by Zoe Blake
Then nothing.
Silence.
Chloe looked down at her wrinkled, filthy T-shirt. It barely reached to the top of her thighs and was her only covering. She shifted her position on the floor, grimacing as the movement caused her still-sore bottom to ache.
The bastard had actually spanked her with his belt! Chloe was not sure what was worse, the fact that he had violated her that way, or the fact that her body liked it.
She then looked longingly at her glass-enclosed shower. She supposed she should be thinking about Chad right now. She had just killed him. Truth be told, she couldn’t muster up even a tiny damn for the sick bastard. If she hadn’t killed him, he would have killed her for sure. She refused to allow him to fuck up her life any more than he already had by wallowing in remorse or shame or some misplaced Catholic guilt over ending his life. He had caused misery and death and would have continued to do so to others, of that she had no doubt. No, she wouldn’t waste a single tear or a moment’s regret on killing Chad.
Besides, there was her current predicament to tackle. Logan obviously was here for the same thing Chad had been ranting about, but for the life of her, she didn’t know what they were referring to. Even if she did, she sure as fuck wouldn’t tell Logan. It could be her only ticket out of this mess. Her only bargaining chip.
Leverage.
That is if she could figure out what the fuck it was first.
Chad had started with the bookshelves in the study. Was it a piece of paper? A book? Drugs? Obviously he’d thought it was something she had found and hidden somewhere in the cabin. That could only mean one thing; it was something she had taken with her from Louisiana. She hadn’t completely lied to Chad. There were still a few small boxes she hadn’t unpacked. They just weren’t in the bedroom closet like she had told him. They were tucked away in the garage. She needed to search those boxes, but how? She couldn’t just go rummaging about; Logan would find her and immediately guess what she was doing.
If she escaped, Logan would tear apart the cabin and the garage, and probably find whatever it was that Chad had been looking for. If she stayed and risked searching herself, Logan would catch her, of that she was certain.
Did she dare try to kill him? Chloe dismissed the idea immediately. She suspected that Logan’s soul might be just as stained as Chad’s, but there was something about him…no…she couldn’t kill him.
At least not yet. She would try to get away to search the boxes first. There was another gun cabinet in the garage. Before she searched, she would arm herself. If Logan found her searching, well, she would do whatever she had to in order to survive.
All that could wait. Right now, all she really wanted was a shower and her bed. This night had strained her nerves taut. She needed time. Time to lick her wounds and regroup. Time to think up a plan.
Too bad she was helplessly chained to her own radiator!
“You’re welcome.”
Chloe came awake with a start then groaned as her neck wrenched. She had fallen asleep on the floor, leaning awkwardly against the wall.
“What?” she asked dazedly.
“I said, you’re welcome.”
Chloe focused on Logan. His massive form dwarfed the small bathroom. He was covered in mud from the swipe on his cheek to his caked boots. He still looked hot as fuck. Damn him! She was going straight to hell and not just for being a murderer. There was just something about the raw power of his muscled form. His command of the situation. His dominance over her.
This was sick. Wrong. This man was holding her captive in her own home. He was mean and dangerous. She needed to get the fuck away from him, not admire how he looked covered in dirt!
Logan stepped forward till his legs were straddling her outstretched ones. From her position on the floor, she had a very clear view of his jeans. The hard outline of his cock was clearly marked as it sloped down the inside of his right thigh. Holy fuck.
As he stared down at her prone form, Logan reached for the hem of his dirty T-shirt. Pulling it over his head, he exposed his chest and chiseled abs to her gaze. Her mouth fell open at the display of ink. The tattoo she’d glimpsed on his neck was actually the handle of a dagger. The rest of the tattoo covered his shoulder and right pec. It was a wicked-looking blade piercing a red rose. On his other shoulder was the ace of spades and the queen of hearts. Along his left hipbone were the initials E.W.M.N. Chloe remembered from some random documentary she had watched that that was a prison tattoo. It stood for evil, wicked, mean and nasty. Holy fuck.
