by Katie Ford
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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Becca
I’ve been turned into an actual prisoner. Before my ill-fated escape, I’d been allowed to wander the property freely as Dominic believed there was no actual way to get off the island. But now, my captor keeps tabs on me all the time. He sleeps in my bed each night, wrapping his warm bulk around me, surrounding me with his masculine presence, and then spends most of each day with me as well.
We begin each morning with sex, sometimes sweet and sensual, sometimes hard, hot and uncompromising. I know it sounds crazy because I’m a prisoner here, and believe me, the first time we had sex after my escape, I was shocked too.
Shivering and cold, still recovering from my near-death experience, Dominic had stormed into my room, tearing the coverlet off the bed and basically raping me. He’d been driven by pure fury, his fingers and cock penetrating me mercilessly, but I’d melted under his touch, unable to prevent my body’s traitorous response.
I’d fallen asleep immediately after that first time, too exhausted to protest and woken at the first grey light of dawn, a hardness pressed against my ass, an unmistakable big hand circling my belly. Without saying a word, he’d run his hands through my sweet folds, prepping me for entry before pushing his cockhead against me, my cleft eagerly parting for his penetration.
And god, he felt so good, my ruthless tormentor. He was unbelievably hard, his girth almost too wide, too long, but my body stretched and welcomed him, welcomed that driving force, finding my sweet release as he overtook me. The penetration was absolute and I could feel myself diving into the seas of lust, a riptide rising from my cunny to make me scream with each thrust of his penis.
And it’s become part of our daily routine. He spends every night in my bed to ensure I can’t escape again, and then wakes me each morning with soft caresses, taking me with his body even if he says nothing. Invariably, he comes hard, growling as his body shoots liters of sperm into my womb, spraying my ovaries with virile, milky semen. And then he rolls off, headed to the shower as I lay gasping in bed, recovering after another mind-blowing, earth-shattering orgasm.
We meet for breakfast in the dining nook, and Dominic reads the paper as we drink our coffee. I wouldn’t say it’s companionable, but we’ve settled into a silence which while thick with meaning, at least isn’t oppressive.
And then the work day begins. Dominic’s an international best-selling author and I’m his assistant, secretary and editor. His work is magnificent. This is his twentieth book in a blockbuster series, and it’s going to take the world by storm. We often engage in some light verbal sparring, but it’s never antagonistic. Instead, I derive a secret pride in knowing that an esteemed author wants my opinion and respects what I have to say.
After working until six or so, we break, and it’s my only time away from him. We wash up to get ready for dinner, and I often find myself in the kitchen, helping Nana prepare food. At first, the Afro-Caribbean housekeeper was afraid to talk to me, having been warned off by her employer, but after a couple weeks, she’d warmed up again, sure that Mr. Dominic wasn’t going to fire her for socializing with me a bit. It’s one of the highlights of my day. I love Nana and her husband Oscar, and am grateful for their kindness and wisdom.
“Mister Dominic, he a good Master,” said Nana in her lilting Caribbean accent. “I known him twenty years now!” she exclaimed.
I was curious. Twenty years was a long time to observe a person, and the good word of a trusted servant was a valuable recommendation.
“Tell me, Nana,” I said softly. “What was Dominic like when he was young?”
“He da hardest worker round!” she laughed. “When he done arrive at da island, me husband and me take one look at him and say, twenty pounds needed. He work so hard, he barely eat, barely sleep, barely do no nuthin but write. But it done! We feed him, we take care of him like our own son,” she confided.
I imagined it must have been peaceful at Koh-i-Noor when Dominic wasn’t touring the world on a book promotion. He lived in comfortable solitude here for a few months of every year to get away from the glitz and glamour of the international circuit, and plus it was just a beautiful place, the island’s quiet, peaceful surroundings perfect for writing uninterrupted.
But now I was here, disturbing everything.
“I’m so sorry to make you do more work, Nana,” I said. “I know you’ve been terribly busy since we arrived.”
“No, it ain’t no trouble Missy!” she smiled. “We love Dominic to have a good woman, he never brought anyone here before and we see how much you care for each other,” she said. “Even if you on da outs, Dominic care for you, mind my words.”
I sighed. If only Nana knew the twisted circumstances of my capture. Of course he cared for me, the same way a jailer cares about the prisoners under his watch. But I didn’t correct her and just kept rolling the dough.
“I care about him too,” I said quietly to the pie I was making.
But Nana’s sharp ears had caught the words. “And Mister Dominic, he love you tho he don’t show it,” she assured me. Tears welled in my eyes because I knew love was the furthest thing from his mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Becca
Dominic and I often ate in silence in the dining room before retiring for the night. I’d like to say that once the bedroom door closed, we had fun enjoying a good novel or sipping fine wine, but most of the time, we just tore up the sheets.
