His Captive: A Revenge Marriage Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  I refuse to give in. I refuse to let my greedy dick dictate my actions.

  She may have hypnotized Chance in a few hours’ time, but I won’t let her to put the same spell on me. One giddy, lameass brother in our family is more than enough.

  And with my mind firmly made up, I strip, stretching out my massive form, before stepping under the hot spray. Fuck yeah, the beating of the water is exactly what I need, and a low roar of satisfaction escapes, a lion on the prowl.

  But at that second, another image flashes into my mind. Her. Those red curls tumbling, that curvy body soaking wet and nude, under in the shower with me. Those gazongas rubbing against my chest. Nipples teasing me, tantalizing me, her wet slit running. And aww fuck, but my stiffie jumps up again, painful and aching. What the fuck has Anna done to me? Why the fuck is this happening? All I know is that my pretty prisoner has me chained … and not the other way around.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Anna

  There’s no telling what got into me back there, but I went with it. When Robert looked at me, there was something in those blue eyes, and it wasn’t pure hatred. Maybe fifty percent hatred and fifty percent …? Lust? Anger? Madness? I’m not sure, but my insides had gone warm and loose.

  Stop it, came the voice in my head. Stop it, you’re a freakin’ prisoner! This guy literally tied you up and threw you into the trunk of his car! You can’t be lusting after this monster!

  Okay, well maybe it was temporary insanity. Whatever you call it, it happened and I can’t take it back. It’s not like I really want to anyway. I’ve learned that dignity is the best defense, and I wasn’t gonna let him take me down. I wasn’t going to let the alpha male grind me into the dirt, begging for scraps. So the whole exchange had returned a piece of my confidence.

  Besides, for some weird reason, I’m not afraid of Robert. Yes, he’d shoved me into a trunk and called me a whore only hours ago but it’s a screwed up case of mistaken identity. And I know the alpha male knows it at well. He couldn’t possibly think that me, Anna Jones, is some flirty whore, trying to entice rich guys. It’s just too ludicrous, and I know the dark man doesn’t think that, not deep down.

  Plus, my grandma taught me to always trust the intuition I’ve been blessed with as a woman and it’s never steered me wrong. Right now, it’s telling me that Robert won’t hurt me. If that were the case, then I’d truly be afraid. I’d be scrabbling at the walls, screaming my head off. But instead, I’m knitting quietly in my room, waiting for him to come back.

  Why are you so calm? questions the voice in my head. Start looking for tools! You have to plan an escape!

  But the thing is, I’m not so sure that’s the best way forward. The cabin’s in the middle of nowhere. How would I survive after stepping off the property? What food do I have? What water? It’s not like I’m a survival expert, a secret MacGyver. So right now, staying put and tussling with my captor seems like the best thing to do.

  Besides, I saw the way Robert looked at me. Those blue eyes had something in them, beyond the usual disdain. The dark man had looked almost ravenous, hungry and demanding, hating himself at the same time.

  It was absolutely hypnotizing.

  Maybe my lack of sleep is making me delirious.

  Maybe I’m going crazy.

  Maybe I was always crazy.

  Sighing deep, I lay back, putting my knitting to the side. It’s been a long day, and I need rest. Even though that means falling asleep and leaving myself vulnerable to the hulking man downstairs, it can’t be avoided forever.

  But even as I try to rest, my mind travels back to my mysterious captor.

  Who is he?

  That whole story he’d given me about how I seduced his younger brother just isn’t making sense. Because in what life could I seduce anybody?

  Robert has it all wrong. Honestly. I’m just a small town homebody. Add bookworm and wallflower to that list and you’ll see why the art of seduction isn’t exactly my specialty. The wrongness of it all is ludicrous.

  And he’s rich? Or he’s from a rich family? That part’s still unclear. What was the name that Ann-Marie mentioned this morning? Chance who? Morrison? Or Morgan? I shake my head, frustrated. It seems like this morning was a lifetime ago, decades and decades in the past.

  My brain is in no condition to recall that information, so I give up, discouraged. Whoever the Morgans are, they must be loaded if they’re always playing defense, ready to smack down any gold digging women.

