by Jax Hart
I hear him stroking himself in his hands, making guttural dirty moans, as he touches me with his hand, climaxing onto my bare stomach.
I’m paralyzed as his sticky release pools, slowly dripping. He leaves it, no doubt getting some perverted satisfaction on having his seed on me.
He always loved that. He would say it was a mark that I was his.
I’m not going to survive him again.
He made me a prisoner on his yacht but now he’s trapped me inside my own body. It’s hard to fight, I’m weak and the drugs are strong.
My hands try to move to find the sheet and clean myself.
“Little bird? Did you just try to move? I knew you could hear me—feel me and come back.”
My fingers clench wishing to punch the smirk he’s surely wearing right off his smug face.
But I can’t do anything but fall prey to my sated body and sleep.
CHRISTOS
“WILL SHE FEEL THIS?”
“Again, it’s tough to say. It’ll only be a strong pinch, either way.”
Disgusted with this fool of a doctor who practically salivated at the smell of sex permeating the small cabin, I try damn hard not to drop kick him out of the trap door beneath the floor at 36,0000 feet.
Beckett smirks at the ripped silk gown covered in dry cum on the floor. I pulled the sheet up over my sleeping dove not wanting him to see one inch of skin that belongs to me.
He holds the tracker in his gloved hand getting ready to inject the chip into the underside of her wrist. She moans as he places it. Triumph spreads through me like a creeping virus.
She’s mine.
Won’t be able to run anywhere I can’t track.
It’s over—feeling like I can let my heart beat again. I leave her to rest. She’s going to need it because as soon as she recovers—her re-training begins.
The plane starts making a slow descent. I flew her across the world, to a place where she has no friends.
Opening the door to the flight deck, I sit in the co-pilot’s chair checking the gages, speed and altitude.
“Thirty minutes till landing, sir.”
I nod placing the headset on.
Thirty minutes until I land two birds—my dove and the plane, in one tiny spot deep in the forest along a piece of rugged coastline.
My mother’s estate outside of Exmoor National Park in England is the perfect place to hide my stolen pet. It’s tucked along the rugged bluffs and bordered by miles of forests and nature preserves while being only a three-hour drive to London. No outsiders ever venture this far, preferring Cornwall, the Lake District or Wales.
I nod to the pilot, taking over and continue our descent. Being one of the world’s greatest assholes has its perks. I’ve been just as obsessed with work as I am with my little dove’s body. Hell, I was personally invited to be a guest speaker at an international economic summit. But I passed choosing instead to recover my lost pet.
My eyes used to devour numbers and financial statements; reading them like a menu. I submerged myself in numbers and theory. It’s how I always survived time until her.
I’d be happy. If I was still taking my meds.
But satisfied is just as good.
Spending time, mending my broken bird is just what I need. Our sweet chaos tames the beast in me. Our wild love gives my mind clarity. She brings out the best in me, while my touch slowly kills her more and more. Day by day. But I can’t stop. Can’t stay away from her. And if she does die, I’ll follow her to heaven and drag her back to hell with me. For there’s no doubt that’s where I’ll go and I’m not spending eternity without her.
Even if she burns with me. I’m selfish. Too selfish to ever let her go. After we land and taxi down the runway, I unbuckle my belt eager to take my dove to her new home. My security guard in England, Boris, has my car waiting for us as I descend from the plane with a still unconscious Jessie in my arms. It’s late as we pass through the gates and I carry her straight upstairs to bed.
“Wake-up, glykía mou. I’ll be damned if I let you escape tonight. I don’t want to spend another night hard and lonely with nothing but the ghost of moonlight hitting the empty side of the bed next to me. Tonight I want to watch it spill over your breasts, your thighs and hear you moan as I hum against your clit, spread your thighs and take back what’s mine.”
But my sleeping beauty still refuses to return to me. A smirk played across my lips, stubborn dove. She loves fighting me at every turn and this is no different.
I press a soft kiss to her lips, “Sleep well, little one.”
