by Aubrey Irons
Twice.
I’m holding a bag of matching frozen carrots to the back of my own head as I put water on to boil to make some pasta for a late, late night dinner. We could both use the sustenance after the last forty-eight hours or so.
We eat in silence, but the whole damn time, that voice is screaming inside my ear, like a roaring of a beast.
And why?
Because of one sound. Because I heard one sound I heard when I was standing outside that bathroom door after the water started on her shower. And I know a moan like that when I hear one.
So this is me taming the beast down. This is me gripping my fork harder than I should, my jaw tight as I chew, doing everything I can to keep that animal chained inside - the animal that wants to yank her against me, and take those lips again.
The beast that wants to reach between her legs and feel how wet she is.
I want to take that small, innocent body and make it mine.
That’s what I’m fighting against in my head, and here I am cooped up with her.
“So are you like, a solo act?”
I look up from my pasta, eyeing her across the kitchen island. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, do you work alone?”
“No.”
She rolls her eyes. “What, are you in a gang or something?”
“Yes.”
She swallows, and even though I know she meant it as a joke, I don’t care.
I’m not joking.
“Is that why you- I mean back at the bar, is that-”
“Why I shot that guy?”
“There were-” she snaps her mouth shut.
“Speak.”
“There were two guys,” she says quietly.
I shake my head. “I only shot the one, but they shot the guy I was with first.”
Sierra frowns. “I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t know him, it’s fine.”
She looks at me but quickly glances down at her plate.
I know that look, especially from girls once they realize what I am. Once they realize that this isn’t an act - that I’m not playing the tough guy role. This is actually just who I am, and it’s why I’m good at what I do.
It’s why I can walk into the scene of a hatchet murder and not blink an eye as I wipe any evidence and torch the place. It’s why I can tie a body behind the wheel of a stolen car and push it off a bridge into the Boston harbor, and then go get a pint down at The Burren.
It’s why I can kill, and sleep like a baby every night.
I shut that part of me down that cares a long time ago, and that’s why I’m good at what I do.
She glances up at me, chewing her food.
“Fuck it.”
Her brows arch at my words, but then she gasps as I stand and slip my switchblade out of my back pocket. She chokes when I flick it open, trying to scramble away even though her ankle is still bound to the chair.
I stalk around the counter towards her and she screams, almost toppling over.
“No! Don’t-”
She goes quiet as I crouch down and slip the blade over the plastic zip-tie, cutting her loose. I stand, and she’s blinking at me, her brow furrowed curiously.
“You’re welcome.”
I pocket the knife and go to grab a beer from the fridge.
“Before you decide to make a run for it, again.”
I’ve already heard her chair scoot back behind me, and I hear her stop.
“I’m going to put the cards on the table.” I turn back with two beers and slide one across the table towards her.
“Because honestly, I’m getting fucking tired of that fucking look you give me every time I tie you up.”
“Then you could stop tying me-”
“Shut up and listen.”
She glares at me.
“Here’s the deal. You’re gonna want to stay here.”
She gives me a look.
“Oh, I know you don’t like me, sweetheart.”
I nod at the beer I’ve placed in front of her, and she looks at it skeptically.
“It’s not a trick, have a beer.”
She eyes me as she lifts it up and takes a sip.
“Look, I know you think I’m a monster,” I growl. “And you’re half right; I am not a nice man, Sierra. But, there are worse men than me out there, and guess what?”
She chews her lip. “What.”
“Those worse men saw you when you walked in on them shooting at me and my Russian contact and then running out. I got one of them, but the worse of the two is out there, telling his buddies with the Ukrainian crime syndicate every fucking detail of that pretty little face of yours he can remember. And if you think I’m telling you this to scare you,” my jaw tightens.
“You’re right, I am. If they don’t have a guy looking through your apartment right now, then the Ukrainian mob standards have really slipped.”
She swallows thickly, her face going white.
“I’m assuming you live alone?”
She makes a face. “Why would you assume that?”
I just grin at her.
“You are such an asshole.”
“No, I’m just very good at reading people.”
“I think it’s the voicing it out loud part that makes you an asshole.”
“Guilty.”
She slumps in her seat.
“I don’t have an answer for you, but for now, we stay here. For now, this is the safest place in the city. Okay?”
She looks at me, and though she doesn’t say, I know what she’s thinking. She’s wondering how safe she is from me while we’re locked in here together.
Truth be told, I’m wondering the same fucking thing.
I give her my bed again, without the ropes and binds this time. I stalk back over to my couch in the living room, pulling off my t-shirt on the way over. And I’m shrugging my pants off when I hear her peep from across the room. I grin.
“Yes?”
I turn and she’s fastidiously looking away.
“Something catch your eye, princess?”
I run my fingers through my hair, standing there grinning at her in just my damn boxers. I’m teasing her, and I shouldn’t be, but I also don’t really give a shit.
“No.”
