Bind Me (Capture Me #2)

by Anna Zaires

  “It’s so beautiful here,” Yulia says as we enter another clearing, and I see her looking at the tropical flowers that line a tiny pond a dozen feet away. She sounds oddly wistful.

  I release her hand and turn to face her. “It’s your new home.” Reaching up, I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Once everything is settled, you’ll be able to come here whenever you want.”

  I intend that as a reassurance, a promise of good things to come, but her face tightens at my words, and I know she’s worrying about her lover again.

  Motherfucker. I wish the man was already six feet under, so she could move on from him.

  Reminding myself to be patient, I drop my hand and say, “This is one of several nice places on this estate. There’s also a pretty lake not too far away.”

  Yulia doesn’t reply. She turns away and walks over to the pond. Her flip-flops are barely visible as she stands in the thick grass. The sight of the green stalks brushing her ankles makes me realize that I should get her some sneakers for these walks. There are snakes here, and all kinds of bugs. Wildlife, too—some guards have reported seeing jaguars on the grounds.

  Suddenly concerned, I join Yulia at the pond and inspect the grass nearby. There’s nothing particularly threatening, so I decide to let her be. She appears lost in thought as she gazes into the water, her smooth forehead creased in a faint frown. The sunlight makes her hair glow, and I notice for the first time that some of the strands are a near-white shade of gold, while others are a darker honey color. There are no roots showing, so her color must be entirely natural.

  “Were your parents this blond?” I wonder idly, stepping behind her. Unable to resist, I gather her hair in my hands, marveling at its thickness. “You don’t often see this shade with adults.”

  “My mom was.” Yulia doesn’t seem to mind my messing with her hair, so I indulge myself, running my fingers through the silky mass and then moving it to one side to expose her long, slender neck. “My dad’s color was more of a sandy brown, a few shades darker than your hair. He was really light when he was a kid, though.”

  “I see.” I lean down to breathe in her peach scent, but can’t resist the urge to nuzzle the tender spot under her right ear. Her skin is warm and delicate under my lips, and as I graze my teeth over her earlobe, I hear her breath hitch. Instantly, desire spikes through me, my body hardening with need.

  “Yulia…” I release her hair to cup her soft, round breasts. “I want you so fucking much.”

  She shivers, her lips parting on a silent moan as her head falls back against my shoulder and her eyes close. She might be upset about her lover, but she still wants me—that much is undeniable. Her nipples are stiff as they press into my palms through her tank top, and her pale skin is painted pink with a warm flush.

  Last night wasn’t an aberration after all. Yulia might not have forgiven me for my actions, but her body has.

  Still kissing her neck, I bend my knees and tug her down to the grass with me. Turning her to face me, I stretch out on my back and have her straddle me, her hands braced on my shoulders. Yulia’s eyes are open now, and she stares at me as I hold her hips and rock my pelvis upward, pressing my erection against her sex. Even through the layers of our clothing, it feels good to grind into her, especially when I see her blue eyes darken in response.

  “Come here,” I murmur, moving one hand up her back. Curving my fingers around her nape, I pull her head toward me and kiss her, swallowing her startled exhalation. She tastes like strawberries and herself, her tongue curling tentatively around mine as I deepen the kiss. I press her tighter against me, needing to get closer, but our clothes are in the way.

  Growing impatient, I stop kissing her for a moment and move my hands down to grab the bottom of her tank top. With one smooth motion, I pull it off, exposing her gorgeous breasts—breasts that she immediately covers with her hands.

  “Lucas, wait.” Yulia casts an anxious glance behind us. “What if—”

  “Nobody will bother us here.” I reach for her shorts. “We’re too far off the beaten path.”

  “But the guards—”

  “The nearest guard towers are too far away to see us here.” I unzip her shorts and roll over, stretching her out on the grass. Tugging her shorts down her legs, I add with a dark smile, “We’re all alone, beautiful.”

