by E. A. James
“Every night?” she tried to ask, but when she opened her mouth nothing came out.
He smiled at her weakly as he slid off his suit jacket and tossed it into the corner of the room. He turned away from her and walked to where the chains were piled on the floor. She took a quick step back, trying to will herself to run. “I need you to restrain me,” he said leaning over and picking up the chains.
“What?” she asked.
“Here,” he said turning to hand her one of the chains in his hand. It was one that was connected to the ceiling. “This goes on my wrist,” he explained as he held it out to her.
“I’m…” she started.
“Uncomfortable?” he asked her. He let out a weak laugh and set his eyes on hers.
“Yea,” she smiled as she walked towards him. When she took the chain from him, her fingers brushed lightly against his. The sensation filled her with an odd, unexpected feeling of comfort. She tightened the leather strap around his wrist.
“Tighter,” he said when she stepped back.
A little thrown off she stepped forward quickly and began fumbling nervously at the restraint. As she worked her hands began to shake. “Margaret,” he said, leaning down and speaking to her softly. “Don’t be nervous. Don’t be scared.” She looked up slowly. She hadn’t realized how close he was to her. He reached his free hand out and brushed back a strand of hair from her face. “Please don’t be scared.”
Again, she couldn’t speak, but now it wasn’t the confusion or worry that kept her voice trapped in her throat—it was him. His touch was soft and his eyes were piercing. She just nodded and turned to get back to working on the strap.
When she had gotten that one done tight enough, she began working on his other wrist, then his right ankle, and finally his left. She stepped back, not sure what to do now. “Thank you, Margaret,” he said no longer looking her in the eye. His gaze was fixed on the ground in front of him. The confident air he always seemed to carry himself with was completely gone. He looked almost ashamed. “Do you remember the code?”
“Yes,” she replied quietly.
“Say it.”
“23-56-92-03,” she said without hesitation.
“Good.” He nodded his head but kept his eyes fixed on the ground. “Do not come back until 7:00am,” he said firmly.
“You’re going to be in here all night?” she asked concerned. “Will you be okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” he shifted his weight around nervously. “Don’t come back until the morning. Understand? Not until 7:00.”
“I understand,” she said as she walked around him to leave the room. When she had exited, she closed the door, letting the loud clanking of metal ring down the hallway.
As she made her way back to her room, something inside her told her that everything about that situation was unusual and that she should just leave. She should want to get as far away from Joshua McGuire as possible. But still, a very small part of her wanted to stay. She wanted to feel his touch again; she wanted to be close to him again. She couldn’t get him out of her mind, and the more mysterious he became, the more she wanted to know him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When her alarm went off at 6:45 the next morning, she felt a momentary lapse of confusion. Why was she getting up so early? Then the events of the night before came flooding back to her. Joshua! He’s still chained up in the small, dark room at the end of the hall.
Pushing herself out of bed quickly, she hurried across the room to the large three-sided mirror to observe herself. She contemplated changing out of the over-sized T-shirt and shorts that she always wore to bed into something more appropriate. But, if she did would it look like she was trying to get dressed up for him? She didn’t want him to know that she was attracted to him—he was her boss. But for that same reason, wouldn’t it be inappropriate for her to go see him in her pajamas?
She leaned forward and squinted at her face in the mirror. She looked tired, and her hair was tossed around messily. She hurriedly reached for her brush on top of the dresser and ran it through her hair. She stepped back to look at herself again. She was almost convinced that she should change her clothes when she caught sight of the clock on the nightstand next to her bed—6:59.
She didn’t have time to change. She rushed out of her room, still barefooted and half asleep. When she reached the metal door at the end of the hall she hesitated for a second. Her hands began to tremble as she typed in the four-digit code. Thankfully she had remembered it correctly, and she heard the metal rods in it the shift around, and then the door popped open slightly.
Pushing it open, she almost let out a loud gasp at what she saw. Joshua’s body was hanging limply, held up only by the chains suspended from the ceiling. And he was completely naked. She noted the muscles running along his back, and his tight, defined legs. His clothes were lying on the floor around his feet, ripped to shreds. She ran around him quickly, taking his face in her hands.
His eyes were closed, and his face had become scruffy with hair overnight. There was a fine layer of sweat covering his brow. His breathing was labored and heavy, and his body seemed to be shaking slightly. “Joshua,” she said to him softly, still holding his face in her hands.
He opened his eyes quickly. They were bloodshot—it looked like he hadn’t slept at all the night before. “Margaret,” he said, his voice weak and barely a whisper.
