by Julia Sykes
I smacked into a wall of warm, hard muscle. Andrés had closed the distance between us swiftly and soundlessly, trapping his prey with ruthless intent. And just like a small, cornered animal, I lashed out at the threat in an attempt to save myself.
My training kicked in without thought, and I swung my fist at his granite jaw. The blow connected, sending pain radiating through my knuckles. He barely flinched. I didn’t pause, intent on inflicting as much damage as possible. I brought my knee up, desperate to hit him where he was most vulnerable.
He shifted, his rock-hard thigh blocking my knee before I could make contact. I had a split second to register his disapproving frown before my entire world tilted and spun. His big hands were on my naked body, taking me down to the plush carpet. My hips hit his thighs, and the air rushed from my chest as his palm pressed down between my shoulder blades, pushing my breasts against the floor to the point of pain. My fingernails scrabbled against the carpet, struggling for purchase as my flight response kicked in again.
A high, feral sound left me when his hand left my back, only to catch my wrists. He encircled both with his long fingers, pinning my arms behind me so all I could do was thrash wildly, gasping and kicking my legs at nothing. I was trapped again, unable to fight, unable to flee. My heart fluttered against my ribcage, and I gasped for air as panic clogged my throat.
I heard the crack resound against the high ceiling just before the shocking sting bloomed on my upper thigh. I shrieked and writhed, trying to escape the burn of his palm. A twin hit landed on my other leg, and my shocked cry turned to a furious scream. Impotent rage seared through my veins alongside white-hot mortification. He was spanking me.
“Don’t ever try that again,” he admonished in even tones as he delivered another cruel blow, just beneath the lower curve of my ass. “You will not fight me.” Another burning hit. “You belong to me. You will accept your place.”
“Stop fucking saying that!” I shouted, tears of frustration and pain pricking at the corners of my eyes.
“I get to say what I want. I get to do what I want.” Each statement was punctuated by a slap. “You will learn to mind your tongue. You will learn to behave. You’re mine, cosita. Mine to play with. Mine to punish. Just mine.”
“No.” The refusal came out on a low moan. My flesh was on fire, my mind flooded with fear and humiliation. My naked body was draped over my captor’s lap, and he was making it clear that I didn’t have a hope of fighting him. I didn’t realize that I’d stopped thrashing, but a harsh sob tore from my chest.
The blows stopped, and he smoothed his palm over my heated skin. It prickled with awareness, every nerve ending on fire.
“There,” he said, his voice rich with satisfaction. “Isn’t that better? Don’t try to hurt me again, Samantha.”
He continued to stroke my aching ass, and I groaned in relief. The light caress helped soothe away some of the pain.
Fresh shock tore through me when he touched two fingers against the seam of my sex.
“You’re wet,” he said in a low rumble. “We are going to get along, sirenita.”
I stiffened in his hold. He was touching me there. No one touched me there. Not even me.
Horror washed over me, smothering awareness of what he’d said. I couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. Fear clouded everything, seeping into my mind like dense fog.
“Don’t,” I squeaked out, renewing my struggles. I became very aware of the hard rod pressing into my belly. His erection throbbed and jerked as I twisted on his lap.
He hissed out a breath, and his hand tightened around my wrists, holding me securely in place. “Stop grinding against me,” he said tightly. “You want me to touch your little clit, greedy girl?”
You want me to touch your secret place again, don’t you, dirty little girl? a long-forgotten, phantom voice whispered across my mind. Terror and shame mingled in a sickening cocktail, making my stomach clench and my head spin. I couldn’t think; I couldn’t think about the voice. All thought blanked out, overtaken by pure, icy panic. The cold sank into my bones, and I shuddered violently.
Warmth enfolded me. Slowly, the ice ebbed away. I became aware of a low, lilting voice saying words I couldn’t comprehend. A few seconds later, I realized they were spoken in Spanish, but I still didn’t understand more than a word or two dotted within the comforting litany.
