Steal Me (Longshadows Book 1)

by Natalia Banks

  She stooped a bit, coughed up a little phlegm for effect, and pulled open the door just a crack. She pulled her robe up over her chest, closed just under her neck. “Ben, hey.”

  “Kat, I, um, I was just passing by, thought I’d drop over, see how you’re doing.”

  “I’m a little better, Ben, thanks.” She let her lids sink a bit as she coughed into her hand. “I was just fixing myself a cup of tea.”

  Ben nodded, smiling through his thick, red beard. “You look good…as always.”

  She just waved him off with a tired smile of her own. “You’re sweet. Everything okay with the gigs, the crew all booked-up?”

  “Oh yeah, sure,” Ben said. “I can handle it, no problem. So, y’know, if you do decide to go back to Phoenix—”

  “Tucson,” she corrected him, knowing it wasn’t necessary. He knew damn well it was Tucson.

  “We’ll be able to keep the business going out here, like you said. Even two thousand miles won’t come between us.”

  Kat gave it some thought, but it was too complicated to think about what he was really getting at, and that was something she’d thought plenty about as it was.

  The tea kettle began to whistle, faint in the kitchen behind her. “That’s really very sweet, Ben, but I better get to my tea, get some rest.”

  “Oh, right, okay, well, I’ll give you a call, anything big comes up. But don’t worry, I can handle it.”

  “Then do you really have to call?”

  He stood there in the doorway, awkward as the tea kettle began whistling louder. “I guess you’ve got a point. But you’d want to know, right?”

  Immediately recognizing the snippy tone in her voice, she took a deep breath and smiled. “I guess you’ve got a point,” she said, adding. “Thanks again, Ben, I really appreciate all your help with all this, bye now,” before sliding the door closed and turning toward the kitchen. The tea kettle was whistling loudly, and when Kat turned around, it drowned out the sound of her terrified scream.

  Chapter 8

  Kat

  It happened so fast, she only caught a glimpse of his head, bent into a hideous flat mask under a leg of pantyhose. But that was all she could make out before he struck. The man reached out, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and pulling her in, the other a black-gloved hand to clamp over her mouth. Kat’s senses burst to life and her instincts kicked in, faster than her brain. She smashed the ball of her flattened palm into his huge chest, but because of his height, the blow fell below his sternum. His muscle-thick torso absorbed the blow without injury, but the move surprised him, and it was enough of a distraction to give her a chance to pull out of his grip.

  The tea kettle was shrieking out its steamy protest on Kat’s behalf, her silent struggle still muffled by his hard, leather hand. She managed to turn around, but he held tight; she was unable to ignore the panic she felt when her feet left the floor, as if she were being ripped away from her life, ungrounded, with no footing. She kicked hard, the empty space in front of her taking a terrible pummeling. He spun her while her feet kicked over a lamp, landing with a loud crash. She tried to pull his hand from her face, her nostrils becoming obstructed by his big gloved hand, but it was no use.

  Behind her, he rasped, “Work it, baby, work it. You’ve got good form and a lot of style, but don’t waste all your strength. It’s gonna be a long, long day.” Kat’s heart was racing as she kept flailing, focusing her attention on pinching and poking at that hideous, stocking-covered face. “Okay, sweetheart, time to switch gears.”

  The man swung Kat around again, throwing her face-first onto the couch. Her world was suddenly dark, her face smashed into the couch cushions to muffle her screams, his gloved hand behind her head, pinning it down. Breathing became even harder; she reached around to grab his wrist and pull that hand from the back of her hand.

  But his other hand grabbed one wrist and, with one hard and swift jerk, pulled it around and behind her back. He cranked her arm up just a bit, forcing Kat to lean forward to compensate for the pain and pressure shooting up into her shoulder. Her kidnapper grabbed her other wrist and cranked it back to meet its partner. The nylon rope was thick, soft but strong, durable. He folded a long stretch over and seemed to have looped it through before winding it around and tying it off. It was tight, it as secure, but it wasn’t cutting into her skin. She gave her wrists a jerk to test the bonds, and she knew right away she’d never get free on her own. Her body was instantly shod with nervous energy: blood rushing, heart pounding in her chest. She’d thought about nothing else for days, but it was even more intense than she expected—a frenzied blur of motion and aggression. And with her arms suddenly locked behind her, truly unable to move, her body reacted with a full clench, all muscles tightening in anxious anticipation.