It seemed like Dominic couldn’t get enough of me. As soon as the lock clicked each night, he was on me in a flash, murmuring my name into my neck as his hands stroked my curves. And I always responded, just as hungry for him as he for me. We coupled furiously, again and again, each night unsatiable before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep, his body wrapped securely around mine, and waking in the early morning dawn for more.
It was odd because he never used any protection and never asked me about it either. Of course, I didn’t say anything. I was too shy to ask Nana to get me contraceptives, and besides it was unnecessary because I was already pregnant with Dominic’s child.
Yes, it’s true. I’m actually a few months along already, the baby the result of our glorious first night together in New York. But as a curvy girl, I haven’t begun to show yet, and if I glowed a little more than usual, it could be attributed to the good food and constant sex with the big man.
One morning, I woke to find Dominic stroking my cheek, watching me as I slept. In that brief moment, I could almost swear that I saw caring and tenderness in his eyes, but the minute he realized I’d woken, shutters came down and his face resumed an impassive, expressionless façade even as his hands reached to weigh my breasts and run wetly through my cunny.
But there had been something there, and I was floating on air as I got ready for breakfast. I took especial care with my hair and wore a pretty sundress, eager to see the big man at breakfast. Maybe I’d say something today, maybe even tell him about the pregnancy, my deepest, darkest secret.
But as we sat in the breakfast nook, a steady thwap-thwap-thwap began to sound, first dimly and then louder. I was startled, although Dominic barely looked up from his paper. When the roar could no longer be ignored, he turned to me and said, “We have a guest,” with no further explanation.
To my amazement, a huge black helicopter landed in the field outside the kitchen window. As the rotors slowed, the helicopter door opened and who stepped out but my gorgeous twin sister, Trina, the cause of my current situation.
She looked ravishing in tight white jeans and a floral top which caressed her breasts snugly, revealing their luscious, shapely form.
“Hello Dominic!” she cried, stepping out precariously in ridiculously high heels.
Dominic seemed not to notice and strode across the lawn, bending to give her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. But Trina turned her head swiftly and it became a kiss on the mouth, the two locked into a passionate embrace.
I almost died, my insides crumpling with shame and self-doubt. I’d been about to reveal my pregnancy to Dominic, hoping against hope that we could figure out some type of amicable arrangement, maybe even creating a joint household for the baby. But now that Trina was here, I saw that I’d been dreadfully wrong. Dominic had been toying with me, scheming over the best way to break my heart, and that meant discarding me once my beautiful sister was available.
They swept across the lawn, a well-matched, glamorous couple, their heads bent together laughing and talking privately. I felt positively dumpy, a misshapen lump left in the cold.
“Oh hey Becca,” said Trina carelessly. “Dominic told me you’d be here, you’re his secretary right?” she asked. “Assisting him with his books and all? Thanks for doing such a great job, I know you’ve been a big help.”
I said nothing, mutely silent as she gave me a peck and ordered Oscar to bring her numerous bags inside.
“Put then in Dominic’s bedroom,” she commanded as she surveyed the house.
“Oh my lord, this is gorgeous!” she said, her gaze greedily possessive. Of course the house was beautiful, but her attitude made me feel like the serving staff, here to greet the new Mistress.
“Trina,” I said. “What are you doing here? Where’s Caleb?” I asked.
“Oh you know,” she tossed off carelessly. “Caleb and I were never that serious, we broke it off, no biggie. But when Dominic called explaining that he was Caleb’s older brother and inviting me to the island, I jumped at the opportunity. I mean, I knew Caleb had an older brother, but I had no idea it was Dominic Patterson, billionaire best-selling author,” she said in a hushed voice.
Good thing the big man was still outside talking with the helicopter pilot because Trina’s unmasked greed would have made him shake his head with disgust. But my sister was a master of deception, and I knew that in front of male company, she could appear as innocent and pure as driven snow.
“Anyways,” she continued. “Dominic told me that you were already here, that he’d temporarily hired you as a guest editor,” she continued. “Thanks for helping him with his work,” she confided. “If you could take on more responsibilities while I’m here, I’d appreciate it,” she said. “I think he’s invited me here because he wants some female companionship, and I want to make sure he enjoys everything I have to offer,” she said with a sly smile.
I gaped wordlessly at the implication. So Dominic had brought Trina here as a companion cum girlfriend, and his time with me was done, over, kaput. He’d just been using me as filler until a new, more glamorous, model was available, and now that she’d arrived, I was nothing more than extraneous matter.
“Of course, Trina,” I said quietly. “I’m more than happy to re-dedicate myself as an editor. You’ll hardly see me,” I said.
“Thanks sis! Dominic and I will be busy most days, so just go on without him, you know?” she said, tossing that beautiful red mane. “You can handle it on your own.”