I sigh, walking downstairs to my office. She has no friends in England. Safely tucked away in the remote English countryside, the only friends she’ll find are field mice and the barn cat. If I let her go outside.
I wake up disoriented. My hands are bound behind my back. I’m huddled in a ball wearing nothing but a short T-shirt that I’ve never seen before.
He found me.
He’s reduced me to nothing but a helpless girl dying for him. I knew the only way to survive this—survive him was to get away from it all.
I’ve fought him every step of the way. But as much as my mind never wanted this, my body burns, yearns for just one stroke, one touch of his finger on my body.
He makes my blood sing, my body quake and quiver, but my mind and heart—well they are on the endangered species list, on the verge of turning to dust and dying forever.
I’d cry if I could. But I’ve done that already. There’s nothing left but an abyss where all my pain is. I’ve been hollowed out into a shell. All the good parts of me he took, leaving me in ruin.
He claims I still have more to give.
But I don’t.
There’s nothing left of me to give but the pulse of my beating heart and my last breath. Part of me wonders if he’ll take those too.
The sound of old wood creaking outside my door alerts me. Someone’s opening the door.
“Hello, love.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not your love,” I spit back. The smell of his sweet cigar wafts towards me.
I shudder.
I fear this man but crave the things he does to me. I scream, jerking forward trying to kick him, knowing what’s coming… punishment.
“I’ve warned you what would happen if you ran.” He bends down, I feel his eyes and breath on me.
To this day I still don’t understand, how me—ordinary Jessie from San Diego, caught the eye of Christos. One of the most powerful men in Europe, the world no doubt. He’s cultured, educated, rich, handsome as the devil and much to my shame—a man whose tastes I’m addicted to as much as I’m repulsed by.
“You missed me.”
“You wish,” I flinch, trying to jerk my chin out of his grasp.
His fingers stroke my cheek as they caress my face before delving through my thick hair. Then he slides off the bed, opening the thick curtains that blocked the light.
Blinking, my eyes adjust. Where the hell am I? From where I am perched high upon a stately oversized king bed, all I see through the windows on the other side of the room are miles of fields with trees dappled among them. Leaves half-green, half-bold color barely clings to their stems.
“My parents will look for me.”
“No. No they won’t. You left your phone behind, remember? You’ve sent them dozens of texts and pics of the Oasis. See, they think your services are bought and paid for, sweeting. Now, it’s time to get to work… I’ve missed you,” he admits jerking my chin, forcing me to meet his lustful gaze.
I can’t answer. I’ve missed him too. He’s heaven and hell, together in his six-foot-three muscular frame.
But as much as my body rejoices at the feel of his hands on me. I know the first chance I get, I’m going to run again and this time he won’t find me. My face heats, “It wasn’t a dream was it?”
“No, agápe. My touch brought you back…you knew me. I just about killed that malaka for dosing your sedatives so high.
; “I hate you. Don’t think I’ll ever forget how cruel you were…,” I break off refusing to allow him to see my tears. “I won’t ever sleep with you again. Not after you… and …her.”
“That’s okay, little one. There’re many ways I will take my pleasure from you. But don’t doubt me—” He holds my chin firmly, forcing me to meet his black eyes, “you will wholly belong to me again.”
I wait for the indignant anger to come. But it never did. Instead, numbness spread over me. Blanketing me like a fine cloud.
There was no use fighting him when he was like this—insane. Without reason. Or remorse.
His fingers trail down my cheek before he suddenly leaves the room as quickly as he came. I’m confused why he left me unchained or tethered to the bed. I wait for a few minutes, thinking maybe this was some sort of test. My eyes scan the ceiling; the book cases on the walls for the blinking red record light of a camera.
I didn’t know he was watching me last time.
But I should have.