“What happened to you?” she asked as she began undoing the restraints on his wrists. She tried not to look, but she couldn’t help but notice his strong chest, covered almost entirely in dark hair. Something about him seemed so rugged. She had never thought of him that way before. He was so professional and sophisticated, collected and refined. But now he looked strong, tough, and brawny.
In an effort not to let her gaze wander further over his naked body, she lifted her eyes to his. His eyes were the same deep blue they always were, but in that moment, they seemed to be filled with a sort of fire. The air around them suddenly became filled with tension and heat. She had to catch her breath before she could continue working on the strap wrapped around his wrist.
When his hands were free he slumped to the ground. Not wanting to be too close to him for too long, Margaret quickly knelt down and undid the bindings around his ankles. “Seriously, Joshua. Are you all right? What happened?” she asked as she pushed herself up.
He reached out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her before she could get to her feet. “Don’t go,” he said firmly.
His hand was wrapped tightly around her wrist. She turned her face away from him as she let him pull her down onto the floor next to him. “Joshua,” she tried to ask again, “please tell me what happened. Are you okay?”
Again, he didn’t answer. He just reached his hand up and placed it under her chin, turning her face to his. Her stomach turned to knots, and the room felt like it was beginning to spin. He ran his hand through her hair, sending a shiver run down her spine.
Something about him was just so captivating to her. She couldn’t pull herself away from his touch; she couldn’t force herself to stop as she reached her hand out to wrap it around the back of his neck.
Almost simultaneously they pulled each other close. When he pressed his lips against hers, she felt an overwhelming sensation of both satisfaction and longing at the same time. He wrapped his strong arms around her, pulling her closer to him. In one swift motion, he had grabbed onto the edge of her T-shirt and lifted it off over her head. At the same time, he leaned back onto the floor, pulling her down on top of him. She felt his bare chest against hers, and her heart began to beat strong and harder.
He intertwined his fingers in her hair, pulling her head back, and kissing her neck passionately. She pressed her hands against his chest. His breathing was fast, and his heart was racing. He released her hair, and moved his hands down to her hips, feeling the curve of her body, and keeping her body pressed close to him.
She sat back, and ran her fingers over his chest, outlining his
muscles. His eyes weren’t as fierce as they had been before, but as they moved up and down her body, drinking her in, they were still filled with lust. He reached up and ran his hands slowly up her sides, running his fingers over her chest, and sending a tingling sensation bolting through her.
He pushed himself up so that his face was once again close to her. Still sitting on his lap, she leaned in to kiss him again. The surge of passion that spread between them caused him to wrap his arms around her, and spin her around so that she was lying on her back next to him. He reached down and pulled at the ties of her shorts. After she slipped them off, he began to kiss her passionately. Her body ached with desire for him.
The feeling of being with him sent pleasure surging throughout her body. She pulled him down onto her, wrapping her arms around him, and wanting to keep him close.
But something in the back of her head stopped her suddenly. This was wrong—she knew it was wrong. He was her boss. She wanted to be with him; she wanted to feel him close to her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she gently placed her hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly.
“We can’t do this,” she said softly.
“What?” he asked her breathless.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she said again regretfully.
He rolled onto his side, and she sat up quickly, grabbing her clothes, which were lying around her and holding them to her body. “I’m sorry, Joshua,” she began. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” she felt her face burning red from both passion and embarrassment. “It’s just that, well, you’re my boss, and I just don’t think…”
“You’re right,” he said standing up quickly and collecting the scraps of his clothes and trying to cover himself as best as he could with them. “I’m sorry,” he said remorsefully. His voice sounded hurt, sad, and vulnerable. “It’s just,” he sighed deeply, “when I saw you, I had to kiss you. I had to reach out to you. Being near you helps me.”
“Helps you?”
“It calms me. It calms my anger.”
“Anger?” she repeated the word quietly.
“It won’t happen again. I promise.” He didn’t wait to hear her response. He walked quickly towards the door and pulled it open, disappearing into the hallway.
What did he mean by “anger” she wondered to herself as she stared at the empty space where he was just standing. Her heart was still racing, and her hands shook as she tried to pull her shorts back on. Did he have anger problems? Is that why he needed to be locked up? Was he dangerous?
