by Rowena
But a calm settled over me once Courtney materialized—don’t ask me how.
One minute, I was in the room by myself, looking around and trying to find any sign of familiarity, the next, the place started filling with gas, and the next, I was waking up again, and there she was—a sleeping angel.
“Don’t touch her” were the first words I heard as I started to gather my body to make my way over to her and make sure she was okay. Maybe even to help her—I couldn’t tell if she was breathing from where I was.
I paused, stunned by the sudden unsettling voice invading the room.
“Yet,” it continued. “She will awaken soon. Relax, Dustin—your deepest, darkest dreams and fantasies are about to come true.”
I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to feel about that, but a sense of dread settled over me despite the positive words, tinged with a tiny bit of excitement.
The guy knew my name? Fine. But my deepest, darkest desires? Come on.
Then again, a longtime object of my desire was suddenly in a room with me just a few yards away, her delicate beauty only enhanced in the years since we last saw each other.
The dude was onto something.
But considering the guy is obviously a criminal, having kidnapped both us, I didn’t exactly consider his word trustworthy.
He could easily be some delusional freak and end up acting like some twisted genie.
“I never wanted that!” I imagined shouting in horror, my imagination slowly beginning to get the better of me and coming up with nightmarish scenarios, but then Courtney started to awaken, her beautiful blue eyes fluttering open slowly.
Those same eyes are now turned away from me quite consciously after our kidnapper laid out the terms.
I’m sort of used to this cold shoulder from her.
Courtney acted as if I disgusted her after her parents made it clear she shouldn’t have anything to do with me, but she has always been transparent.
If ever disgusted, it’s only with herself for being attracted to someone so far below her station, someone so obviously disapproved of by her parental units.
She didn’t start out snobby and shallow, but at some point, her eyes got trained on the prize of marrying up; she got a one-track mind.
Her family has been steering her toward an arranged marriage of sorts, and she’s a prime candidate for climbing the social ladder quickly and easily—she’s absolutely stunning.
She’s a natural blonde with big blue eyes and a heart-shaped face, tempting bow-shaped lips, and her slight, petite body is trim and fit, curving in all the right places.
She was also lucky enough to be born into a family whose class was high enough that they could afford to groom her and make her even more attractive to the upper classes, educating her in a number of ways, polishing her so that she’s perfect for any wealthy man who wants a young trophy.
To be honest, I don’t really blame her for wanting to cash in on her genetic lottery.
But no matter how focused she has been on those goals, she can’t control her reactions to me, and it’s driving her insane.
As usual, I love it; she has a hell of a time resisting me, but she has managed to run away from me and stay away all these years.
What will the pretty princess do now?
She has the chance to finally indulge herself guilt-free, to give in to her suppressed desires, with the very valid excuse of being under duress and saving her life handed to her on a silver platter.
I know she wants to get out of here as much as I do, so we might as well get it over with.
Strangely, I’m a little disappointed that this is how it might finally happen.
“Dream the hell on,” she says suddenly, her doll eyes back on me and on fire.
She’s practically on the verge of snarling, and it only makes me want to laugh.
“Is that how they teach you to talk in finishing school?” I ask.
“If you think I went through all I went through just to hand everything over to you, you’re dead wrong, Dusty.”
She folds her arms.
She knows my goddamned name; no one calls me Dusty.
I’m about to give a defensive response, but our kidnapper’s voice comes through in a weird rumble—like quiet laughter bubbling over.
Yup, he’s laughing.
“This is definitely going to be worth every second,” he says. “This is my second favorite part, actually—next only to the moment you finally offer up your freshly waxed pink pussy to him.”
Ah, shit.
My cock twitches at those words and then begins to swell quickly as the image builds in my mind.
Courtney’s face has relaxed in incredulity as she glances about the room.
“How the hell do you know…?”
“Of course, I know your schedule, Courtney—all your beauty appointments, your tennis lessons, your volunteer work. I know you don’t just go to get your eyebrows cleaned up—you make sure your body is perfectly smooth all over, just in case.”
Just in case, what—the possibility of sex comes up?
I have a feeling there’s more to his words, despite the natural, obvious conclusion.
I glance at Courtney, taking a break from trying to visually locate all the speaker openings, and I almost expect to see fire coming out of Courtney’s mouth and ears, she looks so mad.
I guess she feels violated.
She’s probably wondering if the kidnapper had eyes on her in such an intimate setting as a waxing, some strange male raking in the sight of her uncovered body.
While our captor is most likely simply coming to sensible conclusions, I don’t blame her for being suspicious that the violations run deep.
Still, I know little about Courtney beyond what I’ve seen of her and the way my body reacts to her, and even I can guess at her activities.
I would’ve guessed everything the weird voice said.
Let me see what else… She probably knows how to ride a horse, probably knows a second language—maybe French—and she most definitely gets her hair and nails done regularly. And regular teeth cleanings.