I chuckle to myself. I like that me in my underwear catches her off guard. Let her look, at the muscles, the scars, the tattoo ink.
I like flustering her.
“If you feel like a closer look, you know which bunk is mine.”
“I don’t,” she says sharply.
I grin as I turn to the bathroom.
Idiot. You’re a fucking idiot.
What the fuck am I stoking this fire for? “Flustering” her? Teasing her?
I need to stop this. No - no teasing her, like we’re kids on a fucking playground. No trying to rile her up, like this is some sort of office flirtation.
This is strictly hands off, and strictly untouchable, and I need to strictly fucking remember that.
I’m still telling myself all these things as I step into the bathroom, and close the door. I’m still trying to convince myself that I’m able to stop lusting over this hot young thing in my bed - the one wearing an old pair of my boxers and a white undershirt that’s been showing me her fucking nipples all goddamn night.
And I’m pretty sure my telling myself that I’m stronger than this is starting to work when my eyes drop to the doorknob of the closed bathroom door.
…And the pair of little, red, lace, thong panties hanging on it.
My cock throbs.
It’s like waving a red flag at a bull. It’s like in cartoons, where the fucking rabbit jumps up and howls and his heart goes thumping out of his chest.
I reach out, and I snatch them off the doorknob before I know what I’m doing.
Fuck.
I groan, feeling my cock pulse rock hard in my boxers. It’s like a spell. It’s like all the things I’ve told myself all night go right out the window as I trace my f
ingers over the silky edge of those little panties that were pressed up against her tight little pussy.
Jesus Christ.
I groan as I reach down, my hand absently cupping and squeezing my cock. My muscles tense and I wrap my fingers around myself through the cotton, stroking my cock as run my fingers over the panties.
“I don’t suppose kidnappers have spare toothbrush-”
The door flings open and she comes flying into me, gasping as my hands go around her. I fall back against the sink counter, this sweet little angel in my arms and her soft belly pressed right against my throbbing, rock hard cock.
Sierra gasps, her eyes dragging up to me, her lips parted, her eyes wide.
She swallows heavily, her pulse beating like a drum in the hollow of her neck.
“I- I mean, I was looking for a toothbrush,” she whispers.
She shifts, and I know she feels me against her body.
“I- a toothbrush,” she says quietly.
“You said that.”
“I should have knocked.”
“You should have.”
She’s not pulling away, and she’s not screaming.
She’s just panting, her face red and her eyes locked onto mine.
“Should have knocked,” I growl, my hands moving to her hips on instinct.
“I know,” she pants.
I can see the flush across her chest and her cheeks, her nipples poking right through that undershirt. I bring my hand up and slide it into her hair, tangling my fingers in it.
I pull on it, and she gasps as I tilt her head back, her eyes flashing fire and her lips parting.
“I-”
“This you still trying to be a bad girl?”
She whimpers, and I swear to fucking God, her body presses tighter to mine. Her hands tighten on my chest, fingers dragging over my skin.
“Or maybe,” I growl, tugging her hair. “Maybe you just wanna be my bad girl.”
She moans.
This girl fucking moans, and it’s the last thing I can take.
This time, I kiss her.
Hard.
And unlike the bar, this time, I’m not going to let her go until I take what I want.
Chapter Seventeen
Sierra
He pulls my hair hard, making my body shiver and making me gasp, just as he kisses my mouth.
His tongue is insistent, his lips so smooth and soft. I open my mouth for him, moaning as his tongue finds mine. My head is spinning - my thoughts a tornado as the rough man who stole me, who bound me, who kept me here makes me his.
Fingers tighten on that firm chest of his, and I moan again as I feel his cock throb against my belly. One of his hands drops to my ass, grabbing it possessively and making me squirm tight against him.
No one has ever kissed me like this before.
So possessively.
So roughly.
So demandingly.
And I kiss him right back. This is so wrong, and this is probably what Stockholm syndrome feels like, and I’m sure something must be broken inside of me, but I can’t deny it anymore.
I want him to make me forget about tonight. I want him to make me forget about this night and all the other nights over the past few months where I’ve been drowning in indecision and not knowing what to do.
The kiss takes it all away. The kiss makes me forget, and makes me sink into him instead.
He turns us around and spins me, pressing me against the counter, facing the mirror. I moan as his hands grab my hips, pulling me back into him. His lips find my neck, his hands roughly going up my body to cup my breasts through the undershirt.
I’m panting, clutching at the counter, reaching back to slip my fingers through his hair as he bites my neck hard.
His fingers twist my nipples, slipping low to tease my belly. He pulls my jaw around and kisses me fiercely, his hand slipping up under the undershirt.
I’m shivering, wanting this and so scared of it at the same time. But the first wins out.
I definitely want this.
I definitely want this rough, dominant man to take what he wants from me.
He pulls my head around even more, kissing my mouth again and tasting my lips. His rough hands push the undershirt up and cup my breasts as he growls into my mouth.