Although a part of her was somewhat scared by the thought, she couldn’t get the feeling of his skin pressed against hers out of her mind. His touch was delicate—not that of a man who would ever hurt her. Something inside her told her that she didn’t need to be afraid of him. She didn’t need to be scared to be near him—she didn’t want to be scared to be near him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
After working with Joshua McGuire for three weeks, Margaret found herself no longer uncomfortable around him. The qualities of him that she found usual at first had merely become part of her routine. Every night at 11:00 she would chain him up, and every morning she would return to release him at 7:00. Some mornings his clothes would be shredded and ripped off, sprawled out on the floor at his feet. Others, he would be standing, dressed as elegantly as he was when she locked him up, waiting to greet her with a smile when she pushed open the large, heavy metal door.
She realized that his schedule kept him in the house constantly. After being freed, he would normally go to bed, and sleep from 7:00 until 12:30, maybe later. When he woke up, he had lunch. He always invited Margaret to join him. They would eat in almost complete silence. Occasionally, he would make a comment to her, usually, something she didn’t completely understand.
“Would you consider yourself a strong person, Margaret?” he asked her one day as they ate.
“Physically?” She set down her fork and looked at him, confused.
“Physically, emotionally, mentally… whatever,” he replied calmly.
She thought for a moment before answering. “Physically I don’t consider myself overly strong, but I wouldn’t say I’m weak either,” she began. “Emotionally? I suppose you could say that I am, and mentally… Isn’t that the same as emotionally?”
“Not at all,” he disagreed with her. “Emotional strength is tied to how much you let your emotions show. How much you let other people have an impact on what and how you feel.”
“And mental strength?”
“Mental strength is taking that a step further. Not only refusing to express your feelings openly but in essence refusing to feel them at all.”
“Is that possible?” she asked as she resumed eating.
“If it is, I haven’t figured out how to do it.”
That conversation, and others like it, often left her feeling like he was trying to tell her something—something personal about himself. But she couldn’t figure out what it was.
After eating lunch, Joshua often locked himself away in his office, where he stayed for the next five or six hours. When he was done doing whatever it is he busied himself with, he would have dinner. Again, Margaret would join him, and they would eat in silence. After dinner, she would lock him up, and the entire routine would start again the same way the next day.
When she wasn’t eating with him, or sleeping, Margaret found other ways to busy herself. He showed her the large library, and she spent a lot of her afternoons reading. Some days she would help Henry with the chores around the house, and others she would just lock herself away in her room, practicing lines from some of her favorite plays.
She never understood why Joshua was paying her and giving her a place to live if he really only needed her to lock him up at night and let him out in the morning. And if that’s all he really required of her, why couldn’t she leave during the day?
One morning, after releasing him from the small room, she decided to ask him. She waited outside his bedroom door just long enough to be sure that he had dressed completely. It had been one of those mornings that she found him naked, exhausted, and visibly upset.
“Joshua,” she said, knocking softly on his door.
It took a moment, but eventually he appeared, pulling the door open quickly and looking at her sleepily. “Yes, Margaret?” he asked her.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said nervously. Maybe coming to talk to him at this time was a bad idea. She should have waited until he got to rest a little.
“It’s okay, Margaret,” he said stepping to the side and motioning for her to come in. “You’re never a bother.”
She walked into the huge room slowly. The bed in the center of it was even larger than her king-sized bed, and on the wall in front of it was an enormous flat-screen TV. The far wall was made up entirely of windows, like a lot of the rooms in the house, and there were two doors—one leading to his closet and one to his private bathroom.
On the opposite side of the bed, in front of the window was a small sitting area. She made her way there and he followed her. “I just wanted to talk to you about my work and living arrangement,” she said softly when they were seated across from each other.
His face flashed with worry, but he quickly collected himself before speaking. “What about them, Margaret?”
“Am I trapped here, Mr. McGuire?” she asked him quickly. Once she had said the words out loud she turned her focus out the window, not wanting to see his reaction to her question.
He shifted his weight around in the chair and let out a deep sign. “Why do you ask that, Margaret?” he said finally. His voice sounded hurt.
“It’s just that I can’t leave, or at least I never do leave. You said you want me here at all times, in case you suddenly need me for something, but the only thing you ask me to do it lock you up at night and release you in the morning.”
“You’re right,” he admitted. “For the last few weeks, I have only needed you at night and in the mornings. But there may come th
e day that I need you in the afternoon, or in the middle of the morning, or at virtually any hour. There’s no way to be sure.”
“So yes?” she said turning to look at him sadly. “I am trapped here?”
“Margaret,” he said, sounding angry all of the sudden. “It was part of the job. You being here was part of the job. You accepted the job.”
“I didn’t think it meant I had to be here all day every day!” she said in her defense. “I thought I would at least be able to have some sort of a life outside of the house!”