by N. S. Moore
There are still too many voices on the other side of the door for my liking. I don’t want anyone seeing us come out of here. You never know who will notice and what they might do. It’s better to stay hidden for a little longer.
Deciding to test my theory with time to kill, I lower the hand that has the gun and rest it on her bare thigh. She jumps a little, but I pretend not to notice.
Slowly, I begin to raise it, sliding it along her skin until the tip of it is resting on her panties. Her breathing quickens a little, and damn if I’m not getting turned on. My cock twitches, and I shift my hand until it’s my knuckles grazing her panties.
And they’re wet.
“Not. A. Sound,” I growl as I lean in and breathe against her ear. She’s trembling, and I can’t tell if it’s with fear or arousal.
My finger moves back and forth. Back and forth. She turns her head away and my mouth comes to rest against her throat. She smells good. But also a little like…
Sex.
Fuck.
Like she’s just been fucked.
And not by me.
Quickly, I move my hand away and rest it against the wall. The wall is fucking disgusting, but I’m really not into someone else’s sloppy seconds.
No matter how hard I am.
We stand like that for what seems like a fucking eternity. And then there’s silence. No one is out there. I reach for her hand with my empty one and then place the gun under her chin. “We’re gonna walk out of here, and if anyone sees us, you’re gonna pretend that you’re with me. You’re mine,” I growl. “I’m putting the gun away. But it can be out in a fucking second so don’t tempt me.”
There’s enough light now that I can see the fear in her eyes as she nods her head.
“Good girl.”
I make sure the safety is on the gun before I slip it into my pants and use my shirt to cover it. I start to open the door, but she stops me.
“Where are we going?” she asked nervously. “Can’t you just let me go?”
The thing is that I probably could, but it would mean giving up one of the few advantages I have.
Plus, I don’t want to.
Not yet.
Five
Wren
So here’s the thing.
When you’re stuck between two bad choices, you pick the choice that sucks a little less. That’s just common sense. It’s instinct. The lesser of two evils is better than the worst of two evils.
That’s why I tell this guy about the access in the basement. His partner shot one of the crew. And then shot a hostage.
That could be me. Dead in the alley behind my dad’s bank. I can actually picture my dad’s face when he walked out to see my lifeless body. He was scared earlier, when he saw this guy dragging me with him. He might be the only person in the world who would be sad that I’m dead, but I don’t like the thought of how he will feel. I also don’t want to be dead.
This guy—as rough and gropey as he is—is better than a murderer. If he’s not going to let me go, then I’d rather both of us not be shot by his ruthless partner.
So through the tunnel we go, and then I have to suffer through his little sexy act with the gun. The sick thing is that I still feel a little pang of interest between my legs. I don’t think I’m the kind of person who would get turned on by a gun, so it must just be the combination of adrenalin, fear, and helplessness. My body is confusing the stimulus.
I figure my chances of getting rescued are higher once we’re out in public, so I stand still while he waits and watches until the coast is clear.
Then he gestures with the gun toward the ladder. “You first. If you try anything, I will kill you.”
I can see on his face that he means it, so I just nod.
My skirt is short—way too short—so I’m sure he can see all the way up it as he climbs the ladder behind me. I can’t believe the bastard had the nerve to put his hand down there.
Sure. Why not? Take me hostage and then cop a feel. As if I were going to be turned on by any sloppy grope this asshole was capable of.
I don’t do anything stupid as I climb out the street access. There’s no one around at the moment, so it wouldn’t do anything except possibly get me killed. I stand and wait as he climbs out too, and then he takes a measure of our location. I assume he’s trying to think of a plan.
I’m sure as hell not going to help him.
If it were me, I’d dump the hostage and then make a run for the Mexican border. But I figure maybe he thinks I’m the only leverage he has if he gets trapped.
Then he grabs me and pulls me to his side, keeping his arm around me. Maybe to someone else, it looks like we’re in a romantic clench, but his arm is so hard around my ribs that it almost hurts.
I know my own strength, and it’s nothing compared to how strong this guy is. There’s no way I’m going to be able to pull away from him.
“Walk,” he grits out, forcing both of us forward.
So we walk that way. Right along a pleasant, downtown street. Like we’re so in love we can barely keep our hands off each other.
Or like one of us has been taken hostage.
It’s all pretty surreal, when I think about it. Mostly, I’m too scared to do much thinking.
No one seems to be paying attention to us. I hear a lot of sirens, so I assume help has arrived at the bank. It would nice if help could arrive for me too.
We turn a corner, and I see a couple of uniformed police officers walking toward us. I can’t believe my luck. If I can get their attention, maybe they can shoot this guy and I can get free.
There’s not much I can do except say something, so I open my mouth to call for help.
I just start to make a sound when the guy pushes me back against an SUV parked on the curb and covers my mouth with his.
It hurts. He moves so abruptly and so roughly that it hurts when my shoulder blades hit the hard metal of the car. I can’t even breathe because his mouth is over mine. I can’t move because his lean, strong body is holding mine trapped.