  And if you let Robert tell it, I’m that whore. But his assessment of me couldn’t be further from the truth. Because last time I checked, my cherry’s still intact. That’s right. I’m twenty years old, and I’ve never slept with a single man. Fingers haven’t even penetrated my tunnel, I’ve never let the boys get to third. So yeah, Robert couldn’t be more wrong. My only boyfriends live in books, and it’s worked for me so far.

  Oh well.

  It’s not like I could pop out my hymen and show it to him. Sucks to be me, my only proof is stuck deep inside. I try to relax, but my mind spins furiously, unable to fall asleep.

  Because what was it he said about the golddigging? God, no.

  Actually, hell no.

  What kind of woman does he take me for? I would never stoop so low and it’s offensive that he would even accuse me of such a thing. But then I start giggling because his awful words are so far off base that it’s actually laughable.

  God, I really am delirious. A crazy woman locked in a room, screaming like a hyena. It’s like I’m the wife from Jane Eyre, the one burns down the manor.

  But seriously. No matter how tight things get for me financially, marrying someone solely for their bank account isn’t an option. My pride would never let me leech off of another human. I’d much rather struggle with nothing than to let someone have that kind of power over me.

  Besides, I’m not exactly built in the mold of a sugar baby. I’m sure sugar daddies like tanned, long-legged blonde chicks. With my red hair, pale skin and curvy frame, I’m the complete opposite of what they’re looking for.

  And speaking of sugar babies, my thoughts shift immediately to my little sister. Ann-Marie is a lot of things, but I don’t think she’s after some man’s money. She may be fickle and irresponsible, but I don’t think she’d take it that far.

  More likely, she’s just thoughtless. Eighteen and flighty as a bird, Anne-Marie flirts with guys left and right. So she met this Chance Morgan dude, and they think it’s true love after one night. That’s not exactly a crime. I sigh again. Typical Ann-Marie, give her a month and she’d be over it.

  I shake my head again. How in the world are we sisters? How in the world are we even related? We’re opposites, the only similarity our red hair. And even then, my sister’s is a bright strawberry blonde, perfect for getting attention, while mine is more of a chestnut, almost a brown.

  But sisters we are, and not just that, but orphans too. She and I only have each other on this earth, which is really sad. Because I genuinely don’t think my sis is a bad person. Maybe it’s naïve, but I genuinely don’t think Ann-Marie is truly evil and nasty. It’s more that she’s young and self-centered, using her looks to get by.

  So sighing again, I lie back again, trying to relax. My eyes scan the room reflexively. Although this is technically my new prison cell, the digs aren’t too shabby. The place is immaculate, not a single speck of dust coats the furniture.

  And since he dumped me in here, I’ve had the chance to take inventory several times.

  The same warm hues downstairs are also here. Deep reds and oranges remind me of autumn leaves. A large, dark brown dresser sits against the furthest wall. The finishes are antique, complete with cute little pull knobs that you don’t really see around anymore. My entire wardrobe could fit comfortably is just two of the deep drawers.

  In another corner of the room, there’s a beautiful armchair with a footstool situated in front. It would serve as the perfect reading nook for a lazy afternoon.


  Too bad my books are miles away. Being able to escape into a fantasy world would make this situation a little more bearable. Just a little.

  But my focus returns to the intricate designs on the armchair’s fabric. Under different circumstances, I could see myself sitting there enjoying the view from the window. What would it be like to be here with Robert, in a different situation? Me, having a cozy read by the window, before the big man comes home? The alpha sweeping my curvy into my arms, dropping a kiss on my lips before the loving starts? Oh god, it would be fantastic, and my insides shiver, moistening involuntarily.

  But it’s absolutely off-limits. What the hell is wrong with you? the voice in my head screams. He’s your kidnapper, have you forgotten that? You’re trapped because of him, and yet you’re dreaming of sex with this guy? What the hell is wrong with you?

  I bite my lip, flushing. Because of course the voice is right. My thoughts are pure fiction, I really am off the rocker at this point. But still, the fantasy was tempting. What would it be like to kiss him? What would it be like to have that hard body pressed against my own, that massive cock nudging my folds? Oh god, I want it, and throw my head back, moaning a little. I want it desperately, even if it’s wrong.