She works hard at looking flawless, dedicated to the task given to her: to attract and hook a man from the top of the financial food chain.
To her and her family, there is no marrying for love.
Courtney is marrying for security, and that’s good enough for her. Supposedly.
No way she’d ever give a guy like me a second look, but here we are.
I have no clue who our captor could be or how he managed to pick the two of us for his sick amusement, but he sure managed to make Courtney face one of her greatest fears.
I’d like to puzzle out how he made his selection—there might be a clue buried there as to his identity—but what good what it do us, considering we’re trapped here unless we find our way out by giving in to his demand, or burrow out somehow? Best to focus my energy on getting out of here—for now at least.
The guy obviously has eyes on us—probably at all times—but that won’t stop me from looking for a way out sooner than later.
I have a feeling Courtney will resist for quite a while, but how long can she take being cooped up with me?
How bad will things get before she gives up?
I glance around the room again, and seriously, it’s probably the nicest room outside of my own home I’ve stayed in.
I’m not poor, although I suppose next to whoever Courtney’s dating now, I probably look like a pauper, but I’m smart about my money and conservative about how I spend it.
I’m not going to rent a penthouse suite in Vegas just because—not when I can invest or otherwise squirrel it away for a rainy day.
I do well for myself—work not being fancy doesn’t mean it doesn’t pay.
That sort of work is what made Courtney and me cross paths in the first place, and for that, I’m eternally grateful.
It’s not just a physical attraction to her—something else is there, something I’d be happy t
o explore if she’d let us.
“There’s just got to be another way,” Courtney says quietly, her shoulders no longer heaving dramatically.
She’s a bit droopy now, as if hope has already been zapped from her, and it makes me kind of sad.
I know the circumstances suck, but I don’t like to see her down.
“Courtney, there is no other way,” the odd voice says with seeming delight. “There’s nothing you can offer but your body. Decide how much preserving it is worth to you.”
“About two hundred and fifty million dollars,” I think I hear her mumble.
I try to make sense of it.
Is that what she’s willing to sell her body for? Why that number?
“Do you think your boyfriend would save you if he knew?” our captor asks.
Courtney briefly glances at me, and for a moment there, I think I see a flash of guilt. But what for?
“Of course, he would,” she says.
“You think he’d offer himself in your place if he could?” Even through the distortion filter, I can hear the ridicule, the mocking from our kidnapper.
He’s totally sneering at her like he knows something she doesn’t.
Courtney looks confused for a moment then her face relaxes.
“He would save me,” she insists firmly.
The kidnapper emits a skeptical grunt.
“Just as you would save him, should you be faced with a case of all his money over here, and his frantic, sinking body over there? I think we both know you’d let him drown and grab the money.”
“I’m not like that!” she protests to the air, her brows coming together in what looks like genuine offense. “I’m not like that,” she repeats softly to me as if pleading, and I’m not sure why she’d care what I think all of a sudden.
Then it’s like she catches herself.
“Whatever. This is pointless, isn’t it? Nothing Brick may or may not be able to do matters right now since he’s not part of the equation. This is all on me.”
“Bingo,” the voice says the same time I say, “Brick?” in utter disbelief.
Is this what rich guys are naming their kids now?
‘Brick’ sounds like a dumb jock—some brain-damaged quarterback or boxer.
The last time I saw Courtney, she was dating some guy named Daniel or something, and that name totally makes sense. Daniel and Richard and Geoffrey the Third all make sense.
“Brick,” I repeat as I look at her, hoping for some sort of explanation.
She turns to me as if I’m sucking up a very measured amount of patience.
“So apparently, Brick and his friends were talking shop about investments, foreign accounts, inheritances, etc., and he mentioned that one of the safety boxes his dad has for him in some Swiss bank account has one solid brick of gold in it. I’m not sure if it’s true or not—he said he couldn’t tell if his dad was just messing with him—but his friends thought that was the funniest thing, I guess, and one of them started calling him Brick and it stuck.”
“Ah,” I say with an understanding nod. Makes sense.
Of course, I think of a different sort of brick when it comes to guys like him.
“Anyway,” she says quickly. “We have a date tonight, and I think he’s going to propose, so while I do want to get out of here asap, I also don’t want to go to him smelling of…you, so…”
“Oh, Courtney, I won’t tell,” the voice says sort of teasingly. “Dustin?”
I make a zipping up motion across my mouth, unable to suppress a grin.
“Besides, I’m afraid you’ve already missed that date,” the voice continues. “You’ve been gone longer than you think.”
I can actually feel Courtney’s building panic, even from yards away.
“What day is it?” she asks.
“Doesn’t matter. You will stay here as long as you resist my terms.”
“But he’ll know something’s wrong!” she says, and again, her emotions reach me.
Hope is building inside her again, and as much as it pleases me to see her filling with it once more, the reason why puts a damper on things.
“I just have to hold out until he finds me,” she says definitively, folding her arms over her lovely chest. “And he will find me, freakazoid,” she says to the disembodied voice.
