He had so many fond memories of his time on leave with her, and he’d lost count of the times she had goaded Sparky with his death count until he’d resort to quoting from one of his favourite movies, ‘Let's not bicker and argue over who killed who.’ He still remembered Ivy grinning and responding, ‘You are indeed brave, Sir Knight, but the fight is mine.’ As she struck his character down again.
She’d met a few of his army buddies over the years, but this small group had become tight knit, and it never failed to surprise him how the quiet girl he knew found a reserved confidence amongst the rowdy crowd of men and women who had fought beside him. Although this side of her had taken some time to emerge, but everyone who met her loved her, often taking bets to see who could make her blush first.
He glared at the letter again. There were too many inconsistencies and continuing to list them off was his way of refocusing. He reminded himself where he’d got to. Next point, she never said over the pond, she thought it was silly, although she had commented some places in England called people duck.
Then there was the fact she would never say something like I will heal, and finally, she always signed all her letters to him, Sin and all her letters to Becca, Vee. The letter Becca had received had been much the same, only worded for her and explaining why her love for him meant she couldn’t stay.
He placed the letter down, still resisting the urge to screw it into a ball and toss it in the trash where it belonged. It was Saturday now, she’d been missing for five days and no one was getting any closer to finding the island where she interviewed, and he hadn’t overlooked the fact of how quickly the letter had arrived.
He didn’t know how much longer he could wait until he flew over there to look for her himself. This was all his fault. He should have been on the plane. He should have brought her breakfast Tuesday morning like he’d wanted to. If he had, he would have seen her, he would have known about her plans, she would be with him now, not lost, not—he pushed his hands through his hair, again. Damn it, he felt so useless.
The metal of the trash can clanged as it stuck the wall under the force of another violent kick as his gaze strayed back to the latest report.
No new card activity.
Useless fucking shit.
That single line burned in his vision. Her father’s life insurance money had been released as the letter had said, odd given she had been told it had a three-month delay, but not one of her accounts, not one of her cards, showed any activity since Tuesday. No withdrawals, no purchases, nothing. He glared at her laptop as if it would provide him answers. He had chased down every lead, leads he wouldn’t have had if she hadn’t packed her laptop into her case. But they had all been useless.
One dead end after a-fucking-nother
A spam notification lit up the side bar. Without thinking, he clicked on it, freezing as one of the seven unread emails in her inbox dated Wednesday caught his eye.
From: Alexander - Reverie Muse Group
Subject: Looking Hot
Ivy,
I think you’ll agree the photographer captured some amazing shots.
Let me know what activities you want booking and we’ll immortalise some more of your stay.
Don’t forget, speed dial one.
Lex
P.S. The ones I took aren’t too bad either, see.
Miles opened the attachments, his heart plummeting as he saw Ivy’s smiling face staring back at him. Her pale skin was sun-kissed with the faintest blush just visible across her cheeks. Brown curls had been strategically pulled from a beautiful up-do to compliment the contours of her face.
Even looking at the picture his fingers twitched with the urge to lean in and brush them aside, or wind the perfect ringlet around his finger to pull her in for a kiss. She looked happy; her smile causing her eyes to crinkle ever so slightly in a smile that could melt steel.
He clicked to the next picture; she was leaning against a marble column wearing a stunning white dress he’d never seen her in before. It hugged her beautifully, accentuating her slim frame, while the neckline teased him with a modest glimpse of her cleavage.
He dragged his hands down his face before forwarding the email to himself and again to the P.I. knowing if they could track the email’s origin they could find the exact location it was sent from. Something about the last picture, about the decor, seemed almost familiar. He just wished he could place it.
Clicking back to the first picture again, he traced a finger across her face, swearing a silent vow to find her. The same vow he had made each and every day, a vow that was becoming harder to believe. He balled his fists, striking the table.
“Where the fuck are you?” he snarled, staring at the picture as if it would come to life and answer him.
Ivy was cold, shivering against the rough stone floor that scratched against her sore skin with every involuntary movement. She had flailed around in the dark, the slack on the chain was enough to allow her to blindly navigate into the bathroom to use the toilet, but bathroom partition was the only wall, aside from the one that held the chain, she could reach.
She’d spent hours walking around in the dark, feeling her way, mapping the world with her bound hands. But none of it made any difference. Minutes later she was still none the wiser as to her position in the room and found herself needing to follow the chain back to the main wall.
Now it seemed like so long ago when she’d last had the energy to stand. All she could do was curl herself up tightly in a ball, hoping to conserve some imaginary warmth. If not for the chattering of her teeth as the air conditioner blew its frigid gale down upon her she wouldn’t be sure she was even still shivering.
He’d been into her a few times, leaving food and bottled water by her, but he’d never stayed. He never spoke or touched her. At first, the isolation had been a relief.
She was certain it was better than his presence, better than the things he had done to her, things which still made her flush with guilt and shame. But now, after so long in a world that was nothing more than an endless expanse of cold and darkness, it felt as if she would do anything for just a little bit of warmth.