His large hands then went to the button on his jeans as he took a step back to kick off his boots.
“What are you doing?” she asked, alarmed.
“Undressing. Burying a guy in the woods tends to be a messy business. I need a shower.” His lips twisted into a smirk.
Chloe rattled the handcuffs against the iron of the old radiator. “Then unlock me first.”
“Why, babygirl. You want to join me?” He gave her a knowing wink.
Her cheeks burned with mortification both at his suggestion and the truth of his words. Honestly, she needed help…serious help.
“Absolutely not!” she responded through clenched teeth as she crossed her legs and raised her knees protectively up to her chest.
“Then you stay where you are.”
He flicked open the brass buttons at his crotch. The jeans slid off his hips and fell to his ankles. Of course he would be the type to go commando, she thought sardonically. She turned her head sharply to the left and closed her eyes.
“Look at me, baby.”
Chloe shook her head no.
“I said, look at me.”
Chloe still shook her head no.
She heard a resigned sigh. “Does someone need to feel the strap of my belt again so soon?”
Chloe gasped in shock as she quickly whipped her head forward. She was met by the sight of his cock jutting proudly from between his legs. The huge, bulbous head looked threatening. The sheer length and girth of his shaft was intimidating to say the least. She could not look away as he fisted it. His long fingers wrapped around the thick shaft, his hand pumping along its length.
The small room slowly filled with steam. She could feel the heavy, warm air against her cheeks and lips. Without thought, the tip of her tongue swiped the moisture from her lower lip.
She watched his eyes darken as his grip tightened on his cock. Was it her fevered imagination, or had an animal growl just rumbled from deep inside his chest?
Without a word, Logan turned his back on her and stepped into the hot stream of water, but not before she’d gotten a glimpse of a large back tattoo which stretched over each shoulder blade. They were a pair of black angel wings.
Dear God.
Knowing it was pointless, she still pulled on her wrist, testing the strength of the handcuffs. Her heart racing, she felt like a trapped animal. Prey to the beast lurking behind that sheer pane of thin glass.
She watched in horrified fascination as he showered. His body was heavy with muscle. Thick arms and a wide back with narrow hips and powerful legs. He had that cut-in look over his hipbones that you usually only saw on athletes.
There were also scars. Lots of them.
There were angry red slashes and one star-shaped scar that looked suspiciously like a bullet hole just below his left ribcage.
The shower door glass fogged over, but she could still see his form. Could see him grab her body wash. Watched as he lathered the creamy soap between his strong hands. Then he began to spread it over his chest in large, sweeping circles. The room filled with the warm scent of vanilla and shea butter. As he stood to the side, she could see the outline of his cock. Watched as his soapy hand gripped it again and swept up and down, up and down.
Chloe forced her gaze away. Her eyes fell to his mud-splattered jeans on the floor. There was the edge of what looked like a photograph poking out from the back pocket. Hazarding a careful glance towards the shower and seeing that his back was turned, she
risked leaning over and giving the photo a tug so she could see the full image. She was shocked to see her own face staring back at her. Her hair was much longer. The photograph had to be at least three years old. How had he gotten it? The only explanation was he must have found it on one of her old social media sites even though she’d thought she’d deleted them all when she’d fled Louisiana. Earlier, when he’d said he knew all about her, Chloe had assumed that had just been a threat to scare her into obeying. Now, she was not so sure.
Who the hell was this guy?
Her attention returned to Logan as she shoved the photo back into his pocket. He rinsed off the suds and opened the door, but left the shower running.
Walking over to her still-prone form, heedless of his own nakedness, Logan crouched down. With a wicked grin, he said, “Your turn.”
Chloe shook her head as she once again tucked her knees up to her chest. “No. I... I don’t want a shower.”
