He’s difficult to read. His gaze is intense and his body is still and smoothly under control. He answers me in that velvet voice. “I didn’t.” The arrogance in his tone pisses me off.
My eyes widen in genuine surprise at his answer. Now I’m worried that he is not only dangerous but also delusional.
Reason with him. Lay out the facts.
I do my best to steady my voice, to sound unaffected. “You have to let me go. I shouldn’t be here.”
A small upper right lip quirk signals his amusement at my demand. “No, Valla, I don’t. You’ll learn soon enough that you’re not the one giving commands here, little girl.”
Oh God! My eyes go wide as a blast of heat ignites deep in my pussy. It has to be his commanding, sexual tone. My brain knows it’s wrong but my body doesn’t give a shit.
In one fluid motion, he unfolds his big frame from the chair and strides right out the bedroom door without a second glance in my direction.
What the hell? Maybe he really is crazy.
Alone in the silent room, my heart starts to pound within my chest. I’m terrified that he has some nefarious plan to rape and/or murder me. Did I make the grave mistake of flirting with the wrong man this evening? Seems likely. My frightened brain begins to pull up the horror films I watched with roommates back in college, like the Nordic thriller Dead Snow and the creepy French horror film High Tension. Damn ... maybe he left to get a big butcher knife?
I have to get a grip! I won’t have a chance in hell of surviving, much less escaping this place, if I’m off my hinges with fear.
I need to find a way to get out of here and fast. Yet a part of me wants to linger—yes, the bad girl part of me—if only to find out if this guy can really deliver on the promise he made back in that dimly lit hallway.
Taking a deep breath to shake off the conflicting emotions, I look around the room. It’s very large and the walls, ceiling, and floor are all the same high quality cognac-colored wood. Normally that amount of wood might appear dated or creepy; however, this gleaming décor is first rate. The ceiling is vaulted at the top, descending in a glide of wood down to the tall windows. The right wall consists of an oversized stone fireplace with a wide, framed historic map hanging above it. Not far from the chair is a large white lambskin rug.
This would be my absolute dream vacation home if I wasn’t currently being held captive by this overbearing, possibly psychotic stranger. I’m really not pleased with his reference to me as “little girl,” although to be honest, the words sent a delicious, undeniable thrill straight through my core.
What is my secret fascination with totally alpha men? I’ve always wished that my past boyfriends would be more assertive and confident, especially in bed. I really hate running all aspects of any relationship, as passive guys take a passenger seat. Especially in the bedroom, ugh! Both of the two serious relationships I’ve had in my thirty years have been as boring and vanilla as they come. Missionary after a bottle of wine was a great night and maybe, just maybe—on a special occasion like New Year’s—I might be surprised with a few minutes of oral. A primal, long dormant part of my sexuality screams out that he is exactly the right man to give it all to me, to control me with his authoritative manner. I just need to be open and accept his lead. But could I do that? Doubtful under these bizarre circumstances.
I’ve secretly harbored fantasies of meeting a true Dominant. But it’s not like you can put that out over a coffee date at Steamer’s without raising eyebrows. In Charleston there aren’t any wild clubs where you can experiment in alternative lifestyle play. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that I would meet up with a potential Dom halfway around the world. Could I just relax and go with it? He can’t hold me hostage forever, right?
Maybe he just kidnapped me for sexual adventures. That would certainly be far safer than being snowed in with a serial killer with a knife fetish. The harrowing thought sends a chill up my neck.
Using my free hand, I stretch and reach out for the tumbler of water beside the bed and drink deeply. It’s so refreshing, and my throat is parched. Maybe from the drugs.
I wiggle about against the pillows to try and get comfortable with one arm tied. A secret thrill ignites as I stare at the rope. Tied to his bed … for his use. His pleasure. How deviously wicked.
At least there is some slack in the rope …. I stare out at the snow and begin to become disoriented. I feel as if I’ve just had one too many glasses of wine …. Oh, fuck no! He did not just drug me again. Did he? Shit!
