Captured in Croatia

by Christine Edwards

  I wince, thinking of the pain the girl must be feeling downstairs, and hope she gives up soon. Once I have what I need to know, I’ll let her down. Better me than Juric. Juric would have simply raped and killed her. I can’t stand the thought of that.

  I go to the long sofa and spread out as my mind flits back to images of my family. Will the pain ever go away? It’s been twenty years, so perhaps not.

  After slipping my mobile from one of the pockets near my knee, I see a missed text from B: “’Fess up, bastard. Where did you find the hot American? She obviously finds you repulsive, dude, (joking) so what’s going on? —B”

  I shake my head at my brother’s light-hearted taunts. You can’t help but love the guy. Everyone does. Why can’t I just let shit roll off me like B does? We rarely speak to each other about what happened that night. What good would it do?

  What I wouldn’t give to not have this black cloud constantly hovering over me. Or a rewind button. That, or ten more years of experience behind me. Yeah, I could’ve stopped them then. Could have done something more than hide ….

  Shaking it off, I head back downstairs. I glance down at my watch, a black Luminox that was a gift from B a few years back. It’s been twenty minutes. Time to see if my sweet princeza has something to tell me.

  As I walk downstairs, I half expect to hear the sound of tears or curses, but neither one greets me. She hangs quietly from my boxing bag, exactly where I left her. The pain must be explosive by now, but nothing that won’t go away after I release her. Slowly, I round the bag and rest my forehead against the cool leather, just a few inches away from hers.

  “Give me something, princeza.” My voice bounces off the mirrors in a soft hush.

  At first, I think I must be hearing things, her words are so faint. Then she repeats them.

  “Carew. M-my name is Carew,” she whispers softly, as if confessing a secret.

  It must be hard for her to give up even that small amount of information. It means she realizes she isn’t in control here. She isn’t lying. When she whispered the word I felt a shiver through my body. That is definitely her name. Unique and delicate, like her. I wonder for a moment what ‘Carew’ means.

  I stand up straight and walk behind her. She’s completely depleted, can’t even lift her head.

  As I reach up to undo the black cotton that holds her fast, I whisper to her, “Okay, Carew. You’re all right. Let me get you down now.”

  My right arm binds firmly around her midsection as I unravel the last few segments of cloth. If I don’t support her, the moment she is free she’ll hit the floor like a lead weight. The sweaty cotton falls to the floor as I swing her up into my arms.

  She leans into me, half asleep. She’s chilled. I really should put her into a hot shower but decide instead to put her to bed. My bed, the only one in the house. She’s obviously exhausted and I’m completely wiped out as well.

  Her bare skin is so smooth and soft against mine that I have to fight internally to not crush her against me. I’ve been hard ever since I walked into the house this evening.

  Fuck. It’s going to be a long night.

  We reach the top step to the bedroom, and it hits me that no woman has ever been up here before today. I’ve never fucked in this bed. Always in hotels back in Zagreb.

  As I lower her down carefully onto the moonlight-streaked mattress, I can tell that she’s about to pass out. I glance at the fire and see that it’s burning steadily. Good, I’ll add a few more logs to keep it toasty up here. I walk over and tend to the fire, stoking it with the poker before tossing two big logs on the glowing heap.

  I cross back to the bed and sit down next to her bare, lithe body. As I reach for the comforter, intending to cover her with it, my arm brushes against hers. What she does next surprises the shit out of me. With a small whimper, she pulls my arm close to her chest.

  I move her over very slowly and lay down beside her, allowing the warmth from my bare chest to radiate into her skin. She nestles in closer. She must be asleep because there is no fucking way she would have done any of this if she was lucid. She’s far too proud.

  I’m completely drained and hope that I can make some sort of progress with her tomorrow. On that final thought I allow my eyes to slide shut.

  ***

  “Get into the basement.”

  “Papa, no. We can help. We’re both good marksmen.”

  Never in my sixteen years on earth has the word ‘no’ crossed my lips. Not while speaking to my father, at least.

  “Zoran, there’s no time. Go to the hiding place downstairs and guard your brother with your life. We love you both, now go.”