  I take off my own clothes next, and Yulia watches me with a torn, almost tormented expression. I don’t know if she feels like she’s betraying him by wanting me, but I’m not about to put up with it. As soon as I’m naked, I cover her with my body and wedge my knees between her legs, spreading them open.

  “Look at me,” I order when she tries to close her eyes and turn her face away. Holding myself up on my elbows, I capture her face between my palms and repeat, “Look at me, Yulia.” Her sex is less than an inch from the tip of my cock, and the lust is beginning to cloud my brain. Before I can take her, though, I need this from her.

  I need to know she belongs to me.

  Yulia opens her eyes, and I see tears swimming there. She blinks rapidly, as if trying to contain them, but they spill out, streaking down her temples. At the sight of them, something squeezes inside me, a strange ache awakening deep within my chest.

  “Don’t,” I whisper, leaning down to kiss the moisture away. “Don’t, sweetheart. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be fine.” The taste of salt on my lips makes the ache intensify. “Don’t cry. You’re okay. I’m going to take care of you.”

  Her tears don’t stop—they just keep coming—and I can’t restrain myself. The hunger inside me is like a demon clawing its way to the surface. Taking her mouth in a deep kiss, I thrust into her and feel her slick flesh enveloping me, squeezing me so tightly that I shudder with violent pleasure.

  She tenses underneath me, a raw, pained sound ripping from her throat, but I don’t stop. I can’t. The need to claim her is potent and primal, an instinct born in the mists of time. She was made for me, this beautiful, broken girl. She was destined to be mine. Still kissing her, I drive into her, again and again, as deep as I can go, and eventually, I feel her hands on my back as she embraces me, holding me close.

  Binding me as tightly as I’ve bound her.

  III

  The Rift

  22

  Yulia

  Over the next four days, we settle into a new routine. When I’m not tied up, I cook, we eat our meals together, and we go for early morning walks in the forest. And we fuck. We fuck a lot. It’s as if the knowledge that we’ll soon be separated makes Lucas even hungrier for me. He fucks me everywhere—the bedroom, the kitchen, up against a tree in the forest—and so frequently that by the end of the day, I’m raw and aching, my body sore and my soul torn by the knowledge that I’m sleeping with the enemy.

  No, not that I’m sleeping with the enemy—that I’m enjoying it. No matter what I tell myself, no matter how much I try to resist, I unravel at the seams the moment Lucas touches me. Maybe if he hurt me again, it would be different, but he doesn’t. His passion for me is forceful, even violent sometimes, but there’s no anger or intent to harm in it. And often—far too often for my sanity—there’s tenderness too.

  It’s as if he’s beginning to care about me, to want me for something more than sex.

  I try not to think about that—about his plans for me and the trackers he’s going to use, shackling me to him while he destroys everything I hold dear. Lucas hasn’t talked much about UUR, but from the little he let slip, I know he’s already set things in motion with some hackers. There’s a chance his search will set off alarms at the agency and they’ll have time to go into hiding, but there’s no guarantee of that. Obenko has never been up against an enemy as powerful and ruthless as the Esguerra organization, and there’s a very real possibility he’s outmatched.

  If Lucas and his boss were able to take down Al-Quadar, it’s only a matter of time before they’ll do the same with my agency. I need to escape, or at least send them a message to warn them of wh

at’s coming, but Lucas is as careful with his phone and laptop as he is with his guns. Maybe one day, I’ll be able to sneak into his office and crack the password on his computer, but I can’t count on that.

  There’s only one way I can possibly save Misha now.

  I have to tell Lucas about him.

  It’s a terrifying step for me. I don’t trust my captor—he’s already proven he’ll use my vulnerabilities against me—but I don’t see any other way. If I stay silent, Misha is as good as dead. I know I won’t be able to talk Lucas out of vengeance on UUR, but maybe he’d be willing to use whatever influence he has with Esguerra to spare my brother.

  Misha’s normal life is already forfeit, but there’s a chance I can keep him from getting killed.

