His Captive: A Revenge Marriage Romance

by Cassandra Dee

“Which part?” she asked with a roll of her eyes. “The grape? The kumquat? Or where you just compared me to a dog?”

  But I was serious this time.

  “No,” I said, taking her chin between my hands. “I want you to feel like a princess, I want you to know this was really special.” And I took a deep breath then. “Come over,” I said persuasively, my voice a low growl. “Come to my place tomorrow night and I’ll make it up to you. None of this air mattress shit,” I gestured to our makeshift bed.

  The girl was silent for a moment, gazing at me speculatively before her face went soft.

  “But Stone, we’re supposed to be studying,” she said with a small laugh. “And we haven’t even cracked a book yet.”

  I shook my head determinedly.

  “We’ll study afterwards, I swear. You’ve never had such a good tutor, it’ll be amazing, just come to my place,” I pressed. Suddenly I realized how desperate I was, how much I wanted to see Evie alone again, this time on a normal date instead of this illicit rendezvous.

  But the brunette was nobody’s fool. She shook her head resolutely.

  “Mr. Phillips, you’ll lose your job if they catch you with a student,” she said firmly. “I mean, this is definitely grounds for getting fired, haven’t you heard of Mary Kay Letourneau?”

  And I snorted immediately. This was nothing like the sordid story of Letourneau, I wasn’t a pedophile. Or was I?

  “You’re eighteen, aren’t you?” I demanded suddenly, my breath catching in my throat. Oh shit. What if she wasn’t? I had no idea what I was going to do, what would happen next. I was already addicted to her body, that sweet pussy, I didn’t have the self-control to walk away just like that.

  And the brunette smiled sweetly, sensing my alarm.

  “What if I wasn’t?” she teased. “What if I said, ‘Oh Mr. Phillips, I’ll be eighteen next year?’”

  And I groaned, dread rolling in waves through my stomach. Fuck, the thought of a year waiting for this beauty would kill me, my dick would literally shrivel up and die in my pants, I’d become a walking zombie.

  “Baby girl, there’s nothing that’s gonna keep me away from you except this,” I said roughly, taking her by the shoulders and looking deep into her eyes to show how serious I was. “You’ve got to be legal. Tell me you are.”

  And sensing the depths of my alarm, how this really got under my skin, the brunette took pity and laughed throatily.

  “Oh Stone, I’m already eighteen,” she murmured, shooting me a knowing smile. “Turned eighteen last month.”

  And I collapsed onto the mattress again, an arm shielding my eyes, my big body going limp. The relief was palpable, my tense muscles finally relaxing.

  “You’re gonna kill me, you know that?” I groaned. “I’m gonna be a dead man because of you.”

  “Oh, poor baby,” the brunette pouted. “And just when I was going to go over to your place for dinner. Because the invitation was for dinner, wasn’t it Stone?”

  And I sat up then suddenly, grabbing her onto my lap for a sweet kiss before staring deeply into her eyes.

  “You bet it is,” I murmured, my arms tightening possessively. “Girlie, you got yourself a dinner date.”

  And Evie giggled in my lap, boobs bouncing, that round ass jouncing against my hard thighs. And whaddya know but I couldn’t wait to take her again, couldn’t wait to show this amazing woman a special time.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Evie

  I walked into the lobby of a nondescript building on the Upper West Side. The big grey block was mere blocks from Spencer Prep, within walking distance actually. I strode in, surprised to see a doorman waiting just inside the foyer, natty in a blue and red uniform. My brows scrunching, I frowned. That was weird, I didn’t know teachers could afford doorman buildings in NYC.

  Nonetheless, I nodded at the old man, friendly and unassuming.

  “Hi,” I said, “I’m Evie, here to see Stone Phillips.”

  He automatically turned to a phone on the wall, picking up the receiver with a gloved hand.

  “Mr. Phillips, an Evie in the lobby,” he spoke into the phone before listening intently.

  That sounded off. “An Evie in the lobby?” Were there Amandas, Claires, Maggies and Joannes waiting in the lobby as well? But I brushed it off. The old dude was probably just cranky and tired from working all day, it was nothing.