  That is the exact moment I know they will die. There is only room in the niche for two of us. My father has never once told us he loved us—not in so many words. This is his goodbye and I know it.

  Time to be a man. I reach down and pry my clinging thirteen-year-old brother away from our sobbing mother.

  “Be strong,” I say to him, although the words are more for myself than for him.

  Big, beaming lights begin to filter into our house through the darkness. Rifle butts pound against the front door with brutal force, demanding acknowledgment. The dogs—thank fucking God for our dogs—scented them coming and went wild. A loud sputtering of shots ring out in succession, followed by silence and then shouting. They got them. The dogs were shot for trying to defend their family. The civil war is ripping our beautiful country into so many pieces that soon there will be nothing left but blood and scorched earth.

  Once I have an arm secured around my brother’s shoulder, our mother tilts up her tear-streaked face and touches my cheek.

  The look in her eyes is one of abject, gut-wrenching sorrow. “Zoran, you’re the man now. Guard Balthazar with your life, son.”

  I can only nod once. A choked sob wells up in my throat. Our father rushes us to the basement door. As we head down he remains on the top step. I turn to meet his serious gaze just before the door shuts tightly.

  Beneath the padded workout mats covering the floor lies a small metal ring. When lifted up, it reveals a room that used to be a small root cellar barely big enough for two people.

  “Save them!” My mother had begged my father only minutes before.

  I shake with the need to go above and help them, but I made a promise to protect B. As we lower ourselves down into the cramped space, I check my holster for the Sig Sauer pistol that my father gave me on my previous birthday.

  It takes me a minute to maneuver the mat above the trap door. It needs to lie perfectly flat or we will be found.

  In the blackness my brother sobs, heartbroken.

  He’s got to stop crying.

  I take a deep breath and reluctantly clamp my hand across Balthazar’s mouth. He can’t see me, but he turns and buries his face in my t-shirt. It is soon saturated with his tears.

  We hear loud banging and the unmistakable sputtering of a machine gun. And then the endless scream that is permanently tattooed onto my soul. Our mother’s gut-wrenching shriek. They’ve killed our father. That is the only reason she would howl in such extreme, animalistic agony. I lower my head in shame as her screaming abruptly stops.

  I can’t breathe ….

  ***

  A quick, barking shout like that of a wounded animal caught in a snare makes me spring upright in an instant. The only light in the room is the soft glow from the embers in the fireplace and a few streaks of moonlight. I feel him beside me on my left; his heat radiates against my body. My eyes adjust quickly. He’s pushed upright on his toned arms and he’s struggling to take in air.

  “Are you … I mean, is everything all right?” I struggle to shake off the deep sleep, wondering if he has post-traumatic stress. Then I realize where I am, that we are lying in bed together, and try to contain my disbelief. I’m torn between compassion and fear.

  He turns completely away from me, as if ashamed. Finally he answers in a rumbling tone, “Yeah, nightmare.”

 
; Oh, shit. I can’t simply ignore that. I know how vivid they can be. An idea begins to form in my mind, that I can turn this to my advantage. Perhaps I should try harder to be pleasant to him? Maybe at some point he will even let his guard down.

  “They’re the worst, right? I mean, you can’t prep for them or anything.”

  My voice trails off at the end. This is quickly becoming uncomfortable. I mean, who chats about bad dreams with their abductor, right? That’s just … wrong on so many levels, and I’m not manipulative enough to take advantage of his vulnerability. Not when I know how vivid nightmares can be. I’ll have to find another way.

  He swings his legs over the side of the high bed, props his elbows on his thighs, and lowers his head into his hands. He scrubs his palms back and forth across his short hair.

  Rather than press him, I take my glass from earlier over to the basin sink. I fill it and down the cold water before refilling it and walking back to the bed.

  He’s still leaning forward, so I gently but hesitantly touch his hot back. “Here. Drink this. Always makes me feel better.”

  Zoran reaches out for the glass and drinks deeply before placing it on the low table next to the bed. I take a step back, now fully awake after this perplexing encounter. I’m alert and once again wary of him.

