Under Control

by Zoë Normandie

  “And are you?”

  Danica shut off her phone, tucking it back into her tiny purse. “That remains to be seen.”

  The words fell like a ton of bricks on the conversation, and something about hearing her call him ‘my lord’ caused his cock to lengthen and throb. He knew that it was only going to get harder to stay away from her now that he’d had a taste.

  He clenched his jaw, knowing that he wanted to take full control. He wanted her to give in to him, to let him lead. That was what he was good at. But there was a clear mistrust festering between them. It was going to be harder and harder to convince her to see his point of view.

  Carrick narrowed his focus onto the coastal highway before him, assessing his plan. Well, everything had fucking gone to shit. Now, he had no choice but to take her someplace no one could find her, a location that was secure and untraceable—where he had immediate access and no one would ever know.

  There was only one option.

  And she isn’t going to like it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Danica

  The small, private oceanside community of Sunset Beach came into view as Danica’s new captor pulled the pickup off the Pacific Coast Highway. Carrick had driven fast as hell from Bel Air through LA, down to the south side of the coast. Sunset Beach was a surfing town where life moved a little slower.

  Danica had been down this way before, in a camper van with nothing but close friends, a bikini and a surfboard. Still, she’d never caught a glimpse inside the gated, secure community that they were approaching. The community covered most of the beachfront property, where celebrities and athletes were rumored to live.

  Leaning out of the truck window, Carrick swiped an access card at the gate.

  “Where are we going?” she questioned, needing to understand the plan.

  “Somewhere safe.”

  Carrick drove through the gates and up to a three-story home. It was tall and thin, sandwiched between a long row of expensive-looking beachside houses. Danica looked around nervously but couldn’t get much of a read on what it looked like in the dark, especially since they drove right into a large garage that was big enough for two vehicles.

  As Carrick turned off the truck engine, with the heavy reinforced garage door closing securely behind them, Danica saw that there was another pickup truck parked in the garage—black, with a surfboard sticking out of the back.

  “Where are we?” she asked, her eyes wide as she shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat.

  “My place.”

  “And you surf?”

  He shot her a look of disbelief across the truck’s bench. “I live on Sunset Beach. I grew up in Southern California. I was stationed on Coronado island. Of course I surf.”

  She widened her eyes even farther as she started looking around. What else was she going to learn about her mysterious captor? As she put her hand on the door of the truck, starting to get out, she looked over at him. He’d flipped his cell out of his pocket and was quickly and furiously moving through his notifications. She couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like he had a ton of missed calls and voicemails.

  He’s in trouble.

  Danica bit her lip, watching Carrick with a keen eye. How much time did they have before Petrov came knocking? Or Andriy? Then things would really get ugly.

  Moving out of the truck, her limbs uneasy and shaky, Dani followed him up to the garage door, where he entered a password on a keypad and also unlocked a deadbolt with a key. It was clear that the place was tightly secured.

  “Oh,” she said as she stepped into the house, seeing how well appointed it was. “Nice pad.” God, it’s expensive-looking.

  He grunted in response, throwing his keys onto a console and seemingly reviewing security footage.

  Danica cautiously stepped onto the light hardwood floors, which looked as though he’d cut the birch trees himself. The entry level connected with a staircase leading up to the second level, which was modern and open concept. Carrick grabbed her hand, showing her up, and she realized the entry level was for the garage, mud room and what looked like an office in the back.

  As they crested the second floor, she saw the living quarters—a gray-and-white kitchen with glittering quartz countertops and shiny silver handles bolted onto white cupboards. He flicked on the lights, illuminating a great room connected to a balcony. She couldn’t see much farther through the dark sliding doors but guessed that his balcony overlooked a wide stretch of sandy white beach.

  This place must cost millions.

  As Carrick moved into the kitchen behind her, she glanced around the living room, at first in awe. But then something quickly struck her. It looked like a model home, like no one lived there. There were no family photos, nothing personal looking. Her stomach flipped with more questions of confidence. How can an ex-military guy afford a place like this? Once again, she was reminded of how much she was putting herself out on a limb with him, and how little he’d actually told her of himself.

  She had no idea who he was…or what he did.

  Turning, she casually prodded, “You own this place?”

  He looked up from the sink after pouring two glasses of water, narrowing his eyes as he saw directly through her words.

  “I bought it about a year or so ago,” he stated very matter-of-factly—but cut it off there.

  His tone bothered Danica, as she clamped her mouth shut. Clearly he was not taking any questions and there wasn’t much she could do about it.

  Obviously determined and on a mission, he grabbed her hand once again and showed her upstairs to the third floor. He took her into a bedroom that was long and narrow, with light-gray painted walls and dark-gray stained wooden furniture. Opening up through a patio door, there was another private balcony overlooking the ocean. The room felt cozy and warm, if not a little barren. There were hardly three pieces of furniture in the room, matching the tone of the rest of the house—like no one lived there.

  At least there was a beautiful little happy green plant on the bedside table, which Danica silently mouthed a greeting to as she approached.

  All living things are important.