My heart, my pulse, my vision is all pulsing with fear, surprise, and helplessness. My body is hot and cold at the same time. My arms are trapped between our bodies, but I can use my fingers and I claw at his shirt.
Then suddenly I can breathe. He’s torn our lips apart, although his face is still directly in front of mine and his body still pushing into mine. “Little bitch,” he mutters, his eyes flashing anger. “Don’t even think of doing something like that again.”
I open my mouth, and I’m not sure if it’s to scream or to snap back a reply. It doesn’t matter because his mouth has claimed mine again.
It’s not even really a kiss. It’s hard, punishing. And his hand slides down my bare thigh and pulls my leg up, like he’s really into the kiss. He’s mad at me, so I can’t imagine that he really is. He’s probably just putting on a show for the cops, who must be walking by us right about now.
I’m pretty well experienced with kisses, but this kiss isn’t anything like I’ve had before. My stepfather would kiss me when he came to my bed at night. They were always light and gentle—some sort of brutal mockery of tenderness. Guys always kiss me before they fuck me—usually kind of sloppy and like they want to get them over with so they can get to the main course.
I’ve never been kissed hard and rough and punishing like this.
I don’t like it. At all. I hate this guy like nothing else for the way he’s treating me.
And I hate him even more because my body is reacting.
I feel an ache building in my pussy, and it’s something I almost never feel. It makes absolutely no sense—that I’d get turned on by this guy’s demanding mouth and hard body and intrusive hands.
But the ache between my thighs starts to throb as his tongue delves into my mouth, and he keeps pulling my leg tighter around him.
My vision darkens as the fear and arousal both steal my breath and blur my mind. I’m still clawing at his shirt, but I’m not sure whether
it’s because I want to push him away or pull him closer.
Then he suddenly releases me.
I suddenly realized he was hard against me. I felt it, despite the confusion in my head and body. His eyes are smoldering now as they rake over my body.
“Whatever it is you’re thinking of trying,” he says, his voice no more than a low rasp. “Don’t. I’ll fucking kill you if I have to. You better believe that.”
“I do.” I swallow hard and tell myself that, in a crisis like this, one’s body can get easily confused. That’s all that’s happened here.
This guy is nothing I’d ever want. In any way.
In any way.
“Give me your purse.”
I hand him my purse and he pulls out my wallet. I have just under forty dollars in cash.
“We’re going to get out of downtown and find a motel room where we can lay low until the worst of this mess blows over.”
“What do you need me for?”
“Protection.”
That’s what I was afraid of.
At the very first opportunity, no matter what it takes, I’m going to get the hell away from this guy.
There’s a painting by Monet called Morning on the Seine near Giverny. I remember it from the art appreciation class I took last year. Everyone else always raves over the gardens and the water lilies, but something about that painting was mesmerizing to me. There were these dark billows on either side, surrounding a pathway of light along the river. The billows were menacing, threatening, making that path of light all the more riveting.
For my whole life, I feel like I’ve been living in the billows. And, right now, they’re darker and more threatening than ever.
All I’ve wanted was that pathway of light, but it’s always felt hopelessly out of reach.
Six
Code
“Go take a shower.”
“Excuse me?”
I seriously have no patience for people who pretend they can’t hear. “Go. Take. A. Shower.” She looks at me as if I’m fucking crazy, and maybe I am. With everything that’s going on, it’s probably the last thing I should be saying. Or thinking.
“Fuck you,” she says with a little more bravado than I think she really feels. Her voice trembles just a little—just enough to push me over the edge.
I push her back against the wall, my hand around her throat more for impact than to cause pain. “Listen, Princess, we’ve got a long night ahead of us, and it would all go a fucking hell of a lot easier if you just did as you’re told and shut up.”
Her wide eyes look back at me. I can’t for the life of me figure out why she’s even still with me. It would have been easier for everyone to just lose her and then lose myself in the city. But now I’m stuck in a fleabag motel with this chick who looks like she should be eating at the fucking Ritz right now.
Having a hostage is supposed to be some added protection, but I wonder if it’s worth it.
I release her and take a step away. I think the matter is settled until she says, “Why don’t you take a fucking shower. You need one more than me.”
Ah, so she’s going for insults. Original. My head drops back in frustration as an agitated sigh slips out. I look back at her face. “Right. I’m going to go in the fucking bathroom and take a shower and leave you out here alone to escape. Think again, Princess.”
Her eyes dart to the door, and for a minute, I almost think she’s going to bolt. I might even let her. But she doesn’t move. She’s back to looking at me. With disgust. With contempt.
“Look,” I say, trying to sound reasonable, “just do what you’re told. It’s not difficult. Go and take the damn shower.”
“Why?”
I have to scramble for a good reason. I can’t very well say that she smelled like the last guy she fucked. Or can I? My eyes narrow, and I decide that’s just the button to push. Stepping in close, until I can feel her hardened nipples against me, I whisper in her ear, “Because I don’t like the smell of your last fuck. Go and take a fucking shower.”