  Shaking myself awake, I force myself to get with it, staring straight ahead. This is no good, I’m doing myself no favors. So burying all thoughts about Robert deep into the recesses of my mind, I focus on falling asleep again, shutting my eyes and trying to think of nothing.

  But my brain is a traitor.

  Everything would be absolutely perfect if I weren’t here against my will, it hums. Everything would be perfect if Robert were here with me, in bed.

  Jolting awake again, I sit up abruptly. What the hell is wrong with me? The air’s hot, like I’m in a microwave, and I jump out from under the covers. Oh god, oh god, this is so wrong. But I’m burning up, so I do the only thing I can. Undressing, I get naked as fast as possible, curves bouncing everywhere here and there, and then nestle down in between the sheets, my skin sliding smoothly against the cool cotton. Hmm, this is so much better already. My temp’s going down and I nuzzle down into the fabric, the soft material grazing my lady parts and skating over my nips, tingling pleasantly.

  But the thing is, I’m tired. Despite the scary events of the day, I’m bone tired and mentally drained, exhausted to the point of dropping dead. Head resting against the sea of pillows, I try to relax enough to force my body to sleep again.

  Sleep, my brain commands. Sleep, Anna.

  Still coaching myself, another deep breath escapes my lungs. Now the room is blanketed in inky, midnight darkness and I desperately try to relax. I want to forget everything, to drift off on a cloud of unconsciousness but everything’s ruined when he pops into my brain. Again.

  Robert.

  Piercing blue eyes fill my mind’s eye. That broad chest, the bronzed skin, and perfect, washboard abs, crowd my thoughts.

  Tearing my eyes open, I try to shake it off.

  You are NOT daydreaming about the monster who snatched you up in broad daylight and tossed you in the trunk of his car like unwanted garbage. Just stop, Anna, stop.

  Disgusted with myself, I make another effort to fall asleep. Give me exhaustion if it means I’m free from those dangerous fantasies of him.

  But instead, disobedient thoughts bubble up with the memory of that deep, growling voice. In an instant, the booming sound of his voice surrounds me, dominating all of my attention and sending unfamiliar pulses of pleasure to places I don’t want to name.

  Waves of awareness shoot through my body, making me hate myself.

  This is wrong, Anna. So, so wrong.

  Under the sheets, my thighs clench together deliciously. Oh god, I shouldn’t. This shouldn’t be happening. These sensations are bad enough, but of course it doesn’t end there. As if I need just one more reason to feel guilty, memories keep flooding my mind.

  Tempting images of Robert’s tall, rigid body join the effort to drive me insane. His hulking frame towering over my curvy body. Covered in nothing but solid muscle, he has the appearance of someone who works out like a lumberjack. And despite his dominating presence and thick corded muscles, he’s got a masculine grace that makes my mouth water.

  Knowing that he’s somewhere in this small cabin, my nipples harden rebelliously. Shifting uncomfortably, I blame my body’s reaction on the chill of the cabin air and pull the sheets even tighter against me.

  Yeah right.

  That doesn’t explain the wetness pooling in my pussy. Throbbing pressure radiates from my core and courses through my limbs, refusing to let me rest peacefully even for a second. A heavy weight settles in the pit of my stomach, making me quiver like an addict in need of a fix.

  Count some got damn sheep, Anna. This is insane.

  Eyes squeezed shut, I beg my memory to take a break for once. I don’t want to think of him. Please, god, just let me sleep, let me think of anything else but him.

  But I can’t, my mind and body won’t obey, images of Robert keep flitting through my mind, tantalizing me, tempting me. And shifting to my side, the sticky wetness coating my thighs can’t be ignored.

  I drop one hand under the sheet and cup my aching mound. I’ve never felt this aroused before.

  The dull ache I sometimes feel when reading my countless collection of romance novels has nothing on this raw, primal need to rub up against something, anything, hopefully a hard dick. Hopefully a massive pole connected to the man downstairs right now.