  “Go right up,” he said, his wrinkled face inscrutable and I nodded, walking to the gleaming metal doors. The lift itself was nothing, a little worn around the edges, a bit of dirt caked in the corners.

  But when I arrived on the eighth floor, I gaped a little. Because the hallway to Stone’s apartment was really nicely done with gleaming parquet floors and a chandelier, facets of light sparkling everywhere. A little fancy for an anonymous building on the Upper West, especially someone on a teacher’s budget. Spencer Prep is a ritzy private school but I didn’t think they paid that well.

  Plus, there were no other doors on the floor, Stone’s front door was the only one. How weird, where did his neighbors live? Or did they have hidden entrances? Shrugging, I shot one last look around, too excited to much pay attention.

  And when Mr. Phillips answered the door, his dark hair ruffled, blue eyes gleaming, I almost melted because he was so cute. Like gorgeous, hot, sexy cute. The big man wore an apron over a grey t-shirt that hugged his chest and jeans that emphasized the length of his legs, his muscular thighs. My internal temp immediately zoomed up ten degrees, my cunt growing moist, knees feeling a little weak. But I made myself stay calm and smiled brightly.

  “Nice apron,” I complimented sassily, looking him up and down.

  And the big man just dragged me in, shutting the door before leaning down for a deep kiss.

  I was breathless by the time he backed off, his strong arms cradling me, making me go weak inside.

  “I know, right?” Stone said, lifting an eyebrow. His nostrils flared slightly, chest heaving a bit, and I realized he was just as affected. “You’d love to see me in nothing but this apron, wouldn’t you?” he joked.

  And I had to laugh then because the apron was the silliest thing, although yeah, I was dying to see him naked already. Because the garment was straight out of the fifties, a black and white gingham print with a giant lobster on it that said, “Fill ‘er up!”

  “What does that mean, even?” I asked, giggling again. “Why would a lobster say fill ‘er up?”

  The big man just shrugged, a twinkle in his eye.

  “Who knows?” he said gamely. “My mom gave it to me, it’s her idea of humor.”

  “Oh your mom likes kitschy stuff?” I asked curiously. “Like random knick-knacks and cheesy souvenirs?”

  And the big man’s face darkened for a moment before the cloud passed. I blinked, unsure if it’d been my imagination.

  “My mom likes a lot of things,” he said lightly, “and this apron caught her fancy, who knows what she was thinking? She’s eighty already, probably has a couple loose screws,” he said with a wink.

  I wanted to ask more, to ask about his family, what they were like, what they did when they were together, but Stone was already striding towards the kitchen, pulling me along behind him, his big hand warm on mine.

  “Come on, you can help me cook,” he said. “I’m just putting the finishing touches on this roast chicken.”

  And I gasped when I stepped into the brightly lit space because it was done up like a chef’s kitchen, no expense had been spared. Beautiful blue and white tiles lined the walls, there was a huge sub-zero fridge, as well as two counter islands which could have seated seven or eight each.

  “You like to cook, I see,” I said softly, awed by the luxury, my eyes wide as I gazed around.

  And the big man took my in his arms, bending to give me another kiss before swatting me on the ass and handing me a bunch of carrots.

  “I love cooking,” he confirmed. “Now wash these babies, I’m going to toss them in the oven before
they go in your little mouth,” he winked.

  And obediently, I began scrubbing the carrots in the farmhouse sink, the giant silver square almost as big as a tub.

  “Mmm, that smells good,” I moaned as Stone pulled a roast chicken out of the oven. The skin was crackling brown, juices pooling in the tray and as he set it on the counter, a heavenly aroma of savory spice enveloped me, my mouth watering.

  “Get back to your washing,” he commanded with a quirk of a smile, “the chicken’s gotta cool before it can be served, so focus on the carrots.”

  And I smiled back before turning to the veggies once more. Because I love a man who can cook and Stone had just pulled a rabbit out of a hat, I would never have guessed that he was a master chef.

  But the big man wasn’t done with the surprises yet. With a special knife, he flicked off the tops of the carrots and then julienned them, throwing them into a glass pan before seasoning them with all sorts of spices.

