When she awoke, the musky room had grown dark. Once more struggling to stand, she found her roped wrists had been cruelly tethered to something while she was unconscious– something solid and unmoving. She pulled on her bindings, biting hard on her lip to squelch the pain of the rough rope sandpapering the delicate flesh of her wrists. The sound of a scratch, the brief whiff of sulfur, then the spark of a wooden match lit the room briefly. The warm glow of a lamp pierced the darkness of the room, Charlotte’s eyes blinking shut from the sudden onslaught of light. The man sat there on a wooden stool in front of the door, holding the lamp out as if to see her better.
Her captor was tall and brawny, his skin tanned golden from life on the warm seas, his deep blue eyes dark in the dim lamplight. Charlotte was afraid, but could not take her chocolate brown eyes from his as he appraised her as if she were an animal being purchased by a farmer. The auburn hair that had been delicately styled that morning was now strewn across her heaving breasts, her silk emerald green dress was soiled, and the fine lace along the bodice was now tattered. Her powder-sand encrusted bare feet slid backward in an attempt to put as much distance between her body and the crude man as possible. In the small room, she could smell him, a change from the musty, stale odor that she was growing accustomed to in her brief captivity. Her captor smelled of sweat, but he also bore the sugary-sweet scent of rum mixed with tobacco.
Charlotte didn’t know it, but he was known as Sir Henry Morgan, and he was the most feared pirate that had ever graced the shores of the northeast Caribbean. His tobacco-brown stained hands set the lamp down on the lilting wooden floor as he reached into his pocket. The glint of the metal shone in the pale lamplight as he opened the knife and turned it around slowly in his long fingers. His other hand produced a mango from his pocket, and with a chuckle he sliced open the shiny green and red skin of the fruit, allowing the sticky juice to flow from its sunburst-yellow stringy pulp. Charlotte was thirsty; she hadn’t had a drink of water since early that morning. Her parched tongue licked along her chapped lips as she saw the liquid drip to the floor. Henry ignored her thirst, enjoying her rapt eyes on him as he sliced a chunk of the succulent fruit and popped it into his mouth.
Charlotte Smith was a brave woman, her boldness and sharp tongue often got her into trouble. She was determined not to die on this pirate ship. She had plans for her life, plans she would somehow, in some way, bring to fruition.
“My husband is the planter George Smith, and he has quite a lot of money. I am sure he would pay a hefty bounty for my return.”
“George Smith, ah yes,” Henry said, breaking his ominous silence. He spoke in well-educated, cultured English, every bit as fine as Charlotte’s own dialect. It struck her as a marked contrast from his rough, dirty appearance and his menacing demeanor. The other contradiction, one that distracted her despite the grim circumstance of her captivity, was his teeth. The crude man’s teeth were intact and gleaming white, an anomaly in her age and certainly uncommon for a pirate. “George-fucking-Smith,” he growled, paying no regard to his coarse language in front of a lady, “George Smith is here to rape this bountiful island of its resources every bit as brutally as I intend to rape you.”
Charlotte’s warm brown eyes flashed to her captor’s dark blue ones – she, too, abhorred the destruction her husband’s industry would inflict on the idyllic island she had come to love.
“Yes, but he will pay for my—”
“He can’t pay, madam, because he is dead. I gutted him myself, with this very blade!” True to his dark wit, Henry added, “I washed it, of course,” as he popped another chunk of mango into his mouth, allowing the juice to run down his scruffy chin.
Henry loved to cause fear; he studied fear in his always-calculating head. Charlotte should have blanched in horror, but instead her lips curled at the sides in a euphoric grin before she could will herself to wipe it off. She caught herself quickly, the wicked grin migrating into a feigned show of horror. Sir Henry Morgan had seen it all; he was rarely surprised. This woman, however, had just completely shocked him, and he was intrigued.
As Charlotte continued to act mournful about her husband’s horrific murder, her mind drifted to the night prior and the evil, unspeakable acts George had tormented her with. Now that he was gone, she was one step closer to her dreams. “I’m a widow then,” she said with finality, “and I can pay you for my release.”