“You’re okay. Don’t be afraid,” he finally said in English as he continued to smooth his big hands over my body, warming my frigid skin. I realized I was cradled in Andrés’ strong embrace, but I couldn’t bring myself to try to fight my way free anymore. I felt wrung-out, weak. Small and helpless.
Tears streamed down my face, and my brain whirred back to life. I was naked and crying into my tormentor’s chest. The voice in my head was gone; wiped away, forgotten. All I knew was that my captor had tried to touch me sexually, and I’d freaked out. I didn’t want to be raped.
“Let me go,” I whispered brokenly.
“That’s not going to happen” he told me in that same sure, calming tone.
“Stop touching me,” I begged. I couldn’t bear the feel of his hands exploring my naked, vulnerable body, stroking me like he was soothing a frightened animal. Or a favorite pet.
“I will touch you whenever and however I want.” He paused and sighed. “We will work on this later,” he declared ominously, but he released me.
I shoved up onto my feet, willing my shaking knees to support me as I put several feet of space between us. My eyes flicked to the closed door across from the bed, which I presumed was the way out.
“No,” he said sternly, noticing the direction of my gaze. “Don’t try it, or I’ll spank you again. Go wash away those tears.” He gestured at an open door to my right, which led into a bathroom.
I became suddenly, acutely aware that my basic needs hadn’t been met for long hours, and I darted into the bathroom without any further thoughts of defiance. As I moved, I noticed the slickness between my thighs.
You’re wet. We are going to get along, sirenita.
Mortification burned through me at the memory of Andrés’ words. I might not have considered myself a sexual person, but I wasn’t completely naïve. I knew that a woman got wet when she was aroused, so her body would be prepared to accept a man. It wasn’t the first time I’d gotten wet, either. Watching Dex’s BDSM porn had aroused me, even though I hadn’t been brave enough to act on my desire. Whenever I’d gotten too turned on, I’d thrown myself into a particularly challenging task, usually involving hacking. Using the analytical side of my brain helped cool my animal physical responses.
My stomach roiled. Had my obsession with becoming the object of Dex’s darker needs twisted me so thoroughly? I’d just been spanked by an evil man who claimed to own me, who wanted to rape me. And I’d gotten wet, my body responding to his harsh dominance.
My tears spilled faster as shame heated my cheeks, and I hastily finished my essential business so I could wash my hands and face. I pressed my palms against my flaming cheeks, turning the water colder to help chase away the heat of my humiliation. A few broken sobs heaved from my chest, but I gulped in air and forced myself to calm down.
In the calm, a single imperative took over: escape.
I couldn’t wait around for my friends to find me, for Dex to come to my rescue.
I’m not the damsel in distress, I told myself. I’m the hero. Heroine. Whatever. I’m a badass FBI agent/hacker goddess. I can get out of this.
I couldn’t take down Andrés without a weapon—something he had made painfully clear. My bottom still ached and stung from his punishment, but that wasn’t enough to deter me. He’d stripped me. He’d touched my sex as though he had every right. I refused to sit around and do nothing to defend myself when he clearly intended to rape me.
So, I’d have to find a weapon. Or make one.
I cast my eyes around the opulent bathroom, searching. There, hanging beneath one of the multiple showerheads: a razor.
Turning my attention back to my task, I tamped down my anxiety and applied pressure to the razor’s plastic casing. After a few seconds, it snapped. I gripped the flat of one of the blades between my thumb and forefinger, careful of the wickedly sharp edge. If I bloodied my fingers, I wouldn’t be able to hold on to my only weapon.
I went to the bathroom door and turned back the lock, knowing he’d hear the metallic click in the bedroom. I didn’t open the door. I needed him to come to me, and then I’d catch him by surprise. He’d seen a broken, frightened woman dart into the bathroom to hide from him. He wouldn’t expect me to attack again now.
I’m not broken. And I’m not frightened. Okay, maybe that last part was a lie. My hands trembled, and I focused on steadying the fingers that gripped my blade.