  “We need a little Himalayan sea salt, a little cracked pepper, and hmmm, maybe some thyme,” he murmured as his deft fingers sprinkled ingredients over the orange tips. And I watched, amazed as the everyday vegetables went from plain jane to amazing, something that complemented the roast chicken perfectly, providing balance, flavor and depth to the meal.

  And after it was all ready, I dug in greedily. I was so hungry that I hardly noticed the steps Stone had taken, lighting candles, putting out fancy linens, real silverware and fine wine. It was so good that I moaned with my first bite of chicken, eyes closed while chewing, pure heaven in my mouth.

  “Ohhh mmmm,” I hummed. “This is amazing.”

  Stone just growled across the table from me.

  “And baby, I want you to eat,” he commanded. “You’re too thin.

  Too thin? I was a size twelve on a good day, my curves sassy and spreading with each month. If I wasn’t careful I’d be a fourteen or sixteen soon.

  But Stone read my mind.

  “Yeah you’re too thin,” he growled. “You’d look even better if you put on twenty pounds, put some real flesh on you.”

  I gasped.

  “Twenty pounds!” I giggled. “I’ll be sticking out to there if I do,” I said, holding my hand in front of my girls about another foot.

  And Stone’s eyes just turned hungry.

  “So what if you do?” he asked. “The more of you to love, to taste, to fuck.”

  And I gasped.

  “Dirty language at the table, Professor?” I cooed coyly.

  “With you, baby girl, always,” he rumbled, eyes hungry, big body already rock solid.

  But the meal didn’t devolve into innuendos. If anything, Stone and I had amazing conversation, we were a really great match with similar interests and ideas.

  “Where’d you get this?” I asked, taking the wine bottle in hand, gazing at the label questioningly. It was something really fancy with a name I couldn’t pronounce, Chateau D’Yquem. How do you say that? DEE-keem? De-KEM? It was expensive for sure, the label in elegant script with an etching of a crown.

  Stone paused a moment.

  “France,” was all he said.

  “Oh you were in France?” I asked. “I’m hoping to go sometime, maybe in the next couple years. It’ll be so fun, I love pastries and I hear every other shop in Le Marais is a bakery,” I licked my lips slightly.

  Stone was silent for a moment, watching the flicker of my tongue, mesmerized before replying.

  “You’ve never been?” he asked casually, leaning back in his chair, that big form relaxed, sated from the food.

  “Nope, never,” I replied, patting my lips delicately. “It’s expensive. Plane tickets out to Europe are now six hundred minimum and I have to save for college and all that. But,” I said with a shy smile, “I’ve wanted to go to Paris so bad since I was a little girl, you know meet my Prince Charming on top of the Eiffel Tower.”

  And the big man smiled at me tenderly, reaching forward to push a tendril of my hair behind my ear.

  “You will,” he murmured throatily. “A girl as beautiful as you will absolutely meet her Prince Charming one day.”

  And I was a little stung because it didn’t sound right. Wasn’t Stone supposed to proclaim, “Oh, I’m your Prince Charming, I’m going to carry you off into the sunset, come with me on my white horse?” Instead, it sounded like he was saying, “You’re a sweet little girl and Prince Charming is coming, but it’s not me.”

  So I frowned.

  “What do you mean, I’ll meet my Prince Charming one day?” I said slowly. As much as I wanted to keep this a nice dinner and enjoy myself, I couldn’t let a comment like that just slip.

  And Stone realized his error immediately.

  “Evie, you’re young,” he ground out, “It’s hard to know what you want, you haven’t experienced the world. You have so much ahead of you.”

  I was silent for a moment.

  “Yes, but what is this then?” I asked insistently, gesturing to the dinner. “What is this food? What have we been doing in the classroom?”

  He shook his head, tired all of sudden.

  “Do we have to do this now?” he asked wearily. “Really, now? A define the relationship talk now?”

  And I was silent for a moment. Okay, I was pushing things but at the same time, yes, I wanted to know exactly what we were to each other, what we were doing.

  So I nodded.

  “Mr. Phillips, what am I to you?” I cocked my head, my eyes quizzical, my body suddenly incredibly still. “Tell me,” I demanded, suddenly unable to breathe, realizing just how much his answer meant to me. This wasn’t just some one time fling for me, and I hoped, god I hoped, it wasn’t for him either.