Logan reached out and flicked the tip of her nose. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he was her captor, she would have thought it an affectionate gesture.
“This isn’t about what you want.”
Logan dug through his jeans pocket for the handcuff key. The moment her right hand was freed, Chloe took a swing at him. It would not be as effective as the first time; he had deliberately removed her amethyst ring before locking her up. But she still had to try.
Logan snagged her wrist before she made contact with his jaw. Grabbing her other wrist, he effortlessly pulled her up off the floor.
“I just love when you fight me,” he taunted. Fisting the limp collar of her T-shirt, he viciously tore downward, tearing her only garment off her before forcing both of her arms behind her back.
“Go to hell,” she snarled as she twisted her shoulders, trying to break free of his hold.
There was a loud metallic snap. Both her wrists were secured behind her. Chloe was once again helpless to fight him.
“Time for your bath, babygirl.”
Wrapping a possessive arm around her waist, he pressed her body against his own as he lifted her off the floor and carried her into the shower. The heat of the water as it hit her face and chest momentarily stole her breath. Chloe shook her head as wet strands of hair covered her eyes.
Logan pressed her against the tile wall of the shower as his large palm brushed her wet curls back. Moving his hand down, he cupped her jaw. His thumb swept over her lower lip as he stared at her mouth.
The pain in her arms from being trapped between her body and the wall was nothing compared to the torment of the emotions having his hard body pressed against her own caused.
“Please,” she whimpered. The fight in her gone.
He swiped her lower lip with his thumb again. “I like the sound of you begging me.” He continued to stare at her mouth, a look of concentrated fascination animating his sharp features. “Usually, I study a target’s eyes. You can learn a lot from just looking at the eyes. Not with you. It was your mouth. This sweet, pink mouth. Photo after photo. The way your plump lower lip would pout when it was obvious you didn’t want your photo taken. The cute cupid bow of your top lip. How you rarely wear lipstick, never covering up the natural blush pink of your lips. I began to wonder how they would look after I forced my cock into your tight, tiny mouth. Would they be swollen? Bitten? Would they blush a darker pink?”
Chloe couldn’t move. The heat of the shower as the water pounded against her skin and the feel of his hard cock pushing against her stomach. The sensual threat of his words as he continued to stroke her lower lip, then pressed the tip of his thumb against her teeth. It all held her motionless.
“Why am I a target? I’ve done nothing to you. I don’t even know you!”
“But I know you. That was very clever, what you did with Internal Affairs. The feigned innocence. Those idiot detectives didn’t suspect for a moment you were leading them around by the nose. They didn’t even know you had given them a fake name. Tell me. How long did it take you to plan your boyfriend’s demise? A week? A few days?”
Chloe felt sick. How could he possibly know that? It was how she had managed to slip out of Louisiana and never be tracked down for Chad’s trial as a witness. She had created a fake persona, complete with social media profiles and fake I.D. She had always wondered why Chad had never ratted her out. She now knew it was because she was in possession of something he didn’t want the cops to find…something he had planned all along to retrieve. Still, that didn’t explain how Logan had learned of her subterfuge. She had told no one. She had no one to tell.
“How… how do you know about that?”
Logan ran his finger over her collarbone. He then caressed the soft curve of her breast before circling the pert nipple.
“Let’s just say I get paid very well by some very powerful people to learn secrets, to find what’s hidden, to clean up messes. And you, babygirl, are all three.”
Chloe’s lower lip trembled with fear. She had a thousand questions, none of which she suspected he would answer. Still, she had to ask one. “Are you going to kill me?”
She could feel his hand pressing against the delicate ribs of her ribcage before sliding over her wet skin to her hip. He then flipped his hand to run his knuckles over her flat abdomen, barely skimming over the neatly trimmed, soft brown curls covering her pussy.
She swallowed a gasp when he possessively cupped her mound, forcing his middle finger between her lower lips. “That depends. Are you going to be a good girl and tell me what I want to know?”