“I don’t want your money, love, I want what’s under the dress. What’s your name?”
“Charlotte,” she breathed.
“Charlotte… a nice name but I think I’ll call you Shark Bait, because that’s what you’ll be when I’m finished with you tonight.” As he walked over to her, his sticky index finger forcing its way into her dry mouth, she bit down – hard. As his free hand flew up to strike her, she pulled back and hit her head on the post she was tied to with a sickening crack. The room went dark momentarily, and then she rose up in a scream. Her husband George was in bed beside her, staring at her with cold, dead eyes. “You’re having that goddamn dream again, Charlotte, knock it off or I’ll knock you out… again.”
DEEP: A Captive Tale
A dark erotic BDSM Captor/Captive novella
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Please enjoy this sample from a fellow independent romance author, Lora Ann.
Branded (Strand Brothers Series, book 1) by Lora Ann
Aimee
What on earth was I thinking when I agreed to go to this charity masquerade ball? Some of the most wealthy and influential people would be in attendance. Seriously! I need to have my head examined. “Alright now, just breathe, you can do this,” I whispered to my reflection in the mirror. I turned myself every which direction to get a good look at the dress I was wearing. Renée had really outdone herself putting it together for me. When I placed the mask on for the full effect, I realized there was no way anyone would recognize me. Not that I ran in such circles; however, this was a staged event for me. An opportunity to see if I had what my—hopefully soon—employer was looking for. I stepped out of my room to get the final approval from my best friend, Renée.
“Girl, you’re going to knock their socks off.” She exclaimed, “You look amazing!”
On a long exhale, I released the breath I’d been holding. “Are you sure?”
“Hell yes, I’m sure.”
I ran my hand down the full skirt of my gown. It truly was a magnificent dress—emerald green in color with gold edging. I felt like I’d stepped back in time. The mask matched perfectly. While there was no question I was feeling beautiful, my nerves were frayed. “Ren?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure I can do this.”
She walked over to tuck a tendril of my hair behind my ear. “Hey. It’s only escorting. You’ve been clear that you want no part of the other business. Relax. They’re going to love you. You have the look men want—sexy yet innocent.”
I scoffed, “My hips are too wide, and my boobs are too large.”
“My point precisely. Men like something to hold on to.”
I smacked her arm. “Renée!” Then I reiterated, “I’m not going to prostitute myself.”
Her lips thinned. “So, I’m a whore?”
Oh, shit. “No.” I inhaled deeply before I clarified, “That’s not what I meant. All I mean is that, that side of the business isn’t my cup of tea. You know I’d never judge you.”
Her entire body relaxed. “Sorry, Aims. I know you don’t.”
Truth be told, the lure of the money was quite intoxicating. And I would be a liar if I said I hadn’t thought about it. My only hang-up was married men. Strange, I know, call it my own sense of morals, but there were just some lines I refused to cross.
“Okay, now.” Renée explained, “You’ll meet Ann and Jack around eleven-ish. They’ll either give you the go ahead or turn you down.”
I still had a hard time grasping it was a brother and sister team that ran the e
scort service. But according to Renée, they were fair-minded and knew what men of such caliber required. So if I was turned away, it was nothing personal. Still, I really needed the money desperately. With my dad fighting cancer, there was not a dime left for me. And I had run up an astronomical amount of student loans. Bottom line, this was my best bet to pay them off quickly and help out my family. Renée brought me back to the here and now when she said, “Remember, midnight. You make sure you’re out of there.”
I couldn’t stifle the giggle. She raised an eyebrow at me. “Oh, come on.” I clarified, “Even you have to admit it is rather Cinderella sounding.”
She grinned, “Then, by all means, find yourself a very rich Prince Charming.”
I rolled my eyes. “Ha! Surrrrre. I’ll make that my top priority.”
My phone beeped with an incoming message. I read the screen and turned to her. “Car’s here.”