  His callused hand reaches out and snags me around my left hip, pulling me close, inside of his spread legs. At this point I’m overtly aware of my stark nakedness. I want nothing more than to scramble back under the covers and shield my body, but he holds me fast.

  “Zoran, please. You need to tell me what I’m doing here. Why haven’t you killed me yet?” The last part comes out slow, hesitant.

  “Princeza, if you’re not about to tell me what I want to know from you, then hush. The time for talking is over now.”

  Oh. My. God.

  Arms as thick as jungle pythons grasp my waist and pull me closer to his hard body. He wastes zero time before he takes me with his lips. Needy, so needy and passionate. Unlike any other kiss I’ve had before. No, those kisses that came before his could not even jokingly be called practice. His mouth is rapturous, moving so hot against my lips. It’s as if he’s determined to replace the images from his nightmare with a more sensual, pleasing reality.

  That wicked tongue probes and plunders until I’m nearly mindless. All of the blood is tunneling in one direction, straight to my throbbing core. How can one man be this good? Undoubtedly it’s due to a heaping dose of chemistry flowing between us, coupled with the fact that I’m warming to him, especially after seeing him vulnerable, even if for a brief time.

  His hands glide lower to kneed and squeeze my tender ass cheeks. A deep growl erupts into my mouth. His imposing shaft is so hard against my stomach that it threatens to force its way out of his boxer briefs.

  I gasp as a firm smack lands with deadly accuracy in the middle of my still throbbing left butt cheek. A second later I’m lifted high up against him.

  He’s already moving us across the shadowed bedroom by the time I manage to sputter, “W-what are you doing?”

  No reply.

  Before long we’re inside the glass shower and the lever is shoved to ‘on,’ allowing a cascade of warm water to pour over us. He traps me between his body and the slick glass wall. With my legs hooked around his waist, I feel helpless, a slave to his dominating power. A thrill shoots through me at the dark, exotic thought.

  Once again his mouth comes down on mine with a feverish passion. I should deny him but it’s just so surreal. I have to have more, just a little bit. I know that this is like playing with a wild animal. He is feral and absolutely unpredictable.

  He pulls back just enough to slide his warm hand between us. I’m not concerned in the least about him dropping me. He could hold me up against him with just one arm.

  Two fingers stroke with firm intensity against my eager clit, then back farther, sliding deeper against my pussy. Yes. One thick finger slips inside and begins to pump in and out of my dewy channel.

  “Mmm … oh!” My needy cry cuts through the steam.

  The most erotic voice imaginable rumbles directly against my lips, “That’s right, Carew, relax for me. I know exactly what you need, princeza.”

  That accent, nearly guttural in its intensity, unnerves me. But I have to ask, “Do I have a choice?”

  He says huskily, “I think your body has made the choice for you,” and continues with the steamy assault of kisses and finger play. His thick fingers pump relentlessly in and out of my drenched pussy.

  My breath hitches. “Stop.”

  He removes his fingers and pulls his head back just far enough to make eye contact. His eyes show amusement. “Is that what you really want? You say one thing, but your body begs to be taken.”

  My eyes flare with outrage.

  “Put me down,” I protest weakly, desperation threading my voice, although inside I’m coming apart.

  “No.”

  His sexy-as-sin kisses start up once again. His brawny size adds to my feelings of helplessness as I’m held, suspended, against the slick wall. His impossibly smooth lips meander down my throat, moving lazily across my shoulder toward my eager nipples. I gasp as his scorching tongue swipes over one of my tight, pink buds. It’s heaven.

  “Please, please stop!” The whimper does not sound convincing. That’s it, my last ditch verbal effort to thwart him. I’m losing this battle fast. My back arches, betraying my need.

  He continues to suck greedily as his huge hands kneed and explore my ass. Oh, hell! Is that me moaning like a sexed-up courtesan? I’m barely aware of his right hand sliding down the warm wetness between our stomachs. He tugs his black boxer briefs down his legs and kicks them impatiently into the far corner of the shower.

