It had somehow gotten out of control.
Fuck it.
I pressed my hand to the biometric lock on my lab and looked into the retina scanner, summoning the willpower I’d learned to have in my life. Lack of willpower got you killed. In all things, be under control.
I knew, then, somewhere deep down inside, that there was more to me wanting Natalia to submit to me than just complying with my promises. I knew that I wanted to make her mine in a different kind of way.
I just chose to ignore it. I was under control, because that’s who I was.
The door opened and I went into mechanical mode. Machines don’t make mistakes, and machines don’t make errors in judgment.
It didn’t take long to survey my supplies and catalog my level of skills to know I didn’t have the right skill set for analyzing these things. Mechanically, I contacted Dr. Reeler through our secure communication channel—by leaving a draft of a message on an encrypted email server.
I would have to wait.
Minutes passed—and I knew full well that it might take hours for Reeler, who was on the other side of the world, to check his messages. The climate in the workshop was controlled to a tenth of a degree for humidity and temperature, but I felt tiny beads of sweat forming on my forehead. I felt them first, and then traced the source of them, only to discover I was still thinking of Natalia.
Natalia’s defiant smile. Natalia’s bubble gum, Natalia’s clumsy dancing. Natalia’s mouth, and what it would feel like to push her to her knees and make her open it for me, how hot that pink-red plum would feel when it closed around me. Natalia’s sweet pussy juices, which I could still smell as if she were here in the room. Making her well up like a swollen river by disciplining her, until she went limp like she had in my arms, and then sinking into her flesh while she bent over to let me have her any way I wanted.
The thought never really materialized in my mind as a fully formed idea—just a feeling, a fleeting fantasy.
I wanted her on her knees, her legs spread, her chest against my mattress, taking me deep inside that wet pussy, and everywhere else I thought of, not because I made her, which was easy enough to do.
I wanted her to do it because she wanted to.
I stared at the feed in Natalia’s room for a full thirty minutes.
I had a moment of relief when I saw her from beneath the covers, obviously alive and well. A warm, sweet feeling—the very kind I have been at pains to avoid my whole life—spilled over me, kicking up pangs from my cock to my chest. I was weak for only a moment, before I swept her away.
Chapter Seven
Natalie
There was nothing to do in the stupid room, which pissed me off at first. Then it made me panic.
I investigated the room, but I tried to do it surreptitiously. A guy like this, I figured, probably had cameras all over the place.
There really wasn’t any way out. The window wouldn’t break, that much was obvious. The locks on the windows and the door were handprint scanners that blared ‘Access Denied’ when I got the nerve to try them.
I had a needle, and that was it. So finally, I lay down on the bed, because there really wasn’t much else to do besides sleep. I was hungry, but I wasn’t going to let him know that.
It was then that I had the time to think about what was actually happening.
My thighs were still slick from all the juices that his touch had produced. They slipped over each other as I turned on my side, and the throb in my pussy, which had never gone away, came roaring back to life as I took stock of what had just happened.
What the fuck was wrong with me? This guy was a total fucking stranger, who had marched into Kitty Bang like he owned the place and everyone in it—
—cold, steely gaze, hard muscle, dark tattoos, the set jaw of man who is very used to getting what he wants, and he wanted everything—
Stop it.
—the arrogant fucking bastard, and then of all things, spanks me—
—with hands that could break, twist, immobilize, and yet caress—
Stop it.
Which is, okay, technically, not okay. And then he puts his finger right on—
—with fingers that knew exactly how to play me like an instrument...
The ache in my pussy was so intense, I didn’t overthink it. My fingers slipped into the wetness—I had never, ever been this wet before—and I summoned the memory of his finger sliding right over my clit like he knew every nerve of my body. I thought of his firm hand on my ass, and then I remembered the shape of his cock, the heaviness of it against my body, and imagined the way it would feel stretching me open and filling me up, while he stared down at me with those icy blue eyes...
“What do you say, Natalia?” he would growl.
“Thank you, sir.”
I turned my face into the pillow and bit it as my body spasmed and an orgasm shattered me. My legs were soaked with my juices, and my thighs trembled for minutes afterward, as I sweat into the sheets.
Jesus, I was going fucking crazy.
And what if he had seen all of that?
My cheeks felt hot as I reached up for my hair, to push the damp strands from my face.
I almost felt his fingers tugging the strands from my cheek, the wet lengths snaking over my neck, his hot breath against my skin as he whispered:
“I’m not done with you yet.”
I sat up.
Fucking Stockholm syndrome. Isn’t that what it was called?
I needed to get a grip.
I swiped the sheets around me, just in case he was watching, and then I stomped into the bathroom. It took some doing, but I figured out how to get the water on.
Okay. It did not help my Stockholm situation at all that this was the best fucking bathtub I’d ever imagined, let alone seen. It was like a small pool. At some point—I didn’t know how, or care—I turned on the bubbles. Jets of water came out of the concave seat and massaged me everywhere.