“Yes, I will,” I said quietly. But my mind whirred. Now, more than ever, I needed to get off the island by any means necessary.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Becca
The next week was pure hell. I barely saw Dominic and Trina, but I could hear their laughter, her high tinkling notes and his deep rumble through the walls of the plantation. I’d buried myself in work, alone in the library for most of the day while Dominic and Trina cavorted about, enjoying themselves.
Nana looked at me with sorrowful eyes, unsure of what to say, unable to provide any comfort.
“Baby, he a man, dem men, dey unpredictable and do what dey want,” she said, one night as I chopped vegetables with her before dinner. These days, I took all my meals in my room, and barely spoke to anyone, instead confining myself to the office and bedroom.
“You bettah off without him,” she said, shaking her head as Trina’s high tinkering laughter wafted through the air again. It was followed by a low growl from Dominic and then a high-pitched squeal, as if he’d just swept her off her feet into his arms.
I felt tears welling in my eyes, and Nana covered my hand with her own. “Move on,” she said comfortingly. “He not worth it, especially with you da pregnant,” she said nodding at my belly. “You go make your own life.”
I gasped. “How did you know I was pregnant?”
“Oh honey,” she said. “I been a mother to eight, you think I don’t know when a woman be carryin’? I know the moment you arrive,” she said.
“Does Dominic know?” I asked, my hands flying to my cheeks. Oh my god.
“No, dat man have no clue,” said Nana. “But you be showin’ soon, so he will know,” she said. “You best leave before your heart get more broken,” she advised.
“I know, Nana, I know, but how do I leave?” I cried. “I already tried once, and totally failed,” I said, referring to my efforts with the Sea-Doo.
Nana was quiet for a while, saying nothing as she continued to chop. But then she spoke in a low voice.
“Child, da man from da Big Island come tomorrow afternoon,” she said. “Bringing supplies. You leave with him,” she said, with a resolute shake of her head.
“Thank you Nana!” I cried, throwing my arms around her, hot tears of relief streaming down my face. I knew she was risking her job, her livelihood, and her very way of life on Koh-i-Noor by helping me escape.
“I’ll come back for you, I promise,” I sobbed, trying to gulp back my tears.
But I felt a warm hand on my head, Nana’s own eyes suspiciously watery. “Go child, don’t worry about us.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Becca
And that’s how I found myself in a small motorboat, puttering my way to the Big Island with an old fisherman at the helm. Koh-i-Noor grew distant, slowly receding in the horizon as the ocean grew large in front of us. As luck would have it, Dominic and Trina had left for a day-long island tour, complete with packed lunch and plenty of sunscreen. By the time they got back, I’d be long gone, safely away.
But my heart felt heavy. I rubbed my belly absentmindedly, not even sure that I was doing the right thing. I’d hoped that maybe, somehow, Dominic would want to be a part of his child’s life, but with Trina in the picture, it was impossible. My sister was too selfish to open her heart to another person’s child, and definitely not if that child was competing for Dominic’s love. And so it would be only my baby and me … for now, at least.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Becca
I’ve taken Nate and settled into a little town in New Hampshire, the bleak New England landscape a vast change from the tropical lushness of Koh-i-Noor. We enjoy a quiet life here, taking pleasure in simple things such as Nate’s discovery of snowflakes, or his first bite of food. What a mess that was!
My life with my son is so different from my old existence. I remember giving birth to him, alone at the hospital, a young girl terrified, tired and anxious. After the baby was put in my arms, I’d looked at him with trepidation, halfway wishing that he’d never been born. But then Nate opened his eyes, smiling at me, and I’d fallen in love.
Because my son is light of my life. He’s adorable, with chubby cheeks and deep blue eyes that remind me of his father. He’s curious about the world, his little hands waggling, reaching for the stars already. And I want to give him everything. I left the TV station to work freelance as a journalist and editor. The money’s not great, but it means that Nate only has to be at daycare for a few hours each day.
I usually wrote demonically when Nate was out of the house, conscious that I needed to use every second wisely. But uncharacteristically, I’d taken a break that day, switching off my computer for a brisk stroll to the local book store. Dominic’s most recent bestseller had hit the shelves, and there’s been a line at the local bookstore for fresh copies. Unobtrusively, I’d stood in the queue, quiet as Dominic’s handsome mien stared at me from his author photo.
I shook myself. I’d done the right thing, removing my baby and myself from his magnetic, charismatic presence.
Even so, I looked over the book again, my fingers wistfully trailing over the beautiful cover. Money was tight so I’d splurged by buying a hardback, but I wanted to read it just once, as a bittersweet memory, before shelving it and turning back to reality.
Slowly, I opened the volume. “Mariner’s Revenge,” the title page read. Good title. Dominic was quite the mariner himself, and had drawn from his experiences at sea to form the backdrop for the tale. The physical pages inside were made of heavy, durable paper, and I admiringly rubbed them between my fingertips, luxuriating in the tactile pleasure. Suddenly, the blood drained from my face and I literally stopped breathing. Because the dedication read,