  Carrick sat her down with a glass of water, ordering her to drink and asking her if she needed anything. He laid out a T-shirt on the bed—one of his, clearly—that was a white V-neck. Then he left her alone—leaving the room and heading back downstairs, muttering something about grabbing her black backpack from the pickup for her.

  She knew that wasn’t all he was doing, though, because he was soon talking on the phone one level down, keeping his voice low, likely so that she wouldn’t be able to hear what was going on. She could only imagine what was happening at that point, but was there really much point in asking Carrick any questions?

  He’s in damage-control mode.

  Frustrated and alone, Danica picked up his shirt and suddenly, as if something cracked in her façade, tears started to stream down her face. Finally, she didn’t need to be a big, tough girl. She could be vulnerable. She could be her soft, sensitive and emotional self. She didn’t have to pretend to be something she wasn’t.

  Things had gone very wrong that night, and now she and Carrick were hot targets. The latter occupied her mind most of all, which was a truth she was almost unwilling to acknowledge. Andriy would spare her if she married him—but he would kill Carrick. And he wasn’t going to rest until he did. Danica knew how her family did business.

  They had too many friends.

  They were too powerful.

  It was almost impossible to escape them.

  Almost.

  She looked closer at the little plant on the side table and reached over to toy with a tag that was sticking out of the side of it. She pulled it a little closer to read what the tag said and realized it was a hand-written inscription. It looked like a gift card.

  “Carrick, for your new home,” the tag read. “A new beginning. Let the past be the past.”

  She dropped the tag, pushing back the
plant, feeling like she’d stumbled across something deeply personal. She looked back over her shoulder, wondering what his deep secrets were.

  “Let the past be the past.”

  What was his past?

  A question she was sure he would never answer—not for her.

  Shedding her slinky black dress, she threw on his shirt and perched on the edge of the bed, sitting silently to hear the ocean. Her mind was spiraling. She closed her eyes, trying to breathe in the power of the water and its security and safety.

  “Tell me what I’m supposed to do,” she cried through whispers, pleading with the greater power of the universe that she deeply believed in. “Can I trust him? Please, guide me.”

  But, after a few minutes, she stopped praying. Even she realized how shaken she was—how high the cortisol was in her body. She couldn’t think, let alone meditate, and it was clear that she needed to sleep. She just didn’t want to, she realized, as she touched the soft pillow on the bed.

  Behind her, she heard the bedroom door opening, and Carrick stepped toward the bed. His presence in front of her once again caused her senses to awaken, like she’d just been splashed in the face with cold water. There was just something about him when he was near. She felt an energy that she’d never felt before.

  Carrick sat down on the bed beside her, but she didn’t look at him, remaining curled up. She couldn’t feel that level of intensity right then. She kept her tearful eyes on the ocean, unwilling to share with him what she was going through.

  “It’s been a lot, but you have to recover,” he instructed her, all hardness and determination. “This fight is just beginning.”

  “I’m trying,” she whispered as she looked up at him, her lip trembling. His untiring gaze locked on hers, and she quietly admitted, “I’m so scared.”

  She flickered her gaze up and down, noticing he’d changed into army green fitted sweatpants and a black T-shirt. She bit her lip, hating how her body responded to him so quickly.

  And that kiss earlier? It had killed her, simply killed her—and she wanted more.

  But he pulled away.

  Danica pressed her eyes shut, feeling so alone, wishing he would leave. She tugged the blanket toward her.

  Unexpectedly, she felt, his warm, wide hands run up her back. She inhaled into his touch, so vulnerable underneath him. He gently started massaging her back, then her shoulders.

  As confident as he was serious, he said, “I’ll figure this out.”

  “You don’t know that,” she replied.

  He pulled at her shaking body and turned her onto her back. His gaze bored into her as he ran his hands down her body, tossing away the blanket. She kept her legs tightly clamped together as he found her ankles, massaging upward to her shins. As he hit her knees, goosebumps flashing across her thighs and arousal pooled at the entrance to her untouched pussy.

  She shot her eyes open and saw that Carrick’s gaze was locked on her legs as he ran his hands up and down the length of her. She’d never allowed herself to get this close to a man before. There was something about him that drove her instantly wild, giving her feelings she’d never before experienced. She wasn’t used to being touched—and she sure as hell had never been touched like that.

  His touch grew so gentle and caring—and it felt so real. And maybe that was what she needed to believe.

  “Why did you pull away?” she finally whispered to him as he ran his hands up her thighs.

  He frowned, considering her question—then finally he responded.

  “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

  “Why not?” she asked carefully.

  “Because this”—he motioned between him and her, sending a clear message—“isn’t like that.”

  He doesn’t want it to be like that.

  “What if I want it to be?” she replied in nothing more than a heated breath.

  He opened his mouth then closed it, training his gaze up her body. Being under his scrutiny alone was enough to take her breath away, and she shakily sucked in air.

  “Just relax,” he ground out, clearly holding himself back.