Damn, how naïve am I? I didn’t even taste it in the water. I tug desperately on the rope, suddenly terrified by the thought of what might be done to me after I drift off. I wrench harder against my restraints and only manage to strain my shoulder. Warm pain shoots through my arm as I struggle on. Sleep is beckoning and against my best efforts I’m unable to resist as I slide under ….
Chapter Five
***
Mountain Man
I awake sprawled on my side amongst his smooth, dark blue sheets. On full alert, I jerk up to a sitting position to find that I’m alone once again. It’s pitch black outside, but the fire is still giving off a healthy glow in the spacious room. I wonder if he came in to tend to it while I was out.
My suspicions are confirmed when I find that I’m no longer bound to the bedpost. I rub my wrist, thankful that there is nothing more than a subtle, but lingering, deep pink mark. I glance at my chest and my brows draw together in confusion. Why am I wearing a white, waffle knit cotton Henley shirt? It absolutely swims on my tiny frame. Pulling the neckline forward, I breathe a sigh of relief to see that my pink bra and panties are still in place. I don’t feel any different. All seems well. For now.
Something rests at the foot of the bed. I come to my knees and crawl forward until I reach the small pile. On top is a folded note written on a piece of elegant ivory stationery. I open it and stare at the words written in bold, black ink. ‘I’m about to make good on my promise. Shower and put this on. –J’
I suck in a shaky breath and read it again, committing his overtly sexual words to memory. He doesn’t want to murder me. He wants to dominate me. But do I want him to?
I do, without the slightest doubt. This is a game, the ultimate one, and I’m eager to play. I can’t help but feel relief that this is what he wants from me instead of something far more sinister.
My heart races in anticipation as I lift up the delicate black lingerie from the towel it was resting on. The pink and black price tag attached reads ‘Bordelle.’ I’ve seen this lingerie online and it is not for the faint of heart. The line is known for its sensual fabrics and kinky designs. It is very exclusive and costly.
The drool-worthy sex kitten piece dangling from my fingertips is made of jet black silk and has a teeny bustier with shimmering silver buckle straps across the top where the bust line should be. I can’t wait to wear it! The body is fitted and sleek with ribbons criss-crossing through the luxurious fabric, which flows down to the waistline. A miniscule, midnight black gossamer thong is attached underneath. I pick up the gray towel off the feather duvet and step out of the high bed, lingerie still in hand.
As I make my way across the room, my feet are silent against the dark gray slate floor. It is surprisingly warm. Could he possibly have radiant heating? What a masculine room ….
What does this guy do for a living? If he can afford a home like this, he must do something important.
I near the windows to watch the snow pummel down in healthy amounts, making the green trees appear white and ghostly. I flatten one palm against the chilled glass. It has to be well below freezing out there. What elevation are we at? I peer out into the darkness, straining to see any other homes or even a single light. There’s nothing, only the endless mountainous forest that resembles a dark mythical painting more than reality.
As I turn and push open the door to my left, soft light coming from the fireplace streams in and I’m able to make out that it’s a bathroom. I feel around for t
he light and once it’s flipped on I nearly take a step back. Before me is a bathroom the size of another bedroom. Its quality and construction rivals what you would find in an exclusive hotel, only this one is specifically tailored to a man, an incredibly masculine one.
Black granite countertops, gray-blue fluffy towels, a mosaic shower made of smooth stones that resemble the gray ones I fondled on Kaikoura Beach. It even has a massive Jacuzzi tub and a full sitting area with a sleek, black leather and wood chair. It’s stunning.
What in the world am I doing here? Why would a man with his bankroll and looks ever bother to kidnap a woman? There is nothing about him that shouts ‘creepy serial killer,’ so what could be the reason behind all this?
Suddenly I recall that foggy conversation between the two men. Could this be some kind of sex fantasy game that they do for kicks, maybe upping the stakes each time? I’ll go along with it for now but I’m determined to get answers. Soon.