“I don’t know what Chad was looking for!”
“You’re lying.”
He slid an arm around her waist to wrap around her lower back, forcing her chest forward and relieving the pressure on her arms. Pushing his middle finger into her cunt, he said, “The more you insist on lying to me, the harder I will make this on you. I will get what I want. Whether you survive the effort is up to you.”
With those words, he ruthlessly pushed a second finger into her tight heat. Chloe cried out as she arched up onto her toes. It had been years since she had been touched, and even then her only experience was Chad’s inept fumblings. This was… this was… oh God! Her body clenched around his thrusting fingers, pulling him in deeper.
Logan’s free hand slipped down to grasp her left bottom cheek as he curled the tip of his fingers inside of her, brushing the sensitive hidden nerves.
Her head fell back as she let out a tortured moan.
“Ask me to let you come.”
She opened lust-glazed eyes, forcing herself to focus on his words. “I… I….”
He dug his fingers into her still-sore bottom. “Beg me like a good girl.”
She couldn’t. Her body might be betraying her, but she still needed to fight him. Fight this strange power he seemed to have over her.
He shifted his feet and opened his legs wider, the press of his cock against her hip more insistent as his hand moved faster, thrusting his fingers into her tight hole. His other hand moved along her slick skin. She felt his fingertips press into the cleft of her bottom.
Chloe’s eyes widened in alarm. “No!”
She jerked her hips forward to avoid his touch, but that simply pressed her body more closely to his.
He smiled. “Yes.” His fingers pushed between her cheeks. The tip of his index finger caressing the soft, puckered skin of her bottom hole.
Chloe clenched against his touch.
He forced the tip past her resistance. Pushed his thick index finger into her bottom past the first knuckle.
Her protest was garbled as she struggled to come to terms with the assault on such an intimate, heretofore untouched, part of her body.
Logan leaned down and bit her plump lower lip.
She tasted the metallic tang of blood on her tongue just as he pushed those two fingers back inside her pussy and the finger inside her bottom deeper, caressing the thin layer of skin separating the two passages.
The taste of blood. The feel
ing of powerlessness, of being dominated, forced. It was primal. Fierce. Overwhelming. But most of all, frighteningly liberating.
“Beg me,” he commanded.
“Please! Please make me come!” she shouted in defeat, her body winning out over her will.
Pressed so close, she could feel the vibrations of his growl from deep within his chest as he worked both hands in a powerful rhythm. Chloe screamed her release as her body fell limp in his arms.
Spent. Defeated.
She kept her eyes closed as he released his grip and propped her against the warmed tiles. She smelled vanilla and shea butter moments before she felt his hands on her shoulders. He massaged the soap into her skin with long, sweeping circles. Over her breasts, stomach, down her thighs…and between. She was lifted against his hard length as he pulled them both fully under the stream of hot water. His fingers delved into her thick curls as he shampooed her hair, massaging her neck and scalp. Once again, his gestures and touch were almost affectionate.
The deliberate switch between forceful and gentle kept her on edge and off-balance.
After rinsing her hair, he fisted her locks and pulled her head back. She felt his body shift as he leaned in close to whisper into her ear, “Time for your punishment, babygirl.”
Chapter 6
He really was a sick bastard. With any other target, he would have put a gun to their head to force them to talk, then retrieved the package and been long gone. There was just something about Chloe. She was an intoxicating contradiction, both wicked and innocent. Clever as a whip, she had managed to outwit an entire division of detectives and escape with a package worth more to his client than all the cocaine in New Orleans. From the moment he had started tracking her, learning about her, he had been intrigued. A brutal childhood, a dick for a boyfriend, no education beyond high school; any combination of those three would have been enough to drive an ordinary woman into the gutter. Drugs, drink, prostitution, pick your poison.
But not his Chloe. His Chloe. Yeah, she was his now. He had claimed her before he had even set eyes on her.