  The big man sighed again, running a hand through that midnight black hair, ruffling it so that he looked devilishly attractive.

  “Evie,” he said, his voice a low growl. “You know what we’re doing isn’t legit.”

  And I snorted at that. Legit was the last word I’d use to describe what we were doing. So I went for it, crass and crude.

  “What are we then?” I asked. “Fuck friends? Bed buddies? Friends with benefits? A student you fuck on the side?”

  And the big man shook his head, his face strained.

  “No baby, we’re more than that but I can’t define it,” he ground out. “What we are shouldn’t even exist. There are no words because it’s wrong, you hear me? So yeah, what do you want me to say? That you’re my girlfriend? That we’re dating? Because you know it’s my job if I do.”

  And I was silent for a moment.

  “I know you can’t say we’re … dating,” my breath hitched a little. “But I can’t believe that you feel nothing for me either, that I’m just some circus sideshow for the time being.” I was doing my best to stay calm, even though the words tore at my heart.

  And the big man took my hand in his then, his square palm enveloping mine, his fingers warm.

  “Honey, of course you’re not a circus sideshow, that’s the silliest shit I’ve ever heard. But what we’re doing is wrong, get it? Off the charts wrong, like I’m gonna be fired wrong.”

  And I got angry then.

  “Then why are we doing this?” I said tightly, my lip trembling as I tried to control the rage. “Why? What’s the point?”

  “Because,” he said roughly, seizing my chin in his hand before bending over the table to kiss me, “of this.” And I’d never been touched like that before. It was kiss filled with longing, with pent-up desire, with all the tangled thoughts, the impossible words that couldn’t be spoken, and my heart thumped maniacally as he poured his soul into me, making me whimper, shudder and tremble.

  The big man was over on my side of the table in a flash, pulling me out of my chair, breathing into my mouth.

  “Baby girl,” he whispered against my lips. “You’re so young, so fucking young and you don’t know anything yet. I can’t take that from you, I can’t take your innocence.”

  Except I did him one better.r />
  “You already have,” I whispered, winding my arms around his neck pushing my soft curves against that iron chest. “You already have.” And with a deep growl, a tortured groan, he swept me up in his arms, holding me tight before making for the stairs.

  “I’m gonna … make you cum … so hard tonight,” he promised between kisses to my neck, my chin, my breasts.

  And I just giggled, my thoughts flying crazily. Why had I been so angry with Stone again? I could hardly focus on anything except the deepening heat between my thighs, my folds growing slickly wet with desire.

  “Please … fuck me hard tonight,” I gasped right back, panting my need into his mouth, grinding myself against his big form.

  And with a low growl, he tossed me onto the bed, my boobs bouncing, round ass jouncing as my hair flew.

  “Clothes. Off,” the big man commanded, eyes gleaming as he tore off his t-shirt. I was mesmerized for a moment by those rock hard abs, the broad, defined chest, but he wouldn’t let up.

  “I said, ‘Off,’” he repeated, this time whipping off his belt, folding it in a loop, making like he was going to beat my ass.

  And it turned me on, oh god. Instead of making me scared, I trembled in anticipation instead.

  “Oh yeah?” I breathed, eyes wide, “Make me,” I whispered.

  And the big man was on me then. My skirt and my shirt were torn off in moments, rags falling to the floor, a button zinging off and skittering into a corner of the room. Oh god, this was happening. This was really happening.

  Because Mr. Phillips showed no mercy. He flipped me over onto my stomach so that my ass was hanging off the edge of the bed and smacked me once, the smooth leather cracking against my creamy ass cheeks.

  “Owwww!” I howled. “Owwww!”

  It stung so good, hurt so bad that I felt sparks shoot from my pussy as my ass tingled, the creamy white skin deepening with a lash of red.

  “Fuck you,” was all he said in return, and smacked me again, this time on the backs of my thighs.

  “Ouch!” I screamed this time. “Please Mr. Phillips!”

  “Please what?” he heaved, hand raised. “What do little girls say please for?”