  She watched his face grow intensely focused on her thighs and what he could see between them. She parted her knees slowly, and the shirt that she’d borrowed from him fell back slightly from her hips, revealing more of her lower body. She opened her legs a little wider until she revealed that she wasn’t wearing panties anymore—not after she’d changed.

  Carrick stopped his hand dead on her thigh as he stared at her wet pussy, and a groan rose in his unshaven throat.

  “I need you to relax,” he said again, but in a markedly different tone.

  “I don’t know how,” she replied softly.

  He leaned in, working his hands up her thighs higher and higher until he hit the base of her hips. He was so close to grazing her pussy, but she knew he wouldn’t.

  Will he?

  “You have never been touched before?” he asked, his tone expressing a demand to know the truth.

  She shook her head slowly, watching his hunger grow uncontrollable.

  “You’re fucking killing me,” he growled, low and angry.

  Like a werewolf changing under the moon, that familiar howl of need and desire grew louder in his throat as he looked back down at her aching wet center. It was damn clear that he had a fire lit inside him, and he likely wouldn’t be able to resist.

  Which was good—because she didn’t want him to.

  Running his hand toward her wet opening, she opened her legs even farther, inviting him, and, finally, he touched her. He drew a long line from her clit to her ass, seemingly reveling in her.

  “Fuck, you are so wet,” he let out, keeping his fingers pressing into her heat, “and hot.”

  Sensation filled her body from his touch, starting from her pussy but shooting all the way up her spine toward her mind. It felt incredible, and her own arousal beat harder. Then he drew a line back up to the front and found her clit, drawing gentle circles around it. His gaze became simply alive as she arched upward, responding to his touch, and his breath grew heavy. While he was circling her clit more and more, juice started flowing out of her, and she let out a deep, earthy moan. Visibly concentrating, he dropped his fingers toward her core and pushed one gently into her canal.

  “Damn, so tight.” He shook his head in clear disbelief as her pussy tightened around his single finger. “Unbelievable.”

  He found her hand and brought her fingers to her clit—showing her what to do. She complied, following his motion as he encouraged her self-discovery.

  “Have you ever given yourself an orgasm?” he asked, dark and low, watching her work herself.

  She shook her head as she circled her clit. “I can’t seem to make it work.”

  He flashed his eyes, and she saw that animalistic need pouring out of him and consuming her. He obviously wanted to take her for his own, to show her things—to be her first.

  “Like I said, I have a lot to teach you.” He once again controlled her hand with his, showing her the motion he used, and she could practically feel the electricity between his body and hers. Sensations and feelings she’d never had shot up as he urged her to play with herself, finding what felt good.

  She moaned, driving her head backward into the pillow.

  “Do you like that?” he asked, his eyes growing hazy.

  Biting her lip, she nodded and grasped his hand, pushing it toward her dripping opening. Desperate for his touch, she pleaded, “I need more.”

  He grinned and obliged, pushing a finger all the way up inside her again. As she gasped, tilting her head back, she kept working her clit. He reacted by adding a second finger, driving her arousal through the roof. She found herself wondering if that was what his hard manhood would feel like.

  Once he worked her core enough to make space, he tried a third finger. Of course, his fingers were thick—and two barely fit into her virgin pussy. The third caused her to flinch in pain. Realizing that two was enough,
he twirled them inside her, finding the spots there that made her want to scream out his name.

  “Carrick,” she moaned, rolling her head from side to side as he increased the intensity. She continued to work her clit, and the sensation was mounting to something she couldn’t describe. It’d never worked before, but with him being there…

  “Goddamn,” he admired her as he moved his fingers in and out of her pussy.

  As she lay underneath him, enjoying everything he was doing to her, he dropped his head toward hers. She moved her hand up to his thick, corded arm—muscular and strong. He replaced her hand with his on her clit, circling it rhythmically. Grinning, he took her mouth.

  His kiss was ravenous and obsessive. It was hungrier and harder than he’d kissed her before, as though he was now allowing himself to do what he wanted. She opened right up for him, taking both his tongue into her mouth and his fingers into her pussy—and he brought her closer to where she imagined the edge was. A pressure was growing inside her, one that needed release.

  Could it happen that fast? Was he already making her orgasm?

  “I want to come,” she groaned, bucking her hips under his hand.

  “Then you will,” he growled, working her even more intensely. “I promise.”

  As she was panting, losing her breath, he took his mouth away. She tried to follow him, sitting up, not wanting the kiss to end, but he gently pushed her back on the bed. She landed hard on the pillow, watching the confidence and determination in his face. Her orgasm had become his mission.

  “Relax,” he ordered with a tone of finality, and he moved his head down her body. Her knees shook as she realized what he was doing.

  Kneeling on the floor, he shot his fingers in and out of her again, creating a puddle of her juices on the bedsheet beneath her ass. There was absolutely going to be a giant wet spot under her when he was done. Then she felt his hot breath on her clit and him dropping his tongue against it to draw slow, similar circles. She jolted as he took her clit and mound in his mouth, skillfully playing with her, using his tongue.

  “Carrick!” she squealed, reaching down to weave her fingers through his thick, dark hair.