Pretty Hostage

by Julia Sykes

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “This isn’t how I wanted my life to go, but if it means Valentina isn’t being abused and can be with the man she loves, I can accept what’s happening right now. It’s not like you’re being cruel to me. You’re even letting me go to my classes.” My jaw firmed, my teeth clenching as I focused the full force of my anger on the real culprit. “This is Daddy’s fault, not yours.”

  Mateo relaxed, his bulky muscles going supple as he eased his hold on the steering wheel and shifted gears. “I’m glad you understand that.”

  Chapter 13

  Mateo

  “What classes do you have on your schedule today?” I asked to lighten the mood again. I liked when Sofia was relaxed enough to tease me. It meant she felt safe and happy in my care.

  I wanted more of that.

  Restraining myself from touching her this morning had taken considerable effort. By nature, I was an impulsive, greedy bastard. I’d scraped and clawed for everything I had in my life, and that habit of simply taking what I wanted through sheer force and determination had become my norm.

  If I wanted to hold Sofia, my body’s first instinct was to act on that desire without hesitation.

  But she’d been standoffish over breakfast. She hadn’t flinched away from me, but she hadn’t reached for me, either. Denying myself had set my teeth on edge, but I had resolutely stuck to my plan to coax her back into my arms.

  Now that I’d enacted that plan to earn her trust back, my frustration abated slightly. It had only been an hour since I’d told her she could return to her classes, and we’d made stunning progress.

  I would have been content enough with her playful ribbing about my car collection, but her acknowledgement that the blame for her abduction lay at her father’s feet, not mine, satisfied me to my core. I’d known that truth all along; I never would have plucked her out of her safe, easy existence, no matter how badly I’d wanted her.

  Hearing her say that I was blameless for her imprisonment with me was unexpected and deeply gratifying. She trusted me over her own father.

  It wouldn’t be long before she welcomed my touch again. Before she begged me to put my hands on her body.

  “I took a light load this semester,” she replied, shifting into the more casual subject I’d prompted. She adapted to my desires so beautifully, naturally allowing me to guide her where I wanted. “I only have one class today: Alexander Technique.”

  “Is that the name of your class or a person?” I asked, only mildly curious. I knew Sofia studied music; a fluffy degree for a girl who didn’t need a well-paying job after college. This course already sounded somewhat ridiculous.

  “Both, sort of,” she replied. “Frederick Matthias Alexander developed the technique. This class teaches the best posture for peak musical performance. It helps reduce anxiety and prevent injuries.”

  Definitely ridiculous.

  “I didn’t realize musical pursuits were so dangerous,” I said drily.

  I could practically feel her indignant glare burning a hole into my skull. I’d hoped she would read my comments as more teasing, but it seemed I hadn’t been successful in masking my disdain.

  “I intend to be a professional vocalist,” she informed me tersely. “I train my instrument, just like you train your body to get all those big muscles. The Alexander Technique prevents vocal fatigue or even damage to my vocal cords that could end my career.”

  “So, you want to be a pop star or something?” I asked, trying to engage in the conversation even though it still sounded awfully silly and self-indulgent.

  I only succeeded in aggravating her further.

  “No, I don’t want to be a pop star. But if I did, there wouldn’t be anything wrong with that.”

  “I never said there was.” I tried to placate her.

  “Your tone did,” she shot back. “I take my music seriously, Mateo. My program at UCLA is highly competitive, and I worked hard to get accepted. There are only twelve Music Performance majors with a focus on Voice in my year. That’s the full quota the school accepts. I earned my place in this program, and I’m not taking it for granted. I don’t appreciate the way you’re talking about it.”

  “Okay,” I allowed, genuinely contrite. I still believed that a career as a singer was a frivolous pursuit only available to privileged people, but I didn’t like that I’d offended Sofia. “I apologize. I didn’t realize you were so dedicated to your studies. If you don’t want to be a pop star, what does a professional vocalist do, exactly?”

  She let out a small huff, her annoyance only partially soothed by my apology. “My program mostly focuses on operatic performance. I enjoy that musical style, and training my voice is valuable. But I don’t plan on pursuing opera after I graduate. My music has more of a folk vibe. I play just enough guitar and piano to get by, so I can pick out my own melodies while I’m writing songs. But instruments aren’t my strong suit. I usually jam with other music students if I need more complex arrangements.”

  “You write your own songs?” My interest was no longer feigned.

  Sofia seemed to be capable of making even the most banal things fascinating. Only moments ago, she’d been stiff and angry with me. But within a few sentences of talking about her music, she’d become animated and adorably enthusiastic.

  “Yeah,” she replied. “It started off as silly, angsty teenage poetry. Which totally sucked, by the way. I cringe looking at the stuff I wrote when I was fifteen. But I studied the craft, and it didn’t take long for me to put those poems to a tune. I’ve always loved to sing, and it was a natural progression.”

  “Why are you in a program that focuses on opera if you write folk music?” I asked.

  What had been an inane conversation about her studies was now a puzzle. I wanted to know more about the way her mind worked, why she made the choices she did, and what vision she harbored for her future.

