by Celia Aaron
“I told you I’d never hurt you. I don’t want to take anything from you that you aren’t ready to give.” As if proving his words, he edged away from me, his warmth fading.
“What if I’m never ready to give you a damn thing?”
“You will be.” His smug satisfaction rankled.
“You so sure?”
“Yes. You and me. The end.” He pulled the blanket up and tucked it around my shoulder. “You’ll see.”
I didn’t respond, just stared into the murky room.
“And one day, sooner than you think”—his voice dropped—“you’ll give me everything.”
12
Sebastian
She didn’t sleep, not until the sun began to peek around the edges of the heavy curtains along my wide windows. So many times I wanted to touch her, pull her into my arms. But she’d fight me, which I didn’t mind. She could also hurt herself, which I did mind.
I had to wait for her to come to me. It was agonizing to think of the time we’d waste with her being angry, the eventual escape attempts, and the recriminations about me stealing her. Her feelings were warranted, at least that’s what my dad would have said. I had no idea if they were or weren’t.
At least she was near me and away from the douchebag who was foolish enough to think he’d ever have a claim on her. I couldn’t even think his name. I balled up his memory and threw it into the wastebasket of my mind. Maybe I’d set it on fire later.
Biding my time would be difficult, but Camille needed me to be patient with her. She had to accept her situation. There was no getting out. Once she understood that, she would begin to see that this wasn’t so bad, and in fact, was optimal.
Would I enjoy toying with her a bit while she tried to find a way out? Of course. After all, I was still a psychopath.
“What are you doing in there, son?” My dad knocked at my door.
I petted Frankie, her fur smooth under my palm. “Just playing with Frankie.”
He swung the door open and surveyed my typical ten-year-old’s room. Posters of athletes plastered my wall, and a thorough collection of Star Wars Legos lined my shelves.
“What’s up, Dad?”
The color faded from his face. “Son? What happened to Frankie?”
“Not sure.” I kept stroking her, happy to have a chance to pet her. I’d loved her from the moment my father had brought her home, and she’d taken to me. Sleeping in my room and curling up in my lap whenever I sat still. “I went downstairs this morning and found her on the floor in the kitchen. Stiff.”
His eyes widened as they darted from me to the cat and back again. “She’s dead, son.”
I kept stroking her fur. “Yeah. I think so.”
He walked in and sat next to me on my bed. “Did you do it?” He put one hand on my shoulder. “I-I won’t be mad. I just need to know the truth.”
I couldn’t understand the question. Did I do what? But then it became clear. My father thought I’d killed her, my darling cat. “You mean did I kill Frankie?”
“Yes, son.” He squeezed my shoulder, though I could feel the shake in his hand. “Did you?”
“No.” I met his eyes. “I swear. I found her like this. I loved her, Dad. I’d never hurt her.”
He nodded, some of the fear draining away. “You promise? I won’t be mad.”
“I promise.” I gave him my most “grownup” look. I didn’t lie to my dad. Not ever. Whenever my childhood brain suffered from a mature moment of clarity, I could see that Dad was the only thing standing between me and an institution. He’d told me as much on a few occasions.
“Thank god.” He sighed. “I was worried you’d—”
“Turned into a pet murderer?” I laughed.
“Right. I know.” He stood and scooped Frankie off my bed. “I shouldn’t have thought it. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. I’m sure going to miss Frankie.” I wasn’t sad, or at least I wasn’t “sad” the way people in books and movies were. I didn’t cry or feel anything. But I didn’t like losing her, either.
“I wish she didn’t have to die.”
“She was a good cat. I’ll have Timothy bury her out near the tree line.” He hesitated at the door. “Sorry again, son. I should have known you’d never do anything like that.”
“Don’t worry.” I waved my last goodbye to Frankie.
Once Dad was out of sight, I flopped back on my bed and counted my blessings that he hadn’t asked me about Colonel RedSpur, the neighbor’s “missing” pet rooster.