“Samantha?” he asked, his rumbling voice emanating through the closed door. “Come out of there.”
I made a little sniffling noise to encourage the illusion that I was crying, weakened. Not a difficult feat, considering my tears still mingled with the water droplets that wet my face.
“Come out here. Now, cosita.” There was warning in the last, a clear threat that he’d come in to retrieve me if I didn’t comply.
Come on, then, I mentally urged him, my body vibrating with anticipation.
A heavy sigh sounded through the door. “You will regret this,” he said. “You must learn to obey me, even if you’re scared or upset. I’m giving you one last chance. Come,” he commanded firmly, like he was speaking to a particularly difficult puppy he was trying to train.
I straightened my spine. I wasn’t going to be trained. I wasn’t going to obey. And I certainly wasn’t going to walk out into his scary, strong arms and allow him to violate me.
The door swung open, and I launched myself at him. I had the barest moment to register his dark eyes widening with surprise as I slashed, aiming for his throat. I’d never killed a man before, but I had to escape before something terrible happened to me. I tried to find a cold, calm place in my mind, but instead, I attacked with a furious, desperate shriek.
Maybe my roiling emotions made me sloppy. Maybe I just didn’t have it in me to tear open a man’s throat.
Or maybe Andrés was simply accustomed to people trying to kill him, and his instincts kicked in.
He managed to dodge back, and my blade cut a long, shallow furrow into his chest. I paused, shocked at the sight of his blood welling up.
I’d done that. I’d hurt him.
I didn’t feel any sense of heroic triumph. Instead, horror washed over me. Violence might be ingrained in him, but it turned out, killing wasn’t in my nature.
In my moment of hesitation, he grabbed my wrist. He barely had to squeeze before the razor slipped from my fingers. I’d lost my only weapon, and now I was faced by a hulking, bleeding madman.
Only, he didn’t look mad. He looked… disappointed? What kind of man faces an attempt on his life with such mild emotion? He could have attacked me. He could have killed me and eliminated the threat.
But the laughable truth was, I wasn’t a threat.
Keeping his hold on my wrist, he took a slow step toward me. I dodged back as far as I could, watching him warily. I didn’t understand his calm response.
“I cut you,” I blurted, trying to comprehend why he wasn’t responding to my violence in kind.
“You did,” he said coolly, completely unconcerned by the little rivulet of blood dripping down over his defined abs. “Are you really so eager for another spanking already? Did you enjoy it so much? I’ll have to devise more clever punishments for you.” The ghost of a smile flickered over the corners of his lips. “We are going to get along very well.”
“Stop saying that,” I forced out, my voice trembling. His calm was beyond unnerving. “I don’t want you to spank me. I don’t want you to touch me.”
He moved with lightning speed, and his body suddenly pressed against mine. My back bumped against the wall, and he captured both my wrists in his big hand again, pinning them above my head. He caged me in, his powerful body too close for me to defend myself.
My breath caught in my throat, fear fluttering at the center of my chest.
“Liar,” he said smoothly. “I won’t tolerate that, either. You enjoyed your spanking.” His thigh wedged between mine, forcing my legs apart. He reached between us with his free hand and lightly slapped my sex.
A strange, strangled sound left my chest. It felt… weird, being spanked there. It stung, but the rebuke went deeper than physical discomfort. The punitive touch to my most secret, sensitive area was a causal demonstration of ownership. Something inside me clenched. A shadow of the toxic fear that had overtaken me the last time he’d touched my sex made me shudder.
He stared down into my eyes, his black gaze penetrating my soul. He spanked my sex again. This time, a wet sound accompanied the slap.
I bucked in his hold, struggling to escape. My writhing caused his palm to rub against my bud of sensitive nerve endings. I gasped and shivered, my body alight with sensation that was utterly foreign to me. My toes tingled, and warmth curled low in my belly.
But fear persisted, fogging my brain.