That included right on my sore ass, which at first was too tender, and then started to feel good, and then finally, got me all heated up again.
I moved, dunking my head. I stared up at the ceiling.
Then, after floating for a bit, I sat up and let my arms wade in front of me.
“Okay, Nat. Get your shit together,” I whispered to myself.
One: this guy was a kidnapper, an obvious bad guy. Really bad, if he made that fat-necked thug Andrej tremble like a little baby.
As fun as that had been to watch, and as fun as it might have been to have him raking his hungry eyes over my body... as fun as it might have been to imagine this guy pushing me to my knees and boring a hole through me with his blue eyes while I took every inch of his cock into my mouth...
What the fuck. I didn’t even really like doing that.
For anyone else...
Natalie, get the fuck back on track.
Okay...as fun as that might all be, it was all fantasy. He was a bad guy, a very bad guy, and I needed to get away from him.
Which led me to... why the hell I was here to begin with. He had let me go. So what had happened since I last remembered, and now, that made this freak show pick me up and lock me in this room with an IV? Why would he let me go and then kidnap me?
I lowered my face into the warm water until my eyes were level with the water’s surface.
Why would he want to give me ten thousand dollars and tell me to get out of town?
I had never even had time to think about that in full.
Try as I might, I couldn’t think of a single fucking reason someone would do that. Not for me. Especially not some hot bad guy I didn’t even know.
Okay. So let’s say I could convince him I didn’t do drugs, and that I’d get out of town and stop working at Kitty Bang Bang. Would he let me go?
I rose from the water to breathe, and then lowered myself back down.
Seemed unlikely, if you went by TV shows and shit like that. He seemed like some kind of criminal element, and
I’d seen his face.
Panic knifed right through my heart again, and I had to rise up to take a few shallow breaths and get myself under control.
Okay. So... I guess if this guy was going to kill me, he was going to kill me.
Then why hadn’t he just killed me to begin with?
I shuddered. Maybe he was a twisted serial killer fuck, and he was going to torture me to death.
That was a terrifying thought, but for some reason, I just couldn’t get myself too hyped up about it. This guy just didn’t give off that kind of vibe. Also, I felt like a truly demented serial killer would have tied me to a table or something by now.
Maybe he just wanted to do really bad things to me sexually first.
I closed my eyes, a little disappointed in myself for having the slightest pang of desire about that idea.
Plan time, I thought.
If this guy was a killer, I was going to have try to fight back, which didn’t seem very hopeful, but I wasn’t going to let him off that easy.
If he wasn’t... and all he wanted was for me to promise not to go back to Kitty Bang Bang, then it seemed like the best idea to just convince him that that was what I was going to do. I would just... do whatever he wanted me to... and then I would get out of here as fast as my little legs would carry me. Maybe he’d give me money, maybe he wouldn’t, but when you’re facing death by serial killer, an option like that doesn’t seem too terrible.
And then...
My heart fell.
And then, what?
I would go to the police, because I couldn’t just leave. I would have to report this crazy psycho, because I couldn’t just obey him. I had Lucy to think of, and there was no way I was screwing her over.
I closed my eyes.
I was a bad liar. I had been all my life. It was a really a problem if you lived where I did and worked with the people I worked for.
So when this guy made me promise I would be good, blow town, and not go to the cops... was I going to be able to lie convincingly?
My chest felt like it was slowly filling with lead.
Fuck. I hoped so.
Chapter Eight
Natalie
I didn’t know how much time passed, but however long it went on, I started to get hungry as hell.
I quenched my thirst by drinking water from the tap at the sink in the bathroom. After all, if there was one positive thing you could say about this place, it was that it was clean.
I started to get bored, and then I started to panic again. What if this crazy fucker had left me in here to die?
But just as I was starting to lose it, because the window I couldn’t break had gone dark, and I was starting to have even worse thoughts about slowly starving to death in that room, the door clicked again, and there he was.
The smell of food was the first thing that hit me, and it was practically orgasmic. I closed my eyes and reminded myself that this jerk was probably going to poison me. So I wasn’t going to eat that...
I opened my eyes.
Lobster? Was he fucking kidding me?
“I don’t eat seafood,” I said, lying about as unconvincingly as I have ever done.
He pushed the cart into the room and closed the door behind him. “That’s fine,” he said plainly, and removed the lids from several plates, the silver cover and all—to reveal that there was steak, chicken, and some kind of really fancy pasta in a bowl. And salad, and fancy-ass potatoes and sides that I couldn’t identify but knew were... really pricey.
He didn’t elaborate, but there wasn’t any need to.
My stomach, doing me no favors, growled slightly.
He opened the door and retrieved a basket from the hallway.
“Clothing. An e-reader with one thousand popular titles. A computer with preloaded movies—”
“How long are you going to keep me here?” I interrupted. My stomach growled again, which made me angry.
I regretted asking him this almost as soon as I had: my bottom burned with the memory of his discipline and I could hear the defiance in my voice. It hadn’t been my plan, I reminded myself. My plan was to play nice and get out of here.