“Suit yourself,” it replies coolly.
3
Courtney
Wow, I can’t believe how close I came to actually considering the kidnapper’s terms!
Now I know there’s another way—I just have to make it through... I don’t know how long, but once Brick and my family realize I’m missing, a ton of people will suddenly be looking for me.
Chances are, my family will get the media to pick up the story, my picture will get circulated, and eyes will be out for me far beyond my local community.
With Brick’s access and resources, there’s got to be some clue left behind a detective or private investigator or someone should be able to pick up.
I just have to wait it all out.
So nope—I don’t have to sleep with some knuckle-dragger for my freedom; I get to keep my virtue.
But will this whole ordeal still end up working against me? Will Brick consider me a liability now?
I think I can spin it so I end up being an asset instead—probably get a book deal and raise my own profile.
Oh my gosh, this can totally work out in my favor! Having public sympathy and being a published author can’t be detriments—they can only be benefits.
This idea makes most of my tension and worry melt away. Probably over ninety percent of it.
The remaining worry is because of one thing—the fact that I’ll be stuck here with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Studly over there for who knows how long.
Christ, the way his biceps move when he shifts his arms almost makes me drool, and that wide, hard chest of his keeps calling to me, saying, “lay your head here. You’re safe here.”
Ugh!
Don’t even get me started on the bulge I noticed in his pants briefly, setting my imagination on fire and the soft flesh between my legs tingling.
Dammit.
But as long as I can pretend not to be attracted to him and keep him away from me—like, keep actual physical distance—things should be fine.
As long as I can ignore the way he looks at me with those dark brown pools threatening to pull me in and drown me, the way electricity zaps through my body with his gaze, ultimately focusing on that traitorous—and yes, waxed-clean—mound at my core, I’ll be fine.
The kidnapper thought of everything, it seems.
Dustin and I agreed to sleep head to feet since there’s only one bed, and I don’t have the heart to demand he sleep on the floor, so we get to look at each other’s toes overnight.
After further exploration, we discovered the dresser drawers filled with sleepwear and sleepwear only—bathrobes, lingerie, boxers, and luckily, a few plain white T-shirts obviously meant for Dustin, but I have plans to throw them over the skimpy clothing provided for me should anything happen to my solitary silky bathrobe.
Toiletries and such are provided in the bathroom area, and I call it that because there’s one section with a shower—no curtains or glass doors or anything—and a sort of closed off toilet part.
There are vents all around, but nothing we can pull a covering off of and crawl through—just slits in the otherwise relentless walls and roof.
Neither of us has figured out how we even got in here.
“Seems he’s betting on about a week,” I say after our exploration, plopping my butt on the comfy bed as Dustin prepares to shower, gathering clothing pieces from a drawer—one of his seven ‘outfits.’
He says he doesn’t care if I watch him naked under the spray, but obviously, I’ll be looking elsewhere.
He promised when it’s my turn he’ll keep his eyes away from my naked body as well, and what can I do but accept his word?
I’ll find out soon enough how much
that’s worth.
I have to turn away sooner than expected because Dustin suddenly pulls his pants down, and I catch a glimpse of his cock springing free before turning away in abashed shock, my cheeks burning hot, my mouth stuck in an ‘O’ of astonishment.
I can’t take any chances—I stay turned away from him and plan to remain in the same position until I’m pretty sure he has clothed himself.
I can just feel the quiet laughter—I know he’s grinning at my expense, amused by my scandalized reaction.
But what does he expect? Hot guys don’t just suddenly strip down in front of me.
I’ve never even been to a Chippendale’s or anything, and I don’t watch porn.
Not to mention the whole virgin thing.
I’ve never been this close to a naked man before!
Well, besides that time when I was about nine and some strange guy took appeared and ran outside, and I later realized my dad had come home early.
My mom quickly pulled me aside and made me promise not to mention what I’d seen, explaining how things could change drastically for both of us if Daddy knew there’d been a man there.
I didn’t quite understand it all at the time, but I got the gist, and the gist was enough to keep my mouth shut. Even to this day.
I hear the sound of water pitter-pattering on the ground as the shower is turned on, the gentle rhythm making me relax a bit more.
Dustin is yards away, under a shower spray—far enough away from me.
All I have to do is not think of his thick, dark hair darkening more as the water soaks in, the water streaming down his hard, muscular body...
Shit. Think about something else, Court!
But my mind snaps back to the forming picture of his beautiful nakedness.
Tell someone not to think of a pink elephant and that’s all they do, right?
So I’m stuck with the image of his sculpted arms raised, biceps bulging as he slides his fingers through his dampened hair, his thick, hard cock pointing upward, ready for…
Gah! Stop it, Courtney!
The bed. I’ll just focus on the bed.
I lie down on it, facing the plain wall.
The bed is so comfortable. The sheets are rather luxurious—high quality, for sure.