  Oh god, oh god, what’s going on?

  I can’t believe I’m feeling this way over a male who clearly despises me. He said it himself, I’m a gold digging whore. So why can’t I block out his intoxicating scent, those beautiful blue eyes or the way it had felt to be pressed up against his powerful body when he carried me up to the room earlier?

  The hard muscles of his thighs had flexed powerfully as he transported us both up the steep flight of stairs. It was like my curvy body was light to him, that I weighed nothing but a feather.

  Not once had he struggled with me heaving in his arms, and I have no idea why that makes me so hot. His body is capable and strong. And he’d proved that more than once today, throwing me around.

  Stop it, Anna. Just go to sleep already.

  On my stomach, I snatch my hand away from my pussy as if it’s on fire. It aches, drenched with need, begging to be stroked.

  But tough luck.

  There’s no way in hell, I’m going to touch myself thinking of Robert. No matter how undeniably sexy he is, the alpha’s off limits in the fantasy department. It would be wrong, so fucked-up and twisted and I’d never be able to look at myself again.

  I refuse to let myself be attracted to the dangerous alpha. He kidnapped you, the voice in my mind reminds helpfully. Fall asleep to that.

  Taking another deep breath, I shut my eyes, stiff as a board in the queen-size. And finally, after what feels like hours, I slip into fitful slumber. But images of my brooding captor still fill my mind. What would it be like to be with him? What would it be like to have Robert whisper naughtily in my ear, weighing my breasts in his hands? What would it be like to feel his cock deep in my folds, owning me every which way? Oh god … but I’m damned for sure.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Robert

  Sleep just won’t fucking come. That redheaded Jezebel has me under her spell, and whenever I close my eyes hoping to fall asleep, vivid images of Anna’s gorgeous body taunt me. Shit, I dream of burying my face between those big, creamy boobies, of licking those tight pink nipples. I wanna grab her ass and flip her over before ducking my mouth in that sweet slit. I wanna hear her scream with lust, crying out my name before I feed her my dick, edging it in inch by inch. Because oh yeah, the redhead will like it, I’ll give her the best cock she’s ever tasted.

  Twisting and turning, I thrash around in my sheets, struggling to settle down. I grab at the cotton, the smooth slide unbearable against my skin. Shit, what’s going on? Usu
ally I’m dead to the world within minutes, no need to count sheep.

  But tonight was different and I didn’t catch a fucking wink. By five a.m. it was hopeless. Throwing the blankets off with a snarl, I stalk to the bathroom and jumped into an arctic cold shower to get rid of my morning wood. It didn’t help one bit, that stiffie refusing to back down.

  Fuck! Wrenching off the shower, I get dressed, stalking into the kitchen for coffee. A thick, nasty brew is the only way I’ll make it through the day.

  The coffee’s burbling on the stove, and I glance at the clock. Shit, it’s six a.m. What the fuck? Anna needs to wake the hell up. Why suffer through this agony alone? There might as well be two sleep deprived people in this house. After all, how does that old saying go? That’s right, misery loves company, and she’s the prisoner, not me.

  But everything goes haywire when I storm into her room. Jerking the door open, I want to yell and roar, to jolt that curvy body awake. But instead, no words come to my mouth.

  Because under the crisp white sheets, Anna is sleeping peacefully as a shaft of morning light highlights her beautiful form. Aww, fuck she’s more than beautiful, she’s fucking gorgeous. Her breasts rise and fall gently, the huge mounds so soft and delicious, the curve of her hips like a smooth racetrack. Fuck me!

  And at that moment, my prisoner startles awake, sitting up in bed. Whaddya know, but the sheet slides off her shoulders to give me a front row view of those big, rounded tits. They’re heavy and irresistible in the bright morning light.

  Speechless for a moment, my eyes won’t leave this perfect part of her anatomy. Inside my pants, my dick goes hard, twitching painfully. But there’s no sense in letting her know. I spot a towel nearby and fling it at her rudely.

  “Get dressed!” comes my roar.

  She hurriedly pulls the towel over the front of her body, scrambling now.

  “What are you doing?” she cries. “Why are you here?”