  I wanted to understand her, so that I could keep her more easily. If I knew the secrets of what motivated her and inspired her passion, then I could offer her those things. She would be not only willing but eager to remain close to me. She would have no reason to be anything less than completely devoted to me if I provided her with everything she could possibly desire.

  “Daddy insisted that I go to college,” she said, her bubbly enthusiasm deflating slightly. “He thinks an education is an important asset.”

  She waved her hand through the air, dismissing her budding consternation at the thought of her father. “But it’s been good so far, and I’ve always liked school, anyway. I’ve learned so much more than I ever could have imagined. I’m definitely a way better singer than I was when I came in as a freshman.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get a recording contract.” I’d never heard her sing, but if she wanted to be a professional singer, I would figure out how to put money in the right hands to make it happen for her.

  “Obviously, that would be awesome. And I hope I do. But my music isn’t about making myself a big success or anything like that. Music has helped me get through some not-great stuff over the years, and I can’t imagine how I would cope without it. Even if I never get a major recording contract, my work will be meaningful if it helps just one other person who’s struggling to get through a hard time in their life.”

  I was silent for a moment, overawed by the strength of her passion and the depths of her sweet nature. Sofia didn’t want to be a famous singer because she cared about being lauded or making a ton of money. She wanted to touch other people’s lives, to make them better in any small way she could.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice roughened by the profound effect she had on me.

  “For what? You already apologized for diminishing my degree.”

  “I didn’t apologize enough. I was being a dick,” I admitted, shaking my head. “I’ve never thought about music as anything more than passing entertainment. I was being dismissive of your program because I thought you were choosing to study something that’s an unimportant hob
by, that it was a mark of your privilege.”

  I ran a hand through my hair, admitting something aloud that I’d never quite admitted to myself. “I was a little judgmental of you, because I think on some level, I envy you. But that’s just my own classist bullshit, and I should have kicked it years ago. I didn’t have much growing up. Studying anything at all was a luxury. If it wasn’t essential for survival, it was unnecessary.”

  I took a breath, bracing myself for my next admission. Sofia didn’t seem to realize just how different my background was from hers. She didn’t understand that I was a poor kid who’d muscled his way among wealthy men and held his place there by strength alone.

  “I didn’t even finish high school, so the concept of paying for a college degree to study music seemed beyond indulgent to me. My choices in life have never been guided by passion, and I think I was a little jealous that you were able to do so. I trivialized it, and that was shitty of me.”

  She didn’t respond immediately, absorbing the weight of everything I’d told her.

  “I don’t want you to envy me,” she said quietly. “I know that I’ve been spoiled and that Daddy gave me an easy life. But I don’t like that you feel jealous of me. That’s not a nice way to feel about someone.”

  Her voice was small, hurt. The thought that I might resent her or dislike her obviously caused her distress. It wasn’t her fault that she’d grown up wealthy with an overbearing father who had sheltered her from anything remotely unpleasant.

  “I’m not jealous of you anymore,” I promised, wishing I didn’t have to keep my eyes on the road. I wanted her to see the full depth of sincerity in my next words. “I’m in awe of you.”

  “You don’t have to say that,” she mumbled.

  “I know I don’t have to. I’m saying it because it’s true.” I stole a glance over at her.

  Her lower lip was caught between her teeth, her gaze fixed on her lap.

  “Hey,” I said gently, calling her attention to me. “I mean it. I’d like to hear you sing.”

  “Really?” she breathed.

  God, she sounded so cautiously hopeful that it made my heart ache.

  As soon as I’d brought her into my home, I’d quickly discerned that Sofia thrived on affirmation. From the very beginning of our time together, calling her my good girl had made her so sweetly compliant. Her reaction had satisfied me because it made her easily obedient. That ensured she was a cooperative hostage, but more importantly, it fulfilled my darkest desires for her. I craved her unquestioning submission to all the dirty, perverted things I’d fantasized about doing to her lithe little body.

  But I hadn’t understood how fragile she would become when I manipulated her like that. Once I provided her with praise and affection, she became addicted to it. A few hits, and she put herself firmly in my power, cleaving to me and seeking more of my approval.

  Until this moment, I hadn’t realized just how thoroughly Sofia had placed herself under my control. I wasn’t sure if she realized it, either. A cruel word from me could crush her, and if I wanted to, I could parse out my praise like a miser and make her even more malleable in her desperation to please me.

  The idea made my stomach turn. If my manipulative methods had made her fragile, I would simply work that much harder to protect my precious little flower. I resolved to lavish her with praise to make up for it.

  “I’m sure you have an incredible voice, since you were accepted into such a selective program,” I said, not fulsome in the slightest. That was simply a fact. “I would love to hear you sing.”

  “You can sit in on my class if you want,” she offered, shifting quickly from doubt to eagerness. “I’m sure Professor Lassiter won’t mind. It’s not like it’s a lecture, so you won’t have to sit through that. There are only seven of us taking this course, and we’re all performers. You might get a little bored while we work on the theory and warm-up for the Alexander Technique, but you’ll also get to hear everyone practice.”

