and I use that skill now, cupping his balls with both hands as I create suction with my lips.
“Yes, that’s it.” His voice is thick with lust. “Keep going.”
I obey, squeezing his balls tighter as I take him even deeper into my throat. Strangely, I don’t mind giving him this pleasure. Though I’m on my knees, I feel more in control now than I have at any moment since my arrival this morning. I’m letting him do this, and there’s power in that, though I know it’s mostly an illusion. I’m his prisoner, not his girlfriend, but for the moment, I can pretend that I am, that the man thrusting his cock between my lips regards me as something more than a sexual object.
“Yulia…” He groans my name, adding to the illusion, and then he thrusts in all the way and stops, spurting thick jets of cum into my throat. I focus on breathing and not choking as I swallow, my hands still cradling his tightly drawn balls.
“Good girl,” he whispers, letting me get every drop, and then he strokes my hair, his touch as gentle as I’ve ever felt. I should’ve found his approval humiliating, but I revel in the small tenderness, soaking it up with desperate need. I feel tired, so tired that all I want to do is stay like this, with him stroking my hair as I drift off into nothingness.
All too soon, he helps me to my feet, and I open my eyes when the water spray starts hitting me in the chest instead of my face. Lucas doesn’t speak, but when he pours body wash into his palm and applies it to my skin, his touch is still gentle and soothing.
“Lean back,” he murmurs, stepping behind me, and I lean on him, resting my head against his strong shoulder as he washes my front, his big hands soaping my breasts, belly, and the tender place between my legs. He’s taking care of me, I realize dreamily, my mind beginning to drift as I close my eyes to enjoy the attention.
All too soon, I’m clean, and he steps back, directing the spray at me to rinse me off. I sway slightly, my legs barely able to hold me up as Lucas turns off the water and guides me out of the shower.
“Come, let’s get you into bed. You’re about to fall over.” He wraps a thick towel around me and picks me up, carrying me out of the bathroom. “You need sleep.”
He brings me to the bedroom and lowers me to the bed.
I blink at him, my thoughts slow and sluggish. He’s not going to tie me up on the floor next to the bed?
“You’re going to sleep with me,” he says, answering my unspoken question. I blink at him again, too tired to analyze what all of this means, but he’s already taking a pair of handcuffs out of his nightstand drawer.
Before I can wonder about his intentions, he snaps one handcuff around my left wrist and attaches the second one to his own. Then he lies down, stretching out behind me, and curves his body around mine from the back, draping his cuffed left arm over my side.
“Sleep,” he whispers in my ear, and I comply, sinking into the warm comfort of oblivion.
2
Lucas
Yulia’s breathing evens out almost immediately, her body turning boneless as she falls asleep in my embrace. Her hair is wet from the shower, the moisture seeping into my pillow, but it doesn’t bother me.
I’m too focused on the woman in my arms.
She smells like my body wash and herself, a unique, delicate scent that still somehow reminds me of peaches. Her slender body is soft and warm, the curve of her ass cushioning my groin. My body hums with contentment as I lie there, but my mind refuses to relax.
I fucked her.
I fucked her, and it was once again the best sex I’ve ever had, surpassing even that time with her in Moscow. When I entered her, the intensity of the sensations took my breath away. It didn’t feel like sex—it felt like coming home.
Even now, remembering what it was like to slide into her tight, warm depths makes my cock twitch and my chest ache with something indefinable. I don’t want this with her, whatever “this” is. It should’ve been so simple: fuck her, get her out of my system, and then punish her, extracting information from her in the process. She killed men I’d worked and trained with for years.
She nearly killed me.
The idea that I can feel anything but hatred and lust for Yulia infuriates me. It took everything I had to ignore the softness in her gaze and treat her like the prisoner she is—to fuck her roughly instead of making love to her. I knew I was hurting her—I felt her struggling as I drove mercilessly into her—but I couldn’t let her know how she affects me.
I couldn’t give in to this insane weakness.
Except I did exactly that when she sucked my cock without a hint of protest, milking me with her mouth like she couldn’t get enough. She gave me pleasure after I treated her like a whore, and that damnable need came over me again.
The need to hold her and protect her.
She knelt in front of me, her wet, spiky lashes fanning across her pale cheeks as she swallowed every drop of my cum, and I wanted to cradle her, to take her in my arms and make her promises I should never keep. I settled for washing her, but I couldn’t bring myself to tie her up and make her sleep on the floor—just like I couldn’t bring myself to truly hurt her earlier.
What a fucking mess. She’s been here less than twenty-four hours, and the fury that’s burned inside me for two months is already beginning to cool, her vulnerability getting to me like nothing else. I shouldn’t care that she’s weak and starved, that her body is a shadow of its former self and her blue eyes are ringed with exhaustion. It shouldn’t matter to me that she was recruited at eleven and sent to work as a spy in Moscow at sixteen.
None of those facts should make a difference to me, but they do.
Fucking hell.
I close my eyes, telling myself that whatever it is I’m feeling is temporary, that it will pass once I’ve had my fill of her.
I tell myself this even though I know I’m lying.
It’s not going to be that simple, and I should’ve known it.
* * *
A strange noise startles me out of deep sleep. My eyes spring open, all traces of sleepiness gone as adrenaline rockets through me. I tense, preparing for a fight, and then I recall that I’m not alone.
There’s a woman lying in my arms, her left wrist handcuffed to mine.
I exhale slowly, realizing the noise came from her. She shifts restlessly, and I hear it again.
A soft whimper that ends as a choked cry.
“Yulia.” I place my left hand on her shoulder, bringing her arm up with it. “Yulia, wake up.”
She twists, struggling with sudden ferocity, and I realize she’s not awake yet. She’s half-crying, half-gasping, and yanking at the handcuffs with all her strength.
Son of a bitch.
I grab her left wrist to stop her from hurting us both and roll on top of her, using my weight to immobilize her. “Calm down,” I whisper in her ear. “It’s just a dream.”
I expect her to stop struggling then, to wake up and realize what’s going on, but that’s not what happens.
She turns into a wild animal instead.
3
Yulia
“It’s your fault, bitch. It’s all your fault.”
A heavy body presses me into the floor, cruel hands tearing at my clothes, and then there’s pain, brutal, searing pain as he thrusts into me, telling me that it’s my punishment, that I deserve to pay.
“Don’t!” I scream, fighting, but I can’t move, can’t breathe underneath him. “Stop, please stop!”
“Calm down,” he whispers in my ear in English. “Just calm the fuck down.”
The incongruity of Kirill speaking English jolts me for a second, but I’m in too much of a panic to analyze it fully. The pain of the violation and the shame are like a vise crushing my chest. I’m suffocating, spinning into the cold darkness, and all I can do is fight, scream and fight.
“Yulia. Fuck, stop that!” His voice is deeper than I remembered, and he’s speaking English again. Why is he doing that? We’re not in training right now. The oddity nags at me, and I realize it’s not the only thing that’s strange.