I can feel him grinding into my ass, and when his fingers drop to the waist of the boxers of his I’m wearing, I only whimper as I feel them slip inside.
I gasp as he yanks them down to my knees with a growl. His lips bite and suck and nibble down my neck, over my shoulder blades, down every bump of my spine as the room spins around me and as I feel my pulse roar inside.
He moves lower, his powerful hands holding me firm against the vanity as he slowly kneels behind me. I can feel the flush creeping up into my face, my bottom lip catching between my teeth as his hands skim up and down the backs of my bare thighs.
“Spread your legs,” he commands.
I pant, nodding and barely able to breathe as the jolt of raw desire pulses through me. I’m so fucking wet I can barely stand it - so aching for this that I can barely stand.
“I want you to reach back and spread your ass for me.”
I hesitate, but then I moan as I feel him grab my hands and pull them back behind me. He places them on my ass, and I groan as I slowly spread myself for him.
“Good girl,” he growls darkly, and I’m sure he can see my pussy getting even wetter.
I can feel his hot breath teasing over my thighs, and I start to shiver at the teasing, tickling feel of it when I feel him move towards my center. His breath teased over the lips of my pussy, and I moan - my fingers digging into my own skin as I spread myself for him.
He moves closer, and when I suddenly feel the hot, wet jolt of his tongue dragging over my seam, I cry out. Connor growls, pulling me back into him by the thighs and burying his tongue deep in my pussy. I can feel the rumblings of his moans pulsing through me, his strong hands holding me fast as he starts to fuck me with his tongue.
I yelp as I suddenly feel his palm connect with my ass with a smack!
“Fuck!” I gasp and I start to stand upright when his hands stop me.
“Don’t move,” he growls.
And my body responds. Something about the roughness and the demand in his voice ignites something inside of me, and I pant, whimpering for him as he pushes me back down and drags his tongue over my slit.
“You do like being a bad girl, don’t you.”
I whimper, my eyes squeezing shut and my cheeks hot as his wicked tongue drives me higher and higher.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes,” I gasp.
I yelp when his hand comes down again, spanking my tender ass once again. The sting is immediately soothed by the wet heat of his tongue as it drags over my lips. I gasp, clawing at the vanity in front of me as his hands grab my thighs and pull me against his mouth.
His tongue pushes deep, and curls over my clit, and teases me higher and higher - his growls rumbling through me and sending that edge of danger and darkness through me that has me clinging to the last of my sanity.
I cry out again, and this time, as I raise my head and open my eyes, I catch my own reflection in the mirror - my face twisted in sweet, sweet agony of release. I lock eyes with myself, watching my brow crumble and watching my jaw go slack, and watching the fire roar to a blaze behind those eyes.
And I might not recognize this girl looking back at me.
But I like her.
The pressure builds, my toes start to curl, my face falls, and I can’t even keep my eyes open anymore as the orgasm starts to blaze through me. Connor’s tongue swirls over my clit again and again, his strong hands gripping my thighs tight and my own still spreading myself for him. His lips fasten around my little bud, and when he sucks gently and flicks his tongue back and forth across it, I shatter.
It’s not a cry, it’s not a whimper, and it’s not a moan. It’s a scream of pleasure - a guttural, soul-cleans
ing, all-encompassing scream when the man who kidnapped me and made me his captive makes me come. The whole world goes white, and every single nerve in my body blazes with heat as I go crashing over that edge.
I’m still gasping for air when he spins me around, my shorts still at my ankles and my shirt still pushed up over my breasts. He kisses me roughly, holding me tight and claiming my mouth and my moans. I can taste myself on his lips, and I don’t care. In fact, it’s just fuel to the fire roaring inside of me - only fanning the flames higher.
I kick away the boxers, and he tears the undershirt the rest of the way off of me. His hands drop to my still-stinging ass, grabbing me tight and making me yelp as he lifts me up into his arms. My legs go around his chiseled waist, my nipples dragging over the hair on his thick chest as he spins us around and starts to stalk across his loft.
“I’m not done with you by a fucking mile,” he growls, kissing me hungrily as his fingers dig into my skin.
He pushed me onto his couch, stalking and crawling over me, his mouth attacking my neck.
“I’m not going to be gentle,” he growls into my ear, biting the skin of my neck sharply as if to drive it home.
The moan drips from my lips.
“I know.”
“I won’t be sweet.”
“I don’t want sweet,” I hiss through clenched teeth, feeling him pressing rock hard between my spread thighs and gasping as I feel his fingers tighten in the hair at the back of my neck.
“You’re going to remember this.”
“Make me forget everything else.”
Chapter Eighteen
Connor
This is such bad news.
This has gone from bad to off the fucking rails, and I know there’s no way for me to even think about stopping it now.
The hostage - the girl I brought here and tied up in my trunk with the thought in the back of my mind to kill, is the same hot little thing squirming beneath me, moaning into my kiss, panting as I grind my cock against her.
I should say no.