Camille turned onto her back, one hand draped on the pillow next to her. Her breaths came in a soft rhythm.
She’d compared herself to being a kept pet, but she was more. So much more. I’d never longed to touch someone the way I did her. I followed the curves of her body beneath the covers. She was gorgeous. Round breasts, a tapered waist, flaring hips—I closed my eyes and pictured the strawberry mole on her hip.
I wanted to lick it, to put my mouth on every inch of her delectable body. My cock roared to life with my imaginings. I’d already attended to myself before getting into bed with her. Letting my animal instincts take over would ruin everything. But staring at her in the morning light woke the beast.
This wasn’t the optimal time to rub one out, but fuck, it was better that than jump on her. I eased out of bed and slipped into the en suite bathroom. Her breathing remained steady, her cadence never changing. The gray marble floors were warm beneath my feet as I grabbed a hand towel from the bar next to the sink. My cock was more than ready to get down to business. Leaning against the wall next to the door, I kept an eye on Camille via the mirror along the wall above the vanity. She still hadn’t moved.
I gripped my cock and did a long slow stroke. Closing my eyes, Camille appeared before me, her body spread and ready for me. She smiled and lifted her arms above her head, the stiff peaks of her nipples begging for my mouth. Lowering myself between her legs, I licked along her pussy, tasting what was mine for the first time. She bucked beneath me, her eyes opening wide as I pressed my mouth to her, devouring her tender flesh with steady strokes from my tongue.
A groan rose from my throat, and I cracked an eye open to make sure she was still asleep. Satisfied I hadn’t woken her, I imagined how she’d writhe beneath me, how my fingers would sink into the soft skin of her thighs as I stabbed my tongue inside her. I licked her clit, strumming it mercilessly as her body tightened. She raked her hands through my hair, pressing my face against her as she seized and called my name as she came.
“Oh fuck. Camille.” The image of her coming on my tongue pushed my load up my shaft. I came with a deep grunt, shooting into the hand towel as I stroked every last drop from my cock.
When I was done, I wiped myself clean and glanced at the mirror. I could still see Camille, but instead of being ten feet away, she was standing right outside the door, her eyes wide.
13
Camille
I turned and ran back to the bed, diving under the covers. Wrapping myself up tight, I stared at the doorway where I’d seen Sebastian and heard him call my name as he came. I buried my face in my pillow to try and stamp out the warmth in my cheeks.
When Sebastian had climbed out of bed, I’d pretended to sleep. After a while, I didn’t hear anything and hoped he’d left or become otherwise occupied. I’d crept from my bed and tried the doors in the room—all locked, and one with a digital keypad. Then I’d heard him in the bathroom. God, the look on his face as he stroked himself into release. I clenched my eyes shut and tried to erase the image, and more importantly, erase the thrill that had run through me as I watched.
The bed shifted. “Sorry about that.”
I clutched the blanket tightly to me. “Sorry?” I choked out and unburied my face so I could watch him.
He shrugged, his muscled shoulders hard in the morning light. “I didn’t intend for you to see that, but I didn’t mind it either. Did you enjoy it?”
I re-buried my face in my pillow. �
��No!”
A low laugh rolled over me, the velvety tones trying to seduce me. “You don’t have to admit anything, but I know you did.”
“No.” I pulled my knees up beside me and felt along my calf until my fingers met a thin metal chain. The anklet monitor.
“Yes. Would you like to know what I was thinking about?”
“No!” My face still buried in the pillow, I breathed in warm air, the oxygen depleting as I stayed in my cocoon where he couldn’t see me, where I felt stupidly safe from the monster right beside me. Like a child who covers his face and believes he’s invisible.
“Eating your pussy. Teasing your clit until you exploded all over my face. You called my name.” A slight tug on my hair told me he was running his fingers through it. “When you came, so did I.”
I should have been filled with disgust. Instead, my mind followed along with the image he painted. Then I came to my senses and re-focused on how I might escape. Maybe I could climb down from the window if he left the room.