Stripping off the huge shirt that nearly reaches to my knees, I breathe in the musky, intoxicating scent lingering on the fabric. It’s all male and as delicious as I recall from the up close encounter back at Dingo’s. Hell, if Lana hadn’t interrupted us, I just might have come willingly to his home, I was so hot for his touch. That sort of primal attraction and abject need has never happened to me before and I can’t help but find all this intriguing.
My group is most likely scouring the area for me, probably thinking I wandered off and became lost in the woods. I’ve got to find his cell. At the very least, I have to let them know I’m all right, that I’m alive. Soon they’ll be frantic with worry.
I decide I’ll play along with this perplexing man for now, see what he has to offer, but he has to let me go soon. And when he does, I’m definitely going to need far more clothing than his shirt. I wonder where he stashed my clothes.
After neatly folding my bra and panties and laying them near the sink beside the fresh towel and sizzling hot outfit, I turn the lever and step into the cavernous shower. I nearly groan in delight as the perfectly warm water begins to fall from a high, rainforest-style showerhead. I gladly indulge in the Aveda citrus-scented shampoo and body wash.
So, my captor has great taste. How very interesting. And bizarre.
I’ve used the loofah all over my body and am nearly finished when I feel cool air wafting into the steamy room. My skin prickles and I sense that I’m no longer alone.
Oh no! He wouldn’t just enter … would he? I was following the instructions on his note. Did I do something wrong this early on?
I pivot and wipe a small circle of steam off the slick glass enclosure only to gasp and take a frightened step back. He’s leaning arrogantly against the granite counter between the double sinks, and his brawny arms are crossed over his flannel-clad chest. He’s huge, and although I know he wants to play Dom and sub, he’s still as intimidating as a Great White straight off Shark Week.
Covering my breasts and pelvis to the best of my ability, I call out in an annoyed tone, “Well, I suppose that we should be on a first name basis now that you’re so intent on seeing me naked.”
I wait several seconds and receive zero response. Turning the water off in a huff, I sneak an arm out through the levered door to reach for the towel hanging on a nearby hook. Once I have it secured around me, I gather my nerve and take a deep breath before stepping out to face my sexy kidnapper.
Breath whooshes out from my lungs. He’s so beautiful, and equally as large. He’s watching me with the still intensity of a panther about to pounce.
Don’t show fear.
I do my best to gloss over my astonishment. With our bodies this close it’s a difficult task. “Well? I’m waiting.” I tilt my face up to his.
This gets me a whiskey-smooth response. “You sure are a spirited one, aren’t you, petal?”
Petal? What the hell was that? He knows my name, but now he’s calling me something that comes out in his thick accent as “pea-taaal.”
“Not that it really matters in this scenario, big guy, but I am quite spirited. And my name is Valla, not ‘petal.’ I might be game for your play, but I’d appreciate the use of my proper name.”
I gasp as he pushes his massive body away from the sink and takes two quick strides right toward me. I lunge backward, shaking the glass of the shower door behind me. I’m pinned. It must be a built in defense mechanism, because I’m now completely intimidated by this person, despite my earlier arousal.
His hulking frame towers over me and he’s standing so incredibly close that I’m staring at the threads on the breast pocket of his midnight blue flannel shirt. My body begins to tremble involuntarily as I clutch the towel tighter around me. I try my best to be brave, to remain calm, to not reward him with my lust. I’m quickly losing the battle. Perhaps compliance will garner my freedom? I need to tone it down and try my best to not be so damn headstrong.
I watch the slow rise and fall of his wide chest and smell that familiar rich, musky male scent coming off him. God, he is so menacing and his effect on me is so bewildering. Is it even possible to be aroused and nervous at the same time?
Be brave, Valla! Act calm. Breathe, girl.
I tentatively look up to find him peering down at me with those bottomless, cobalt blue eyes.
“Ah, petal, that’s no way to speak to me, now is it? You really wouldn’t ever want to see me brassed off, woman.”
What?
In a deeper voice, he murmurs to me, “You’ll follow me now, girl.”