  He put one gloved hand on her forehead and pulled Kat back, not with a jerk but with a steady pressure. She opened her mouth to scream, unsure that she truly wanted to do that. Instead she asked, “Who are you? What do you want?”

  But a balled-up rag stuffed in her mouth was his only response. A long stretch of white scarf secured the rag as the man wedged it between her teeth, digging into her cheeks as he tied the gag tightly behind her head under her long hair. It pressed against the corners of her mouth and into her cheeks—restrictive and effective. Kat tried to scream—a pathetic muffled moan the only result.

  The big, burly man went to the kitchen and turned off the burner, the tea kettle finally silenced. He grabbed one of the chairs from the little dinette set and put it into the center of the room. Kat let out a frightened, thrilled little gasp as he wrenched her up from the couch to sit her down at the chair, carefully pulling her arms back and draping them over the back of the chair. Kat’s posture went rigid again as he tied her bound wrists to the back of the chair, her shoulders forced back, breasts forward. When the man stepped away, she tried to yank her wrists free of the chair, but once again she was securely tied.

  He knew what he was doing; she didn’t have any doubt about that. And it did worry her just a bit. But that twinge of worry, that tiny seed of doubt, was only feeding the thrill. She could already feel it in her body, her skin, her heart, her crotch—a sense of abandon she’d never known.

  Once she was secured to the chair, he began moving a bit more slowly, and with her face free of that couch cushion, Kat could finally take in the full measure of what was going on around her, and the first aspect of all that was the kidnapper himself.

  He was big, dressed in black, a cotton long-sleeve T-shirt and black slacks to match the hood. He reached into a duffle bag sitting on the floor near the couch and pulled out two more long stretches of rope. He knelt to the floor in front of her, and she knew what he intended to do next. She lifted her foot and kicked at him, ball of her foot hitting his chest, protected by a sheet of thick muscle. He grabbed her ankle and pinned it to the chair leg. A simple shift of his powerful build pinned her other leg to the other leg of the chair, and her lower body was already nearly immobile. She tried to pull free, but she could feel him tie off the rope and move to the other ankle. He was in no rush, wrapping that rope around her bare ankle and tying it off.

  The kidnapper lingered at her feet, that mashed, blackened face behind the stocking enjoying the sight of her bound legs, his black gloves finding her calves and caressing them with menacing gentility.

  “You’re a very beautiful young woman,” he said, his voice gravelly, low. His hands slid up around the backs of her calves, cupping her tensing muscles and sliding forward to pass her knees and begin a bolder and more intimate approach.

  Kat tensed up as his hand rested on her thighs, just above the knees. She pulled hard to close them, creating precious little obstruction to his increasing curiosity. She knew he was just an actor, and that she was too, both of them role-playing in an explosive fantasy come to life. The more she threw herself into the role, the more her body began to respond on its own. Her muscles strained in that chair, her wrists pulling, she
panting into her gag. She yanked harder, the chair barely moving beneath her.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he said in a low grumble, his hands finally sliding a few more inches up her thighs. It made her flinch again; her eyes were locked on him with confused passion, a sexy squeal leaking out of her throat.

  He stood up and fished a smartphone out of his bag. After a few swipes of the screen, he raised it to his face, still covered with the black stocking. “Yeah, it’s me…” He glanced at her in the chair; she was glaring at him as he stood. “Yeah, I got her… Mmm-hhmm…yeah…yeah, okay.” He looked her over again, and even under that terrible stocking mask, she could see that he was smiling. “Yeah, sure I will; don’t worry about that.”