  This really shouldn’t be happening, yet I’m so amped up that I want to melt into this man.

  “Oh, oh my!” I call out in a breathy voice.

  Both hands wrap around the base of my ass and raise me up. I look down through the shadows and steam to see that I’m spread wide and perched atop the huge, wet crown of his daunting cock. Sinful.

  His lush gray eyes bore into mine as he whispers, “Agree that this is what you want from me. There’s no need to feel shame.”

  I shove all formalities and hesitations swiftly aside and nod once, knowing full well what I’m agreeing to. Our desire is mutual and he knows it.

  With a rich growl, he slowly lowers me down onto his hot thickness.

  “Ohh, ah!” My cry echoes in the enclosure.

  Pleasure and pain mix in a sublime, throbbing ache. My earlier thoughts were spot on because everything about Zoran is larger than life. I try to relax and breathe deeply, hoping that he will fit.

  He has me plastered up against the glass with his knees slightly bent, controlling his entry. I’m drenched for him, but it will still take some maneuvering to accommodate his girth.

  A low, animalistic sound erupts from him as the head of his cock manages to breach me. I moan out in mindless pleasure. This is it. I couldn’t back out now, even if I wanted to. I don’t.

  I will never have better, I know it. It’s wrong, but I have to experience this. Experience him.

  As he thrusts into my gripping channel, I feel the first flutters of an unstoppable orgasm bearing down on me. His chest heaves as he slowly enters me, clearly struggling not to drill into me with everything he has.

  “Agh, Zoran!” I cry out as he shoves the rest of the way into me. His cock feels unbelievably massive and intense.

  That talented hand snakes around once again to rub my needy clit. It feels so fabulous that I’m having trouble focusing.

  His stormy eyes hold mine captive. He speaks to me in a throaty rasp, his exotic accent thicker than I’ve ever heard it. “Tigar. Call me Tigar.”

  With my forearms twined around his corded neck, I lean in closer, staring deeply into his eyes, and whisper seductively, “Give it to me, Tigar.”

  His mysterious eyes burn into mine a s
econd before he begins to really move. The sensation is euphoric. His thrusts are delicious as they drive into me. He is every woman’s dark fantasy come to life. His hip movements are so skillful that they surpass anything I’ve experienced or even envisioned. He’s not just good, he’s intoxicatingly incomparable.

  His voice is tense as he asks, “This is exactly what you need, isn’t it, princeza? To be fucked hard by a man like me, who knows how to control your wildness, to dominate you. To force you to yield. Isn’t that right? Tell me, Carew.” The intensity in his gravelly, foreign voice is so very thick.

  His dark, precise words, combined with the relentless pleasure he’s bestowing on my clit, instantly make me come undone. I spasm hard around his length, crying out with the pent-up passion I’ve been wrestling with. I struggle for air as the contractions climb higher within me, cresting in a fever pitch of unbelievable, dreamlike pleasure.

  His pounding thrusts turn savage as he holds me suspended in his powerful arms. His mouth covers mine in a claiming kiss that leaves me lost for him. I cling to him, feeling completely vulnerable as he guides my body, working me up and down his glorious cock. I’ve always known that I wanted, needed a strong man. He exceeds all these fantasies by being the most masculine person I’ve ever encountered. At this beautiful moment, nothing on earth could separate us. The explosive energy we share is hotter than the surface of the sun.

  Finally able to form coherent thoughts, I wail helplessly, “Yes, yes, I need you exactly like this, Tigar!” I’ve never wanted anyone more.

  He surprises me by tweaking my right nipple hard and growling out, “Again. Come again for me, princeza.” He’s moving so fast and forceful, in and out, pummeling my saturated pussy. His command sends me headlong over the cliff as my body explodes in another wave of ecstasy.

  “Tigar!” I scream out, so loudly that it reverberates through the enclosure. I’m barely coherent, heedless of any words or actions.

  He’s on a mission now, fucking me so hard for his fervent pleasure. It’s as if he wants to brand me as his. My back is heaved up higher against the slick glass with each measured swing of his sculpted hips.