Why in the world did I show disrespect to my captor? Do I crave the control he has to offer? Maybe I’m unconsciously trying to provoke him into action. I remain quiet. I’m not really certain that I’m ready to let him ‘play’ with me because he seems as lethal as a jungle cat. But, when he picks up the delicate outfit and walks back into the low-lit bedroom, I hesitantly follow his lead, nearly lightheaded with anticipation. He stops near the chair and lowers himself down into it as my eyes flick to the bedroom door.
Should I chance it?
A calm, detached voice cuts through the silence. “Try it and see what happens. You won’t make it two steps out of this room, petal.”
I take a step back and start to tremble. As if I could last for two minutes in the snow with no clothing! I can’t help it; suddenly I’m scared. What if I was wrong about him? What if this is more than some sexual fantasy? “Please, please don’t hurt me,” I nearly beg.
Calmly and quietly he tells me, “I would never hurt you, not unless you earn it, girl. Now drop the towel and kneel on the fur in front of me.”
His deep, dominant tone leaves little room for misunderstanding.
That was not what I expected him to say. As I hesitantly drop the towel to the floor, I can feel the flush of embarrassment creep across my cheeks. I hesitantly cross in front of him and drop down to my knees before this warrior of a man. Although I’m completely naked, I’m more thrilled with the anticipation of his touch than embarrassed. Can this really be happening?
He holds up the dazzling lingerie and unfastens the small safety pin that secures the thin ribbon and tag to the garment, setting it aside on the armrest while saying in a smooth voice, “Put this on for me. Slowly.”
His demanding voice unnerves me, sending waves of pleasure throughout my body. Reaching out, I take the garment and shyly sit on my behind as I maneuver the wispy thong up my legs. My long black hair falls forward and I glance up at him through my lashes. In a thick voice he says in measured words, “Now. The rest of it.”
Ever so slowly, I stand up and slide the silk over my arms, gently pulling the fabric down onto my frame. It is incredibly fitted, but the silk has a slight amount of stretch to it. It’s surprisingly comfortable, but the top part of my breasts are spilling out of the minuscule bust area. The naughty buckle is strapped over the very top of them. I feel wanton, wicked, and undeniably sexy.
“Very, very nice. Fuck, petal, you’re without a doubt the hottest thing these eyes have ever seen,”
he says, his voice strangled. “Now kneel down and face the fire for me.”
I do his bidding, the anticipation far outweighing my fear of the unknown. If he wasn’t so off-the-charts gorgeous, would I still behave with such compliance? My head is spinning with nervous lust.
I melt as he reaches out to touch me. Large but gentle fingers begin to run lightly through my long wet hair. I tilt my head back for him. He slowly and methodically works out the snags with tender strokes. I begin to relax as the damp strands lift and fall over and over again against my silk-clad back.
He remains silent behind me, with only the cracking and popping of the wood in the fire to break the silence. Just as I’m starting to get into it, thoroughly enjoying the treatment, he commands, “Stand up. Turn and face me.”
Without hesitation, I scramble to do as he asks. The kinky attire has suddenly made me feel shy and exposed. Why does he have to be so stunning?
My heaving, buckled breasts are at his eye level as he leans in closer. I whimper as his rough, thick index finger trails down from the center of my neck to come to a halt at the base of the silk bustier that just covers my belly button.
I can’t hide my arousal. I begin to pant as the pressure between my legs steadily increases. His eyes wander up to my breasts, pausing before travelling back up to my neck. Certainly he can see my pulse hammering away?
He murmurs low, his thick accent nearly guttural, “Damn, woman, you have the most perfect skin I’ve ever seen in my life.”
The compliment seems odd but genuine, making me smile inwardly. Why on earth should I care? Confusion rolls through me and I silently wonder if he’s pleased with my breasts. They are full for my petite frame, and now they’re pushed up and spilling out of my seductive outfit like an offering.
A hungry look crosses his face as his work-hardened hands possessively cup both my breasts from underneath. He works the delicate cups down from the bodice, baring me to him. His thumbs stroke across my nipples over and over again as he fondles and kneads my breasts. I suppose I have my answer. He likes them just fine.
Nabbed in New Zealand Page 4