“Let me go.”
“Not happening.” His calm certainty spiked my blood pressure.
I screamed into my pillow and thought for a moment about scratching his eyes out. But the corded muscles of his body told me that would be a losing effort. I was no match for him.
There had to be a way out. Maybe he was just punking me. Maybe Ashton Kutcher was going to jump out from behind the curtains with a film crew, and we’d all laugh about it over breakfast.
A knock at the door sent a line of tension through me. Another person in the house meant the possibility of escape.
“Come in.” Sebastian yanked the blanket higher on my back. Hiding me?
The voice had me turning toward the door. The digital locking mechanism clicked, and a man strode inside. Mid-twenties, blond hair, and handsome—he wore dark butler’s attire and pushed a cart.
“Morning, Timothy.” Sebastian sat up on the edge of the bed and leaned over to click something on his nightstand. The curtains along the windows separated, allowing warm light to suffuse the room.
“Sir.” Timothy rolled the cart up to the bed, only sparing a brief glance for me.
“Help me.” I sat up and clutched the sheet to my chest. “He’s keeping me prisoner here.”
Timothy didn’t look at me. It was as if I’d never spoken.
Sebastian inspected the plates atop the cart. “Has everything in the house been arranged?”
“Yes sir.” Timothy poured two cups of coffee. He added the amount of sugar I liked, then poured my favorite creamer. “Rita knows the situation, and Gerry will abide by all the rules without issue.” His slight British accent stirred something in my mind, a memory that I couldn’t place.
“Did you hear me?” I raised my voice. “He’s keeping me against my will. Call the police!”
Sebastian seemed satisfied with the plates. “That’ll be all, Timothy.”
Timothy nodded and strode to the door. Without so much as acknowledging my existence, he entered a code and left. The locking mechanism clicked as soon as the door shut.
“That won’t work.” Sebastian peered at me, studying every move I made.
“You have them trained to keep prisoners?”
His dark hair, tousled from sleep, shone in the hues of morning that poured through the windows. “They obey me without question. I treat them well and pay them better.”
“You pay enough for them to go along with this sick game?”
His emerald eyes glittered. “It’s not a game. Come eat. You’ll feel better.”
“No way.”
“You’re hungry. I heard your stomach growl a few moments ago.”
“I don’t want anything you’re offering.”
He sighed. “You have to eat.”
“I’m not coming anywhere near you. How do I know the food isn’t poisoned?”
“Why would I go to all this trouble just to poison you?” He grabbed a piece of bacon from one plate and downed it in one bite, then grabbed a pancake from the other plate, ripped a piece off, and ate it. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a sharp movement. “Convinced?”
So it wasn’t poisoned. That didn’t mean I wanted to have breakfast with him. “And I’m naked.”
He arched a brow. “You won’t eat because you’re naked?”
“I don’t care what you think, but I’m not eating a single thing until I’m wearing clothes.”
“That makes zero sense.”
I shrugged. “It is what it is.”
Sebastian rose, the sunlight gracing his chiseled body. I looked away as he stalked into the bathroom.
“Come in here.” The command in his voice had a hint of irritation, as if I were getting under his skin. Good.
“I can’t. I’m naked.”
“Get in here or, so help me, I will drag you.” Definitely under his skin.
A thought occurred to me, an ill-formed burst of inspiration that would shape how I would get out of this prison. If Sebastian thought I was perfect for him, that we were meant to be together, perhaps if I proved him wrong by being a disagreeable shrew, he’d change his mind. For the first time since I woke up in his bed, I felt a shred of hope.
“Fine.” His footfalls retreated toward me. “I’ll carry you.”
“I’m coming.” I stood quickly and yanked at the enormous cream duvet until I’d wrapped it all around me like a puffy wedding dress.