She made the supplies last, allowing herself small sips and bites, not sure when the next food or drink would come. Each time the door would open she perked up, wondering if he would come to her, speak to her, touch her.
She was so cold she’d take even his company over this nothingness. No matter how tightly she curled herself up she couldn’t get warm. She’d pinched herself many times to feel something other than the icy burn. She hummed, talked, and sang to hear something other than silence, but now she couldn’t even bring herself to do that.
She heard the door again, and this time made an effort to force herself to her knees. The last few days—or was it weeks, she couldn’t tell in this endless blanket of darkness—played through her mind, remembering what he had said, remembering his rules. She must have done something right because this time he made the slightest noise. It sounded almost like approval, and she hated how it made her chest flutter. She could hear his footsteps coming closer, her pulse quickened in … anticipation?
Really?
No, it had to be fear, but as he cupped her face in his hand she heard herself whimper, leaning into his warmth. His skin felt so good on hers, his touch was so soft, so welcome that the moment he moved away she felt even colder and all she wanted was for him to return and touch her again.
“See what happens when you obey the rules?” She wondered how he could see her through the blanket of darkness, how he knew this was the first time she had thought to kneel when he entered. “Good girl.” She felt the smile lift her cheeks at the sound of his praise. God, it felt so good not to be alone, to hear another person’s voice.
He moved to sit behind her, pulling her in his embrace, and she allowed herself to sink back into his touch, enjoy the sensation of his heat against her bare, frigid flesh. He felt so good, so warm.
A moan escaped her as his warm li
ps trailed down her neck leaving pools of fire in their wake. His hand skirted over her breast down past her belly button and between her legs causing warmth to stir within her stomach. Sweet, wonderful warmth. “Open your legs for me, pet.”
As if they had a mind of their own, her legs fell open. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew this should be wrong, that there was a reason she should refuse, a reason his touch should not feel this good. But he was here with her now, she was drunk on his presence, on not being alone. He was warm, so warm even his breath left tingles of heat as it whispered across her skin. “There’s a good girl.”
She accepted his touch greedily, every sensation heightened from being alone, lost in the endless void for so long. She turned, reaching for his face, seeking his lips with hers, seeking the heat of his breath. Her fingers skimmed over some manner of glasses as her hands caressed his face. He groaned, turning her around completely, pulling her onto his lap. “Have you learnt your lesson?” he questioned.
She felt the weight on her wrists release as the shackles fell to the floor. Then, his fingers were inside her again, bringing heat back into her core. Wonderful heat, she arched herself into him as she felt her breath quicken but all too soon the warmth receded. His hand stilled, and she realised he was waiting for an answer. She needed to answer; she needed to be warm.
Lesson? Her mind filled with alarm. What was she meant to have learnt? Wait, she remembered fighting him, not calling him Owner, not kneeling when he entered the room. Was that what he meant? If she said she’d learnt her lesson, would he let her out, would he stay with her, would he keep holding her until she was warm?
“Yes, Owner. I’m sorry, Owner,” she whispered through chattering teeth as she tried to bury herself against his chest, holding herself closer. His arms enveloping her felt so good as she pressed herself closer. Being near him felt so good.
“Good, now if you’re a good girl I’ll let you sleep in my bed. Are you a good girl, pet?”
“Yes, Owner.” As if in response to her answer, the lights slowly increased from nothingness to the faintest glow, causing her eyes to burn and water.
The light was painful and yet as his face came into focus she found herself relieved to see him. Relieved to see the cut of his strong, clean-shaven jaw. He’d removed the nightvision glasses, and his hazel eyes were hooded with wanton desire as he gazed upon her intensely.
The small voice in the back of her mind was screaming, but she didn’t care. He was warm, and she was so cold. Now he was here, now she’d done what was expected of her there was light, a room, space, him, something other than just darkness. Was it so wrong to need this, to do whatever he wanted so long as it meant she wasn’t left cold and alone in the dark again? She shivered against him, but instead of continuing to hold her, he pushed her from his lap, locking a chain leash around her collar as he stood and stepped away.
“Heel.” It was a simple command, but it had been enough to stop her from standing, enough that she understood what he wanted from her. She crawled behind him, her pulse quickening as he opened the door, leading them into a small room with another door. When this opened he paused, almost as if to allow her eyes adjust to the light before a tug on the lead told her to keep moving.
The hallway was wide, completely white with a marble floor that felt like heaven beneath her sore hands and legs after so long lying on the rough floor. He led her across to the adjacent door. Even through her fatigue, she noticed how thick it was. She froze as she looked inside.
She could see a large trunk and contraptions she recognised all too well. He tugged on the lead, almost pulling her from her knees. She pattered behind him, trying to ignore the large suspension frame fixed to the ceiling as they crossed beneath it. He patted the bed. “Up.” She did as he instructed. The quilt was warm and so soft she just wanted to curl up on it and sleep, but before she could move, he pressed her down onto the mattress. Forcing her face down.
His hand came down on her cold ass, causing her to cry out. Her open mouth was trapped in the scream, filled as her head was wrenched backwards with a sharp tug of her hair as he roughly strapped a penis gag into place, she tried to shake her head, push it out with her tongue, but it was too tight.