She kissed my cheek. “Go get ‘em, girl.”
I waggled my fingers on the way out. “Ta-ta.”
*****
I focused on breathing and tried to keep my heart rate under control. There was no point in showing up soaked with sweat while I panted like I’d just run a marathon. I gave myself a mental pep talk: You can do this, Aimee. No worries. Everything’s going to work out fine. If I could only believe it was true. I considered praying but then thought that wasn’t such a great idea. Yes, I was only applying for an escort position; however, I knew God was fully aware of just how tempting the offer was to take it a step further. Right, nix on the praying. When the door to the limo opened, I was pulled from my musing. I stepped out onto a red carpet. Luckily, I was no one of significance or with anyone important; hence, the focus was on others that arrived at the same time. Thank goodness.
I was gathered swiftly into the throng and rushed inside. While I took in my surroundings along with all the marvelous attire, a waiter passed by with a silver tray of champagne flutes. I grabbed one and took a sip. In a matter of moments, I was swept onto the dance floor where one gentleman after another danced with me. I eventually needed a break and excused myself to the nearest powder room.
Upon my return, I did my best to observe—all to no avail. A deep voice whispered in my ear. “May I have this dance?”
A chill of awareness instantly shot up and down my spine. I swallowed the lump in my throat and fought the urge to lean into whoever he was. “Yes,” I huskily replied. What the hell is the matter with me? Never have I had such a reaction to a man. He stepped around me. Once I was in his arms, we began to waltz around the dance floor. He was extremely tall, and his broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his tux deliciously. I ran my tongue over my bottom lip. He didn’t miss the motion. Due to the full mask he wore, I couldn’t get a good look at his face. But I could see his eyes, which were a brilliant light blue. They reminded me of a glacier: sharp, intense, and very observant. There really wasn’t anything else visible on him. I did notice his hair appeared to be blond, maybe a shade or so lighter than mine, and long enough that he could tie it back with a black leather thong. Everything about the man screamed danger, so, of course, I was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Confidence radiated off of him in waves. I was immediately reminded of how you could tell a man made love by the way he danced. Although I was not delusional, this man would not make love. No. He would fuck. The thought made me wet. All of a sudden, I became aware of several things at once: He inexorably danced me into the shadows while Michael Bublé sang, “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.” The actual performer was there live, and, honestly, I couldn’t imagine a better song for how I felt at that moment. The next thing I knew, he had pulled me through a door I never noticed before.
I looked up at him and inquired, “Where are you taking me?”
His lips curved up slightly as he replied, “Somewhere quiet.”
Oh, my word. I had let a complete stranger drag me away from everyone and everything. And damn, if the idea didn’t excite me more. You would think I’d be a bit more concerned about my safety. For all I knew, this guy was an axe murderer. Yet, for some reason, I completely trusted him. I knew he would never hurt me physically. Although I was quite sure, the man had left more than one broken heart in his wake.
We slipped into a small library/office. The room was dimly lit; thus, I reached over to turn on a lamp sitting on a side table.
“Don’t,” he murmured.
I really wanted to know how his voice truly sounded. So far, the few words he had spoken were all whispered; therefore, I couldn’t hear it clearly. I did catch a slight rasp with a hint of some kind of accent but nothing discernable. Gah! The man became more frustrating by the moment. I heard the door lock, and then he was in front of me. He caressed up and down my sides, nibbling along my neck. I leaned to the side to give him better access, all the while I made little mewling noises.
He suckled the tender spot just below my earlobe. “Tell me to stop if I’ve misread the attraction between us,” he demanded.
No way in hell I was doing that. The electricity was arcing between our bodies with a mind of its own. Instead, I begged for more. “Please.”
I felt his smile along my throat. “Right answer,” he groaned. Meanwhile, I began to explore his body. I managed to push the jacket off his shoulders, as he tugged the bodice of my gown over my breasts. With his teeth, he worked the lace of my bra out of the way and then laved my nipple. The man had a wicked tongue and knew just how to use it. He gently scraped the sensitive peak with his teeth, causing me to moan. “So responsive,” he purred. I reached up to draw the mask from his face when he stilled my hands. “No,” he commanded. “Let’s leave them on.”