  He swiped the screen and slipped the phone back into the duffle bag and sat down on the arm of the couch. “Okay, comfortable?” She sneered at him as she pulled at her bonds. As securely tied as she was, she had to admit to herself that she wasn’t that uncomfortable at all—just enough. Her body was more attuned to conflict than comfort at that moment anyway, and she sensed plenty of that coming.

  She couldn’t wait.

  The suspense is terrible… I hope it lasts!

  The whole experience was so strange and surreal, she couldn’t be sure exactly what to think of it all. A strange cocktail of fear and excitement coursed through her every tissue, as if she were on a rollercoaster.

  Only she was the rollercoaster.

  But it was more than that. Kat knew the man was performing—he was a service provider after all, and this was the service he was providing. But beyond the service of merely providing her with this physical contact, he was giving her a chance to step outside of her own life, of her own self. She was no longer Kathleen Le Fleur, but Lena Flowers. And while able, capable, formidable Kat was being catered to as if she were a millionaire, poor, pretty Lena was being sacrificed to the imagined gods of dominance and indulgence.

  The man pulled off his leather gloves and then his black stocking mask, and she was amazed at how handsome he was. By his manner and immense size, she’d have guessed he was some thug from the neck up. But this man’s high cheekbones and strong jawline had an almost regal baring, crystal blue eyes under a wide, furrowed brow. He wore his poker face well, but she couldn’t help but feel deep down, he was a gallant man with another side to him. Kat felt safe. Her intuition knew that she was in good hands. His hair was slick and tightly pulled back. He removed the hair tie and let his hair fall over his face—a long and wavy crown of dirty-blond hair, falling down to his shoulders.

  My God, she thought, he’s…he’s gorgeous!

  The man seemed to know what Kat was thinking, but he ignored it and she knew instantly that he was right. I’m supposed to be afraid, she reminded herself, or at the very least righteously indignant and stubbornly uncooperative. If I don’t struggle, he might not…do whatever he’s going to do.

  He stepped toward her, slowly walking around to inspect her. She leaned away from him at every turn, a confused yelp squirming up out from behind her gag. He gently touched her hair, letting a few long, brown locks slip through his bare fingers as she pulled away, brows arching.

  He crossed behind her slowly, lingering, ominous, fingers tracing the back of her neck, reaching around to illustrate how easy it would be to strangle the life out of her at his will. But his hand slid back quickly, a little squeeze more like the hint of a vigorous muscle massage and not a fatal assault.

  Anything but. She sat there, heart beating hard in her chest, shocks of sexual electricity running through her body, tied to that chair with this incredible hulk of a man circling her like some kind of love shark, ready to move in for the kill. Kathleen Le Fleur had never felt more alive.

  Chapter 9

  Kat

  Kat’s kidnapper stayed behind her, both hands on her shoulders. She tried to pull forward, away from him, but the nylon rope held her bound wrists to the back of the chair, and she had little room to maneuver. Even so, the man slid his hands forward and down toward her breasts. Though she pulled her shoulders forward as much as she could—a feeble defense—he simply pulled her back, posture straight again. She started breathing faster, a grunt pushing out of her throat. The kidnapper slipped his hand under her chin, cupping it gently. Sitting rigidly upright, her breasts thrust forward. Her breath came even faster, but the kidnapper’s free hand was slow and certain as it probed her smooth chest and found the curve of her left breast. Both nipples were hard as stone, poking forward in an undeniable confession of her growing excitement. His fingers were thick and long, but they pinched that nipple with amazing sensitivity yet still just enough pressure. He gave it a little pull and a tiny twist, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her chest. Kat pulled forward again, relishing her inability to move, unable to look down and follow the progress of his other hand. But she didn’t need to see it—she could feel it, deep into her brain and down into her crotch.

  His hand found the other breast, giving it a hard squeeze, thumb flicking at the nipple with the edge of his nail. After a few more hard kneads, he moved back to the other, his other hand remaining under her chin. She could only stare up at him, his face bent into a look of fixed concentration as he scanned her body over.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said, low and calm, slowly letting his hand drift from one breast back to the other. “I hope you don’t do anything to make me hurt you.”