She cried into her gag as he struck her again and again, each time harder than the last until her bottom was raw. He shifted behind her, his cock teasing her entrance. She screamed, gagging on the silicon depressing her tongue and muffling her cries, remembering now why she should have preferred the cold, why the dark was better.
What had she been thinking? Thrashing around, she tried to pull herself away from him as the voice in the back of her mind grew louder.
He made a deep guttural sound as he slid inside her, burying himself to the hilt, holding her down on the bed with a single hand, securing her wrists at her back and pressing her down so hard it was difficult to breathe. He smacked her again; the pain causing dark motes to trail across her vision. He pulled back, pounding into her again and again, each thrust ending with a smack until he released her wrists, grasping her hips, slamming her into him as he thrust harder, faster, deeper.
She cried out, trying to ignore the building sensations from the friction. This was wrong, her body’s response to him was wrong. How had she let promise of warmth warp her mind so completely?
His movements slowed, long, slow strokes in and out as his arm circled around her, his hand finding the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs once more. No, he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t make her come. Not again.
“You feel so good, pet,” he growled, pinching and flicking her clit, causing her body to jerk and a fresh trail of saliva to escape her mouth. Her world began to lose focus, the sensations of heat driving out the cold, pushing her over the edge. She thrashed her head from side to side, screaming, fighting it, fighting him with all the energy she could muster, but it was hopeless. Her body shuddered, her climax nearing.
His movements became measured, deliberately driving her to the brink, holding her there. Allowing her a moment to catch her breath through sobs and pleas muffled by silicon. Then, without warning he slammed into her again, the world behind her eyelids exploded into colour as her body tensed frozen on the pinnacle of pleasure, the release crashing down over her.
She was free falling, unable to stop the rapid climax as it dragged her down, setting her every nerve aflame as her stomach tightened and the air expelled from her lungs in a guttural scream, muffled, but not silenced, by the gag.
His nails scratched down the sensitive flesh of her back before he grasped her hips once more, driving himself in, groaning as he rode the tremors of her orgasm to find his own release. She froze as he withdrew, the sticky fluids coating her legs causing her eyes to widen in fear.
Fuck. No. He hadn’t, he couldn’t have.
He whispered in her ear, his deep rumbling voice telling her what she already knew, praising her for being his filthy slut, rubbing between her legs to trail a mixture of their combined fluids down the inside of her thighs. He coated his fingers again, unfastening the gag to place them to her lips, forcing her to suckle on their combined release. She lay there frozen on the bed, her tears burning as the true horror of what he’d just done sank in.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ivy pushed back the wave of pity as best she could. It was stopping her from thinking. She was in a different room now, unchained. She needed to be using this chance to escape. Had she heard the door lock? Why hadn’t she checked the moment he’d left? She dragged herself from the bed, shuddering at the sticky mess between her thighs. Later. She couldn’t think about that now.
She couldn’t think about the empty pit in her stomach, or how she’d welcomed his touch in that moment of weakness.
Dropping to her knees, she looked around the room. At the bottom of the bed was a circular cage with a cushion and a thin blanket on its base. The trunk she recognised as the one he’d placed her inside to bring her here, and the Saint Andrew’s cross and spanking
bench she was already familiar with from the events she’d attended with Devon and his wife.
Each one of these items filled her with a rising sense of dread. Her bottom burned from the lashes he’d delivered before leaving, her punishment for orgasming without consent. There had to be something in here she could use as a weapon. But the cupboards were padlocked, and everything else seemed fixed in place, bolted down.
Her gaze drifted towards the bathroom, quickly taking in the details; a luxury bathtub, corner shower with multiple showerheads, and an unusual capsule-like box in one of the corners that was larger than the bath.
Catching sight of herself in thefull-length mirror, she froze, fighting back the threatening tears as she beheld the image staring back at her. Her once beautiful up-do had been reduced to a matted ponytail with sprays of limp brown hair hanging listlessly around her face. Red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes surrounded with dark circles glared back at her accusingly, demanding to know how she allowed herself to be caught up in this nightmare.
Pain and shame flushed her cheeks, while dark bruises and red welts from his belt marred her once flawless complexion. She barely recognised the woman in the mirror and found she couldn’t hold her disgusted stare. As she glanced away from the stranger hope blossomed as she saw what she needed. A silver toilet roll storage holder.
Slipping the four rolls off the large silver pole, she took it in her hands, positioning herself behind the door and waited. She was armed; she had a weapon; she was going to be free. She steadied her breath, shifting from one foot to the other on the marble floor, impatience and dread welling within her.
This was it, this was the moment, make or break. She looked to the raw abrasions around her wrists, dried blood, broken skin, and angry bruises, all motivating her as she fed on her fear and anger, her hatred for this man and what he’d done to her. She would only get one chance. It had to count. She winced as she adjusted her grip, tightening it, while the sweat from her palms made the surface slick.
Breaking Sin: A kidnap abduction story (Addicted to Sin Book 1) Page 15