When we were out on the ocean, battling to survive the storm, I bit his shoulder as he made me come, my eyes flew wide when I saw the screen next to my palm. It was my cell. He was watching me then… and I knew he probably was the whole time I was on Oasis. It angered me, how smug he must’ve been as he watched me touch myself…whisper his name as my own hands wrought climax after climax from my needy body.
I tiptoe to the door, hands hesitating, suspended a breath away from the handle. I hold my breath as it opens easily.
The hallway is empty.
The large house silent.
What kind of sick game is he playing now?
My stomach rolls as I near the staircase. I’m weak. I’ve been weak for weeks but just as I started to climb out of the pit he dropped kicked me in; I fall back down.
Tears threaten, as my throat closes.
I barely survived him once.
How can I again?
I need to escape again. Dig deep and find the missing girl I was before. She has to still exist, somewhere. My very life depends on it. Because if he asks, it won’t be long before I give that to him too.
His deep voice floats up the stairs. He’s speaking English instead of his native Greek. My feet are bare, I know I’m too physically weak to get far even if I manage to get to a door.
“Jessie?”
I sway as the stairs swim in my vision.
“Theos,” he bites out. “You need to stay in bed. You’re still weak from the sedatives and lack of food.”
I’m momentarily stunned that he used my name and not some sickly-sweet endearment. “Where are we? How long was I out?”
He picks me up, carrying me back. “Three days. Theos, you need to eat. You’re skin and bones.”
“It’s your fault. All of it.”
He places me gently on his bed and my hand pulls back, smacking him across the face. “That was for drugging me. How dare you? Especially after what happened to me in Capri?”
“It was only something to make you sleep. It wasn’t laced with Ecstasy. You responded to my touch all on your own, agápe. That wasn’t coerced. Good. Your fire is still lit. Burn for me my dove. As I still do for you.”
His smug smile sickens me. He’s pleased I hit him. I’m so stupid for not seeing it before, he likes it when I fight him. But I’m so tired, weak as a kitten and can only hope he doesn’t try to touch me right now.
I sicken myself.
I hate who I’ve become. I remember Freya’s words to me. It’s just as she warned—I’ve lost myself to his sick desires, needing the high of his deviant seduction. I often dream I’m back in that room. Pleasuring Dimitri as Christos pleasures me. I used to sit up in my corner room above Yaya’s café, pleasuring myself, pinching my clit, slapping my own breasts; trying in vain to recreate the high of his hands on me. I hated how he made me feel both repulsed and turned on at the same time.
I cried after.
Hating myself as I lay sated after making myself come to the memories of our sick love.
A soft knock on the door has him moving off the bed. A plump woman carries in a tray that has my mouth watering as the delicious aromas waft towards me.
“Here you go miss.”
She sets the tray table across my lap, “I’m Mrs. Fitz. And I’m loyal to Mr. Devillo. So, don’t try anything smart with me.”
She’s not fucking around either. There’s something almost mean in her gaze as she sizes me up.
“Make sure she eats.” He nods to the staunch, pudgy woman as his dark eyes touch my face before he leaves.
Her beady eyes watch me. Making sure I do as I’m told. My hands pick up a slice of buttered toast. I nibble at it while sipping hot breakfast tea.
“What’s your story?”
She doesn’t answer and won’t look me in the eyes.
“I don’t want to be here. He’s kidnapped me. If you don’t call the authorities…I’ll make sure they charge you as an accessory when I get free of him.”
She pursed her lips, then grabbed my wrist hard, “No one is coming to help you.”
“What kind of person are you? Do you know what he does to me?” I drop my toast, jerking my arm free. My other hand places the cup of tea I was holding down so hard, hot liquid sloshes over the rim.
My fingers rub where her fingers gripped me feeling a small bump on the inside of my wrist that I don’t remember having.
“That’s Mr. Devillo’s business. Now shut that mouth of yours and eat. Don’t judge me. You have no idea what he’s done for me. He saved my son’s life. Got him medication that isn’t even approved by the government yet. Gave me a job and pays for my son’s care…as long as I keep my mouth shut; my son lives.” Her small eyes glance over me. “You don’t appear hurt. I didn’t hear you scream. The man’s nursing you back to health as far as I can tell.”