I growled out of frustration. In response, he decided to lavish attention on my other nipple. I was beyond hot and bothered. I wanted this man deep inside me. “More,” I demanded.
With that, he eased me onto the sofa. He reached under my dress and traced his fingers under my panties. “You’re ready for me.” His finger dipped inside my core.
“Yes.” Was the only coherent thing I managed to say.
Another finger joined the party while his thumb began to draw slow, exquisite circles around my tight nub. I was going to come if he kept that up for much longer. All of a sudden he stopped, and I actually whined. “Patience, little one,” he instructed. I bit my lip in an attempt to hold back my protest. As his fingers continued to explore my body, he leaned back on his heels. “I can’t decide where to taste you first. Should it be here?” He ran the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip, and I could taste my essence. “Or should I kiss these lips?” His finger teased my cleft before he traced up to circle the bundle of nerves at the top. Oh, fucking, my! I arched my hips. “I agree,” he confirmed, and then his mouth was there at my center—licking, sucking, and nipping. While I rode his face, I tugged his head tighter into me. The man knew his way around a woman’s body. And, let’s be honest here, there was nothing hotter than a man who enjoyed going down on a woman. My orgasm hit ferociously. Before I could come down off the first one, his fingers were inside me coaxing the second.
Once I regained some semblance of composure, he released himself into his hand. Holy shit. He was very large there as well—thick, long, and incredibly swollen. I was not convinced he would fit. He pulled out a condom and ripped open the package with his teeth. As he slid it over his impressive penis, his fingers were, once again, sliding in and out of me. He placed the head of his cock into my entrance, and I moaned in pleasure. Slowly, he inched inside me. Just when I thought he couldn’t go any further, he grabbed my ass and lifted. After he fully seated himself, he held still for a moment. “You’re so damn tight,” he growled as his eyes closed.
I wrapped my legs around his waist to get even closer, which caused him to groan. Then, he began to move. It didn’t take long for me to catch on to his rhythm. As I predicted, he began thrusting harder and faster. His hips slammed into my butt with enough force to rock the sofa back. I worried someone could hear the t
humping. But there was no way I would stop him. My climax was building, and I knew this one would be even more intense than the other two. He didn’t fail me. My eyes rolled back as the orgasm hit, and then with one more powerful thrust he followed.
As our breathing began to regulate, I stroked my hands across his expansive chest. “You are amazing.”
He pulled out and said, “You’re the astounding one.”
I watched as he removed the condom, tied it off, and put it in his pocket. Then, he stuffed his still semi-erect sex back into his pants. He handed me my panties and watched as I put them back on. Once we were back to rights, he hauled me into his hard body and kissed me senseless. When he pulled away, I was once again breathless. He held out his hand to me and walked over to the door. We stepped out of the room hand in hand.
*****
I turned towards him and queried, “Are you going to tell me your name?”
He shook his head. “And ruin the mystery? Never.”
“But… if I don’t know your name and you don’t know mine, how will I see you again?”
He half-smiled. “I’ll find you, little one,” he promised.
“Mmm.” I pointed out the obvious. “You don’t even know what I look like.”
“Now that’s half the fun.”
Once we reached the ballroom, he pivoted towards me and drew my hand to his lips, where he kissed my knuckles. “Till we meet again.”
I stood there dumbfounded. Before I could say another word, he turned and left. The synapses finally fired in my brain. Oh, hell, no. He was not leaving here until I knew who he was. I searched frantically; however, I was unable to tell who was who in the sea of masks. I reached the door to the outside but couldn’t see in the dark. I slowly pivoted and then scanned the room urgently. It was useless. He was nowhere to be found. I noticed the song playing was “We’ll Meet Again” by Johnny Cash. How ironic. I shook my head to clear the fog and then stepped outside.
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