“What are you so afraid of, cosita?” he asked, his voice low and silky smooth. “The pain or the pleasure?”
“What?” I managed. Pleasure? Nothing about what was happening was pleasurable in any way. My situation was horrifying, disgusting.
He studied me for long, torturous seconds, his hot palm resting against my sex in an obvious proprietary gesture.
“Do you really not understand?” he finally asked. His long fingers played through my sensitive folds, and I felt the slickness of my flesh under his touch.
I pressed my lips together, refusing to contemplate what was happening to me.
Something like a growl rumbled from his chest, and his dark eyes burned into me. “How innocent are you, Samantha?”
“I… I don’t like when you touch me there,” I whispered the truth.
“There?” he repeated. “You mean, your wet little pussy?” He rotated his palm against me, and something strange crackled through my system, making me cry out.
“Stop,” I moaned. “I don’t like this.”
“Liar,” he accused again, delivering another stinging slap against my labia. I tried to close my thighs, but he kept me securely pinned in place.
“I don’t want you to touch me,” I pleaded. Despite the unfamiliar electric current that was coursing through my body, fear still sapped my mind.
Wrong. Dirty.
Dirty little girl.
You want me to touch your secret place again, don’t you, dirty little girl? The low, masculine voice whispered across my mind. I stiffened, my horror creeping up my throat to choke off my air supply.
The heat of his hand left my sex, and his palm came up to cup my cheek, his thumb hooking below my jaw to tilt my face up to his. “Look at me,” he ordered in soothing tones.
I blinked, and my eyes focused on his face. His scar was deeply pronounced, drawn downward by the twist of his frown. The sight of his displeasure might have made me flinch with fresh fear, but I detected only concern in his dark eyes. He watched me with such intensity that I was unable to look away.
“You will learn to accept my touch,” he said. As though to prove his point, he rubbed his thumb along the line of my lower lip. My sensitive nerve endings crackled and danced, and I sucked in a sharp breath. My body quivered, my skin pebbling. “You will learn to crave it,” he continued, imbuing the words with command.
“Please, let me go,” I begged, unravelling. All my earlier bravado had been torn away as swiftly and as easily as he’d disarmed me. I was left in a fog
of fear and confusion. Trapped by Andrés’ powerful body, I had no hope of escape. All I could do was plead with him. I struggled to gather my wits, clinging to the final weapon that remained: my mind.
“You have to let me go,” I said, with a little more strength. “You can’t… hurt me.” I couldn’t bring myself to say rape me. “My friends will find me. Do you really think the FBI won’t do whatever it takes to get one of their own back?”
“My brother isn’t so sure of that,” he countered, still studying me intently. “It’s my job to ensure your honesty. He wants the truth from you, and I will have the truth.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” I insisted.
He cocked his head at me, then nodded. “Yes, I think you are.”
“Then you’ll let me go?” I asked, hope swelling in my chest.
His fingers tightened around my wrists, and he scowled, his first true show of anger since Cristian had cut me. “No,” he declared. “That’s my brother’s decision to make. Until he does, I’m keeping you.”
I glowered up at him, righteous rage rising. “Dex is going to find me,” I warned, an absolute truth. “And if you hurt me before he gets here, he will tear you apart with his bare hands.”
“No one will find you,” he swore. “You belong to me now.”
“You’re insane,” I flung back at him, twisting against his harsh hold. “I don’t belong to you.”
He rubbed his fingers over my lips, and I could smell my lingering desire that had coated them. “Your pussy says otherwise,” he told me. “You nearly came all over my hand, just from a spanking. Your body knows its Master. Your mind will follow.”
I snapped my teeth at his fingers. That was his fucking mistake for putting them so close to my mouth.
I barely managed to nip at him before he pulled back. His hand settled around my throat, applying the barest pressure. My eyes went wide, and my mind blanked. Something primal within me surrendered on instinct, my animal brain recognizing the show of dominance, the subtle threat. I was powerless against him, small and fragile in his grip.