“I’ve already seen you naked, Camille.” He leaned against the bathroom doorframe, his hard body something that I’d only seen in scandalous messages from Veronica. Broad chest with dusky nipples, washboard abs, and the ‘V’ leading down to his semi-hard cock. I gawked for a moment, unable to help myself. It was thick, almost unbelievably so. Prying my eyes away, I stared at the space above his head.
“I saw that, Camille.” His smirk twisted my insides.
“You didn’t see anything.”
“You can deny me all you want, but I know you feel it, too.” He rubbed his chest over his heart. “For the longest time, I actually thought I was suffering from acid reflux. Every time I saw you and had to let you go, I felt it. Like a pit of lava that was burning me from the inside out. No amount of meds could stop the ache. Only one thing did—you. Just being near you. The feeling is gone and something else lives there, something that fills me up and leaves me needing more of you. Always more.”
I kicked my chin up and kept my tone cold. “That’s cute.”
He winced, and what could have been pain flashed across his eyes. Then it was gone. I’d been cruel, and for once, I was glad. Whatever unhappiness he felt was nothing compared to the ocean of sorrow he’d drowned me in.
“Get in here.” He turned and disappeared through the door.
I followed, dragging the blanket behind me. The bathroom was huge, every surface covered in gray and white marble. Chandeliers burned above a whirlpool tub that looked as though it could fit at least six people. Iridescent tiles created a sea mosaic behind it, the blues swirling as they rushed toward a sparkling shore.
A woman flashed across the mirror. I stopped, then blinked hard. It wasn’t a woman. It was me.
“You dyed my hair?” I plucked up a lock of blonde hair and gaped at it.
“Had to.” His voice came from somewhere deeper in the bathroom. “Just in case.”
“Just in case what?” For the first time since I’d arrived, I was fuming. I’d never dyed my hair, not so much as touched it with even temporary color. The woman in the mirror was foreign, though her blue eyes sparkled against the backdrop of honey-colored waves.
“In case someone gets a glimpse of you or a photo gets snapped.” Dressed in a pair of boxers, he walked from a darkened room next to the bath and across to another doorway. “I didn’t want to do it. I love your hair as is, but it was the smart move. If it makes you feel any better, I hired one of the best colorists in the city. He came out, and I told him you had an intense fear of hair stylists and had to be sedated to get you
r hair done.” He flicked the light on and waved me over. “I got the feeling it wasn’t even close to the weirdest story he’d ever heard.”
“But it was mine.” Seeing myself changed, transformed into his captive, broke a piece of my heart. I leaned on the vanity, trying to right myself in this strange new world.
“It was necessary, or I wouldn’t have done it.”
“You had no right.” My vision blurred as more tears tried to force their way to the surface.
He sighed. “We’ll both get used to it, and once things settle down, we’ll change it back.”
“We?” My voice was hoarse, empty.
“Yes. From now on. Now come here. I want to show you something.”
I ripped my gaze away from the stranger in the mirror. The warm tile failed to heat me as I edged toward him. I stopped in the doorway and stared around at the clothes and accessories hanging or folded on all sides. A rack of shoes ran along the back of the closet. More shoes than a department store in neat rows. Heels, flats, trainers, boots—everything one person could ever need, all brand new. Toward the top, I noticed a few sets of shoes that didn’t quite match the shine of the rest.
I walked forward as he leaned against a high set of drawers, the wood a soft honey color. “These are mine.” Reaching up, I ran my hand along a pair of flats that I often wore to school.
“Everything in here is yours. I also had all your personal items brought along. Your medications, birth control, feminine items, cosmetics—all in your cabinets next to your sink. I didn’t collect all your clothes, just the ones fitting the season. We can get the rest later.”
I turned and found several items of my clothes hanging on the rack to my right. Mixed in were new clothes. Pulling the tag down, I checked the nearest shirt. My size. I pulled another tag. My size. One look at the shoes told me they were all close to my size. The clothes were similar to the sorts of colors I’d choose for myself. It was as if he already knew what was in my cottage closet, then multiplied it and added designer tags.
“If you don’t like these things, we can donate them and get you whatever you like.”