  Before approaching Lucas with my request, I decide to fix the rift between us, to make things go back to the way they were before he broke me. I do it subtly to avoid raising his suspicions, but by the evening after our first walk, I respond to him in full sentences, and by the next day, I act almost as if nothing happened. I go down on him in the shower, ask him what he would like me to make for dinner, and resume talking to him about the books I’m reading. I even tell him about my first horrendous experience at ballet, when a teacher said in front of the whole class that I have the neck of an ostrich—which, of course, led to the other kids calling me “Ostrich” for years.

  Lucas laughs at that story, his light-colored eyes crinkling with amusement, and I smile at him, forgetting for a moment that he’s my enemy, that I’m not doing this for real. It’s shockingly easy to buy into my own act. When I’m not thinking about Misha’s imminent fate, I truly do enjoy Lucas’s company. For such a hard-edged man, my jailer is surprisingly easy to talk to—attentive and smart without being arrogant. Though Lucas never attended college, he’s well versed in a number of topics and can speak intelligently about everything from world politics and the stock market to cutting-edge developments in science and technology.

  “Where did you learn so much about investing?” I ask during a walk when the conversation turns to a finance book I read earlier this morning. Nassim Taleb’s The Black Swan is a strongly worded criticism of risk management in the finance industry, and it surprises me to discover that it’s one of Lucas’s favorite nonfiction works.

  “Both of my parents are corporate lawyers on Wall Street,” he says. “I grew up with CNBC blaring in the background, and on my twelfth birthday, my father opened an investment account for me. You could say it’s in my blood.”

  “Oh.” Fascinated, I stop and stare at him. “Do you invest now?”

  Lucas nods. “I have a good-sized portfolio. I don’t manage it myself because I don’t have time to do it properly, but the guy I use is good. He’s actually Esguerra’s manager as well. I’ll probably visit him when we’re in Chicago.”

  “I see.” I don’t know why I’m surprised. It makes sense. I know Lucas’s background from his file. I guess I thought none of his upbringing rubbed off on him, but I should’ve known better, especially once I discovered all those books in his office.

  “Do you keep in touch with them?” I ask. “Your parents, I mean?”

  “No.” Lucas’s expression turns shuttered. “I don’t.”

  His file said as much, but I’d wondered if that was a cover he concocted to keep his family safe. Apparently not. I’m tempted to ask more, but I don’t want to pry—it’s important to stay in my captor’s good graces. For the rest of the walk, I let Lucas guide the conversation, and when we stop by the pond again, I sink to my knees and give him a blow job, using every skill I possess.

  His happiness is my top priority these days.

  * * *

  The day before Lucas’s departure, I decide it’s time to tell him about Misha. For lunch, I prepare what I discovered is Lucas’s favorite meal: roast chicken with mashed potatoes and apple pie for dessert. I also take special care to brush my hair until it’s silky smooth, and wear a short white sundress—the nicest outfit he got for me. When we sit down at the table, I see Lucas devouring me with his eyes, and I know that in this at least, I pleased him.

  Now I need to see how far his goodwill extends.

  As we eat, I try to figure out the best moment to broach the subject. Will he be in the best mood before or after dessert? Should I let him finish his chicken, or is it okay to bring up my brother now? While I’m debating that, Lucas says conversationally, “I did some research on your hometown of Donetsk recently. Is it true that for most people there, their native language is Russian, not Ukrainian?”

  I let out a relieved breath. This is as good a lead-in to this topic as any. “Yes, it’s true,” I say, smiling. “My family spoke Russian at home. I studied Ukrainian in school, but I’m actually more fluent in English than in Ukrainian.”

  Lucas nods, as if I confirmed something he suspected. “That’s why they came to your orphanage, right? Because the kids there were already fluent in one of the languages they needed?”

  It takes everything I have to keep smiling. The reminder of the orphanage and UUR takes away my appetite, even though we’re getting closer to the subject I want to discuss. Moving my half-full plate aside, I say as calmly as I can manage, “Yes, that’s why. I was a particularly good candidate because I also knew English.”