  It was a menacing threat, and Kat felt the buried quiver of fear respond—an eager audience for a master actor, or so she could only hope.

  She couldn’t ignore the growing heat between her legs, her feminine juices already moistening her panties. And as she squirmed in that chair, Kat realized that it was only exciting her further. Her struggling was an opportunity to grind herself into that chair, hard and flat beneath her. The pressure wasn’t nearly satisfactory, but with each gyration, the anticipation was building and the idea of being ravaged by this powerful man was making her more wet than she’d ever felt before.

  But Kat was pinned. All she could do was try to clamp her thighs together to restrict him, knowing she wouldn’t be able to and glad of it. His hands found her panties, soaked from anticipation of what his next skillful move would be. He leaned down farther over her right shoulder, her head still pulled back but now against his own left shoulder.

  He whispered a little, gave a knowing chuckle, but he said nothing. He didn’t need to.

  Kat’s kidnapper peeled the silk robe away from her shoulders and let it slip over the back of the chair, the sides slipping down to reveal her legs and crotch. She sat almost completely exposed to him, helpless against whatever was coming next.

  But when the man walked out of the living room and into the kitchen, her mind sparked with instant worry. Oh shit,there are knives in the kitchen! What’s he going in there for?

  She watched with pitched anticipation as he looked through the various drawers, sliding them open, glancing around at their contents. He even glanced back at her in that chair, knowing what she was thinking, teasing her most dreaded fear. But after what seemed like way too long, her kidnapper turned to the fridge and pulled open the upper door—the freezer. He pulled out a plastic ice tray which hadn’t been there before.

  When did he put that there? How long has he been lurking in this apartment without me knowing it? But just the notion sent a thrill through Kat’s body and mind—the idea that he’d been lurking, stalking, fixed on her from the shadows while she went about her daily life waiting for him, fantasizing about him, masturbating to him. And he could have been just a few feet away the entire time!

  Kat’s kidnapper grabbed the other dining room chair and brought it and the tray back into the living room. He slowly sat the empty chair down next to her and broke two cubes out of the tray before setting it down. He sat down next to her, a chill running down her spine. She knew what he was going to do with those ice cubes.

  But before he did, he set the cubes and tray down and reach
ed up toward Kat’s hips. He moved with such casual certainty that it took her by surprise, a sharp inhale of air sucking into her nostrils as her body jerked back and away from his hands. But he wasn’t deterred, and with one hand on each side of her panties, he pulled them down her thighs to just below the knees. With one hard yank, he tore them in two, the pop and snap of the material registering deep in her ears and brain, not to mention other places. He’d revealed her completely, and though there wouldn’t have been any way to stop him, Kat would not have had it another way.

  The kidnapper returned to the chair by her side and set one cube down on her forearm, very near to her bound wrists. He dragged the cold cube slowly up one forearm to her elbow, those smooth limbs twitching from the tantalizing attention. She jerked forward when he traced the other arm, then brought it up to the very back of her neck, letting the ice sit there. It was too cold, and she felt as if it was burning into her skin. She shook her head and whined into her gag, the perfect mixture of fright and fascination.

  He traced that cube over Kat’s naked shoulder and down to follow the sides and bottom of her right breast. The cold was a blistering contrast and the cube melted quickly with her raised body heat. The cool trails delighted her senses, nerves tingling under her skin. He drew concentric circles around the front of her breast, slowly getting closer and closer to that sensitive nipple. Kat jerked away, newly reminded of her constricting position. There was nowhere to go.

  His ice cube finally found her nipple, and the cold shot right through her chest and into her heart. She flinched and tried to pull her body away from that icy torture. But her kidnapper pressed his hand firmer over her breast, making sure that cube held its position over her nipple. It quickly became a burning numb; it hurt so good she couldn’t even feel it at all.