“He’s not a good man. Don’t let his deeds fool you.”
“I don’t care if he’s the devil himself. A mother does what she needs to for her child. Maybe someday you’ll understand that.” She shakes her head, her face a mixture of pain and love momentarily softening her harsh features.
My eyes fall to the tray. Me? A mother? Sharp, longing pierces my heart as I remember a day, a few months earlier where I fell asleep in Christos’ arms dreaming of the pitter patter of little feet. But now, I know that will never happen with him. He’s not the type of man who would be a good father. A child needs love. And love and Christos cannot coexist.
The door clicks firmly as she leaves. I sigh picking up my toast blaming my stupid, foolish heart for cracking wide open for a man who doesn’t deserve one piece.
I’m tired but can’t sleep after sleeping for days. I’m weak as a newborn foal trying to find its legs but somehow I limp to the bathroom where I shower and relieve myself. Wrapped in a warm fluffy towel, I hesitate seeing boxes on the bed and Mrs. Fritz unpacking them.
“Where are my things?”
She points to the chair by the window. My old backpack sits on the expensive cream chair sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s tattered, frayed, stained with engine grease and oil. But it’s mine, carrying familiar things inside. And that is keeping me grounded, sane for the time being. I’m still Jessie Montgomery. I need to never let go of that. No matter how hard he tries to make me.
“Dinner is served at six, sharp. Mr. Devillo will be expecting you in the formal dining room. This isn’t America,” she pauses to look down her nose at me, “we dress for dinner here. Your ratty jeans and jumpers won’t do.”
“I don’t own any jumpers.”
“Never mind,” she mutters, “wear dress slacks, a skirt, anything I hang on the left side of your closet. You do know how to match colors and fabrics?”
“Of course. There was an entire course dedicated to that at finishing school.”
She pauses, thinking I’m serious, before her face prunes. “Bloody Americans.”
I flip her the bird as I stride towards my backpack, pullin
g my leggings and my Chargers T-shirt out. It’s wrinkled and smells of flour and spices. I drop my towel, hugging myself as the familiar smells of Yaya’s café surround me.
“And do, fix that dreadful tangle of hair,” she shakes her head as she finishes placing new clothes away. Clothes that must have cost a small fortune. What a waste. I’ll never wear them. And Christos can go back to hell. There’s a better chance he won’t eat alone there than in the dining room downstairs.
He drugged me.
Kidnapped me, it’s worse than before. Before I didn’t know what he was capable of. And I’m afraid to find out he’s probably capable of so much more…the murky depths of who he is, too far down for even me to see.
But I won’t delude myself into thinking my love can bring him out of the dark. I’m not that “foolish girl” anymore, the one who sobbed at his feet, begging him not to cast her out.
I wish I had left him when I had the chance. Before he took me to Dimitri’s. But deep in my bones, I knew it was all bullshit. He had no intentions of letting me leave. He was bluffing. Twisting the truth in ways so warped, he had me believing I was in the wrong. And I fell for it. Fell for his DOM shit, despite telling him I wouldn’t. All he is; is a beautiful shell. A perfect façade but past that he’s nothing. Nothing at all. It doesn’t matter how he tries to get me to submit to him. He’ll never have me, naked and begging under him.
The only way that will happen is with the help of drugs lowering my walls. And I’ll fight tooth and nail before ever letting anyone drug me again. But right now, I’m too weak to do anything but sit in the chair by the window and dream of the life I could’ve had if I never met Christos Devillo.
CHRISTOS
SHE’S LATE.
The antique clock ticks above the fire blazing in the hearth. My butler, George, stands at attention by the door. “Shall I fetch her?”
“No. I’ll do it.”
Throwing down my napkin I stand, noticing the soup going cold. Steam rose from the tasty broth as George brought each in, but now they sit, going cold, congealing.