But Mystery Man had a weird reaction to this question. A strange look flashed across his face, and then he closed his eyes.
Almost like he was counting to ten, dealing with an unruly child.
He set the basket on the bed.
And then, without a word, he turned and opened the door.
“Look,” I said, getting up from the bed, moving toward him, trying to show him I really could play along nicely. “I didn’t mean to sound—I just... want to know.”
And then, to my complete and total horror, my eyes welled up instantaneously with actual tears. I was thinking about Lucy, how I needed to help her, and that was right at the tip of my tongue, but then I decided not to give this guy any more ammunition than he already had, if he really was the sadistic bastard I thought he was.
He lifted a hand toward my face—not so much like a slap, more like a he was going to touch my cheek.
Then he jerked his hand away and growled, “You’ll leave when I say you can. Now eat something.”
He put a hand on the panel outside the door to shut it.
“And no antics,” he added with a snarl. “Or else.”
The door slid shut in my face.
“I’m not hungry!” I whisper-screamed at the door.
My stomach growled right after that.
I wiped my tears away impatiently and whirled around. First things first; I wanted clothes. I wanted my clothes but I guessed whatever this jerk gave me would be better than nothing.
Unless it was really fucked up.
The basket was expensive and hand-woven, which I dementedly admired for a moment as a nice accessory to my dream living room.
Folded neatly on top of the gleam of a laptop and the colored cover of an e-reader, which I recognized but didn’t really know how to use, were piles of garments that gave off that new-store, rich-person smell. The one in stores where you’re pretty sure you’re contaminating the air of by being in them.
I pulled things out one by one.
A nightshirt—pretty, blue, not especially sexual, expensive.
My face went red as I pulled out several matching bra and panty sets—black, red, and white. They felt like silk. They were exactly my size.
A dress, black, simple, cocktail.
And jeans—the really expensive kind, torn and faded in all the right places.
Shirts—expensive, made of soft material that glided over my fingers.
I dug through them, found a pair of yoga pants and a long-sleeved shirt (this was in case the opportunity to escape came up in the next few hours) and, tempted to try on all of the clothes but not wanting to be an idiot who played dress-up for her serial killer, I took out the computer and Kindle and tossed the clothes back into the basket.
Mystery Man Al had really good taste and they were classy as fuck, and all looked like they’d fit exactly.
I let out a huge sigh and sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the wheelie tray of food.
Steak, lobster, chicken.
I folded my arms.
My stomach growled.
I had eaten lobster once, and it was some leftover shit from the Russians. I had also eaten caviar that time, and I hated it.
But the lobster was... well, fucking delicious.
This one had been prepared some way that a really great-looking sauce was poured over it.
My mouth watered.
I grabbed a roll and took a huge bite of it. I figured he couldn’t poison bread, and I didn’t even like rolls that much so I’d be fine with a few bites, just to get rid of the hunger pains.
But I was wrong, because that roll was half butter, and it melted in my mouth and made my eyes pop out of my head.
I crammed it into my mouth—very un-ladylike, but hey, if you’re about to be eaten alive by a serial killer, might as well eat like a pig bef
orehand if you want to.
I then stared at the plates, as the aroma of food filled the room and made my stomach bite me from the inside.
I went through the pros and cons in my mind.
Pros: I would get to eat the food. And not be hungry. And possibly have more strength to fight off this guy or run away...
I laughed derisively at myself. Who was I kidding? This guy was made of steel and a little muscle.
Cons: I would be giving in to him.
I wasn’t sure why that burned me so much. But it did. Two things were at play—one, that I didn’t want to look like a pushover for some reason, and two, that I wanted him to believe me when I finally said I was broken and would do what he asked.
If that’s where any of this was going. He could also be trying to knock me out so he could cut me up into little pieces.
I folded my arms and stared at the food.
Then I turned around and lay down on the bed with the Kindle in front of me, to figure out how the hell that thing worked.
Chapter Nine
Alaric
After getting myself back under control—at no small expense, and no small effort—I made that little brat some food she couldn’t resist. I made some for myself, too.
It was easy enough to push it out of my mind that I was enjoying cooking for her.
But then, she started with the fucking waterworks.
Women have cried in front of me so many times I could spend the next year counting it off for someone, and I am—was—immune to it. Nothing gets through to me, which is just the way I like it.
Scratch that; it’s not only the way I like it, it’s the way it has to be. In my line of work, having someone tug at your heartstrings causes unprofessional decisions to be made. And I am a professional.
But when she started it up, and those big blue eyes of hers started leaking, that same infuriating, enraging, pain-in-the ass sensation I had felt earlier started clawing at my chest.
Fucking brat. I don’t need this.
I wanted to bend her over right then and there, and fuck my cum into her until she was overflowing; to get her to lie down for me and take it and lose her power over me; to make her cry for real because I was stretching her open with my cock and taming her ass with my thickest belt.
His for the Taking Page 5