  “You’re the only one I care about hearing.” Another completely truthful statement.

  I snuck a glance in her direction to find that her cheeks were flushed, and a small, serene smile played around her pouty lips.

  How could a woman look so innocently adorable and utterly fuckable at the same time?

  “Everyone in the class is really talented,” she asserted, shifting some of my intense admiration off her and onto others, as though she didn’t believe she was fully deserving of the praise she so deeply craved.

  “Only three of us are singers,” she continued. “Everyone else plays an instrument. You should hear Todd play piano. He’s insanely good. Like, world-class amazing.”

  I definitely didn’t give a fuck about listening to Todd play the piano, especially if it incited such exuberance in Sofia.

  “I’m looking forward to hearing you sing,” I said instead of telling her exactly what I would do to Todd if he looked at my sweet Sofia with even a hint of interest.

  Now that we were leaving the solitude of my home, I was faced with the prospect of spending time with Sofia in public for the first time since I’d claimed her. If I’d felt protective of her before, now my protectiveness was layered with possessiveness. Things could get very dangerous for her male classmates if they didn’t acknowledge my claim. Especially because I was still trying to stick to my resolution not to touch her until she sought out contact. I was mindful of the fact that I’d scared her yesterday morning, and she had yet to reach for me.

  That little incident would pale in comparison to her seeing my fists painted with a twenty-something pianist’s blood.

  I can’t murder anyone on a college campus, I told myself firmly. Not even a little.

  Violence of any kind on my part would cause problems for Sofia. I was escorting her back into her pretty little world, a world I had no place in. It seemed my impulse control would be stretched to its limit today.

  It turned out that the Alexander Technique was exactly as much bullshit as I’d initially suspected. Sofia’s professor droned on and on about how different joints in the body were connected, and if you paid attention to them, you could loosen them up to “widen” and “float.”

  All I saw were weak points on the body where I could do the most damage with my fists.

  Sofia watched Professor Lassiter with rapt attention, her emerald eyes wide and serious. As though he was imparting some great, secret wisdom rather than simply using a bunch of flowery words to tell her that standing straight was good for her posture.

  I leaned back in the tiny chair I’d selected by the door, removed from where the group stood in a rough semicircle at the front of the room. After Sofia had introduced me as a prospective student, the professor had invited me to join them, informing me that the Alexander Technique was “beneficial for everyone’s health.”

  I was certain that the skinny, middle-aged man had never been nearly as fit as I was. He was wearing a fucking turtleneck, for god’s sake.

  I didn’t need some graying, mustachioed weirdo in a turtleneck telling me how to be healthy.

  Everything was going fine so far, even if it was tedious and mildly stupid. While guarding Adrián, I spent a lot of time in stillness. I might be impulsive when it came to my own selfish desires, but I was also very practiced at watching and waiting while I was on the job protecting Adrián’s back.

  I wasn’t actively protecting Sofia from a threat at the moment, but it wasn’t a hardship to watch her. Everything about her was delicate and dainty, and I entertained myself by appreciating each of her elegant features in detail.

  I observed her wiggling her slender fingers along with her classmates, “warming up” to perform.

  “Don’t think of it as a stretch,” Professor Lassiter told his students. “Think of it as extending your range.”

  It took concerted effort not to roll my eyes.

  As a group, they all started twisting their torsos from side to side, letting their arms dangle and sway loosely. Eve
ryone looked utterly idiotic, except Sofia.

  Her mahogany curls bounced around her face, her emerald eyes shining and her lush lips curved in a smile. She was clearly enjoying the class, so I was content enough with my stationary position by the door.

  No matter how ridiculous their not-quite-stretches were.

  “Okay,” Professor Lassiter announced, stilling his twisting torso. “Now, let’s slowly raise our arms and clasp our hands.”

  Sofia lifted her arms gracefully, like a ballet dancer. Watching her move was hypnotic enough, but when she clasped her hands together above her head and held the pose, my perverted brain went into overdrive.

  I imagined her with cuffs around her wrists, chains hanging from the ceiling to anchor her arms in place. Trapping her for my admiration and amusement. When I had my pretty hostage bound and at my mercy, would she look at me with desire? Trepidation? Trust?

  Fuck, I wanted all of it. I was greedy for everything she had to offer me.

  “Drop your hands, and lace your fingers together behind your head.” Professor Lassiter’s lilting voice sounded again, and Sofia moved to obey.

  For the space of a second, my bondage fantasy was cleared away, but my reprieve was short-lived.

  “Now, arch your back and let your spine stretch.”

  Jesus fucking Christ. Sofia’s hands were immobilized behind her head, her breasts thrust out in offering and her pelvis tilted forward.

  I’d imagined having her beneath me like this countless times. My good girl would keep her hands right where I told her to while I played with her pretty nipples until she arched into my tormenting touch and begged for more.

  I scrubbed my hand over my beard, struggling to retain my composure.

  Did innocent Sofia truly have no notion of how erotic she looked in this position?

  I tore my covetous gaze from her just long enough to ensure that none of the men were looking at what was mine.