  “And because you’re beautiful.” Lucas’s gaze cools unexpectedly. “Don’t forget that part.”

  I gather my courage. “Maybe,” I say carefully. “But they’re not all bad people. In fact—”

  Lucas holds up his hand, palm out. “Yulia, stop. I know what you’re going to say.”

  Stunned, I stare at him. “You do?”

  “You want me to spare one of them, right?” Lucas’s eyes once again remind me of winter ice. “That’s what all this”—he sweeps his hand in a gesture encompassing the table—“is about, isn’t it? The dress, the food, the pretty smiles? You think I don’t see right through you?”

  I swallow, my heart beginning to race. “Lucas, I just—”

  “Don’t.” His voice is as hard as the look on his face. “Don’t humiliate yourself. It’s not going to work. It’s out of my hands.”

  My stomach fills with lead. “What do you mean?”

  “Esguerra will never go for it, and I won’t use up my currency with him on this.”

  I stand up, reeling. “But—”

  “There’s nothing more to discuss.” Lucas gets up as well, his expression forbidding. “The only person from UUR who’ll be spared is you.”

  I step around the table, my shock transforming into cold terror. Surely he doesn’t mean this. “Lucas, please. You don’t understand. He’s innocent. He has nothing to do with this.” I grab his hand, squeezing it in desperation. “Please, I’ll do anything if you spare him. He’s just one person. All you need to do is let him live—”

  Lucas wrenches his hand out of my grasp, cutting off my plea. “I told you. There’s nothing I can do for him.” There’s no pity on my captor’s face, no hint of mercy. “Esguerra decides these matters, not me. You’re shit out of luck, beautiful.”

  My vision darkens at the edges, blood pounding in my ears. “Please, Lucas—” I reach for him again, but he grabs my wrist and twists my arm upward, preventing me from touching him.

  “Do not fucking beg for him.” Squeezing my wrist painfully, Lucas pulls me to him, and I see scalding fury in the icy depths of his eyes. “You’re lucky to be alive yourself. Don’t you fucking get that? If you weren’t such a hot lay—” He stops, but it’s too late.

  I hear his message loud and clear, and the fragile remnants of my fantasies turn to dust.

  23

  Lucas

  Yulia’s eyes are enormous as she stares at me, her slender wrist caught in my grasp. She looks like I just tore her heart out, and something resembling regret cools the burning fog of rage surrounding me.

  Releasing her wrist, I say in a calmer tone, “Yulia, that’s not what I—”

  “Why don’t you just do it right now?” she interrupts, her gaze unflinching as she steps back. “Go ahead, kill me. You will anyway. When I’m no longer such a ‘hot lay,’ right?”

  “No, of course not.” My anger returns, only this time it’s directed at myself. “I told you—you’re safe with me.”

  “Not if your boss wants me dead.” Her upper lip curls. “Isn’t that what you just told me?”

  “That’s not what I meant.” I curse myself ten ways to Sunday. Esguerra seemed as good of an excuse as any to stop her from pleading for her lover, but I should’ve realized how Yulia would interpret my words. “I promised you I’ll protect you, and I’m going to keep that promise.”

  “Then why can’t you protect him?” Her gaze fills with desperate hope as she comes toward me again. “Please, Lucas. He’s an innocent—”

  “Stop.” I refuse to hear her beg for him. “I don’t give a fuck about his guilt or innocence. I told you—one person only. That’s the deal.”

  I expect Yulia to back down then, to accept that she lost, but she lifts her chin instead, her eyes like blue coals in her starkly pale face. “Then spare him. I want Misha to be that person, not me.”

  Misha. I file that name away even as my ribcage tightens with renewed fury.

  She’s ready to die for him—for her weakling of a lover.

  “What you want doesn’t matter.” My words are as caustic as the jealousy burning my chest. “I decide who lives, not you.”

  She reacts like I just struck her. Her lips quiver, and she backs away, folding her arms around her middle.

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