It does the trick.
She gasps at my words and shoves against my chest before walking to the bathroom and slamming the door. Right. Like that’s going to prove anything.
I hear the water start, and I begin to pace. Now what the fuck do I do? We’re here. No one knows where we are, and I’ve still got a bag full of fucking diamonds. I should be on my way to Mexico by now.
Wrong.
I should be dead right now.
If Deke had gotten his way.
Fucker.
I don’t want the fucking diamonds. Too much of waving the red flag if I have to sell them. I want the cash. That was the deal. I give Deke the diamonds. He gives me cash and my freedom.
That didn’t work out according to plan, now did it?
The thing is, I don’t know how to get out of this. I mean, in a perfect world, everyone would have done what they were supposed to do, and that would be it. But now? Now what? I can’t stay here. I don’t want the diamonds. And I don’t want to deal with the chick in the bathroom as a hostage.
Don’t ask me why, but something is wrong in there. I can sense it.
Walking over to the bathroom door, I listen. The water’s running, but I can tell that no one is under it. What could she be doing? And then it hits me.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter and kick the door open.
And see the lower half of her body hanging out the small bathroom window. It’s one of those cheap-ass hotels that’s only one room wide, so there are windows in the bedroom and the bathroom both.
I hadn’t counted on the windows in the bathroom. It’s tiny, but so is she.
She has a fine ass. A very fine ass. And her little skirt does nothing to cover it.
Neither does the barely-there panties.
She lets out a scream as I pull her back inside, and she puts up more of a fight than I would have given her credit for as I wrestle her down to the ground. She spits in my face, and I shake her. Hard.
It’s instinct. It’s what I do when someone spits in my face.
It doesn’t feel right—she’s small and female, and I’m neither of those things—but I push that thought to the back of the mind because it doesn’t matter worth a fuck right now.
Her eyes go wide with shock as I let her go. “All you had to do was take the fucking shower!” I growl, right in her face. “That was it!”
I’m straddling her on the ground. Her skirt has ridden up around her waist revealing the front of pink silk underwear.
Her breathing is a little erratic.
Good.
My hands are braced on either side of her head. Her brown hair fans out against the grimy linoleum. She’s trying to look defiant but her gaze is…softening. Her eyes meet mine.
“Why won’t you just let me leave?” she asks, almost helplessly. “I won’t tell anyone where you are. I swear. I’ll…I’ll even take you to an ATM and get cash for you. Then you can leave. Go. I’ll tell the cops that you let me go and that I don’t know where you went.”
Her words are tempting. Very. If her father works in that bank, chances are that she’s loaded. I can definitely use an infusion of cash. What I grabbed from the bank will only take me so far.
I look down at her and consider my options. Let her leave, and I get some cash to figure out what the fuck it is that I’m going to do. Or keep her and…
That’s when I see it. Her gaze goes from my lips to my eyes. I’m hard, and there’s no way to hide that. Doing a little experiment, I rock against her.
One of her legs moves a little wider to rest against my hip.
I rock again.
The other leg comes around to rest on the other.
Fuck.
“Please,” she whispers and I’m not sure if she’s asking for me to consider her earlier request to let her go or to keep doing what I’m doing right now.
I rock once more, and she moans.
I know which option I’m going with.
Seven
Wren
So, I know it’s absolutely wrong to get turned on by the asshole who takes you hostage, pushes you around, and then shakes you, but my body doesn’t seem to realize this.
My body needs a few lessons about proper responses—that much is clear.
But I’m totally aroused, my pussy pulsing with a stronger ache than I’ve ever experienced before, as this guy pushes his hard-on against my groin.
At least he’s turned on too. At least his body’s responses are just as inappropriate as mine are.
He does it again. Rocks right into my pulsing arousal. He’s too big and too heavy and too hot and too mean and too everything, and I’m still a little shaken up from our earlier altercation.
Yeah, this is just great. I can barely tolerate sex with somewhat decent guys, but I go on sexy overload with this brutish criminal.
I actually hear myself make a silly, little moan at the pressure against my sensitized clit. It’s feeling so good now that I’m not thinking very well. I just want to rub against that bulge in his jeans even harder.
I do manage to resist that impulse, but my skin flushes so hot I’m afraid he’ll have to notice it.
He definitely notices the gasp of pleasure that escapes when he pumps his hips against me more rigorously. I see his vivid blue eyes go all sexy. “Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re a hot little thing, aren’t you?”
My pussy clenches in excitement at the guttural sound of the words—quite inappropriately—and I squirm against his grip. Maybe it looks like I’m trying to escape his grip, but it’s mostly because my body is in desperate need of stimulation. “Let me go.”
“I don’t think you want to be let go. I think you want more of this.”
My body definitely does. Arousal is so strong now between my thighs that it actually hurts, and there’s no way to keep my body still. I writhe beneath his weight and groan when he pushes down hard against my pussy.
“Fuck, yeah, you like that. You want it bad.” His eyes are raking all over my face and the parts of my body he can see.