“I don’t.”
“Well, that’s a lie if ever I’ve heard one. Don’t worry, we’ll teach you to tell the truth.”
“What?” My bottom lip trembles, but I take a deep breath, feeling my lungs smart as they expand against him. My ribs creak, my heart jumps, wondering if it will have to prepare to beat for the last time again. “Cooper, I don’t understand.”
“You will. All will become clear, my love.”
My love? He’s fucking crazy!
“I have a fiancé,” I cry, kicking my legs and wriggling to force him to free me. “I have a family. I need to go home!”
“You are home. With me. You’re home with me.”
No. No! I cry out in a scratchy timbre that tells me to be careful, and shake my head violently.
“If I leave you here, you’re fucked. I suggest you calm down before it ends too soon.”
I freeze, hanging limply over his shoulder. I won’t give up fighting, I’ll fight against whatever he has planned until I no longer have the choice to battle, but I need to know where we’re going. I need to know what he plans to do, so I can rock him to his core and watch him fail.
He reaches the end of the corridor and ascends the stairs, his fingers flexing against my legs until I know I’m bruised. I open my eyes when we get to the top; the light is dimmer, warmer, my surroundings soft and welcoming. I’m in his home. The cappuccino-coloured walls make me crave coffee, the deep mahogany sideboards we walk past spiking my curiosity. He has vases, hundreds of books, sculptures and ringbinders of God knows what lined up on these sideboards and I want to explore every one, figure this freak out. We pass through another room, the same décor following us and telling me it’s okay to feel comfortable. It’s not okay to be comfortable here. I won’t be staying long. Cooper carries me through the second room, and then a third, stopping when we reach the fourth. A kitchen. It has a country feel to it, duck egg blue walls and lighter wood. There’s a fanlight above that streams sunlight into the room and it gives me a hint of how long I’ve been here. At least overnight.
Cooper reaches a small table in the corner and drops me into a chair. I cry out when my shoulders pull back, sending a shooting pain along my spine.
“Are you thirsty?” he asks, securing me to the back of the chair and stepping up to the sink. “It’s common to be dehydrated after drowning. A little bit like when you’ve been in the pool for too long, you dry out. Water?”
“Water is good,” I say with a nod, watching him. “Don’t spike it.”
He laughs, throwing his head back as he fills a glass with water from the tap. “Drugs aren’t my thing.”
“So what is your thing?”
He turns back to me and stops at the table, taking a fistful of my hair to tip my head back.
“Open.”
My mind seizes up and settles quickly into panic mode, afraid he’s going to drown me again with half a pint of tap water.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
His voice is soft, soothing, encouraging. I genuinely believe he isn’t going to hurt me and my racing mind takes a reprieve as he tips the glass and the first drop of water touches my dry lips. He encourages me to take small sips, swallow past the pain and lubricate my throat to promote healing. He’s a mind fuck. An absolute psycho mind fuck.
“So…?”
“So what?”
“What’s your thing?” I ask him again. “I’m aware I’m probably here to act out some sick fantasy, and I’d like to know what it is.”
“It’s not a fantasy,” he says matter-of-fact.
“So you’ve done this before?”
“Hungry?” he asks, turning and burying his head in the fridge. I’m ashamed to admit I look. I watch the back of his body while he rummages through his stock. “It’s okay to look. You’ll be clawing at it later.”
My breath hitches and I lean forward to lap up some of the water from the glass on the table. I drink like a cat, curling my tongue to act like a bowl and help me rehydrate. Cooper comes into my line of sight, lifting the glass for me and allowing me to take the drink I need.
“I’m not a complete lost cause,” he says, smiling down at me as I look up into his grey-blue eyes and guzzle the water.
“Excuse me for having a hard time believing that,” I snipe when he places the empty glass back down and wipes my mouth with a napkin.
“You will, eventually. When you understand the house rules.”
“What are the house rules?”
“You will eat what I give you, when I give it to you. You will hydrate properly, you will exercise to my routine, and you will commit yourself to me.”
“Why are you taking control of those things?”
He shrugs. “Because I can. Follow my rules and you’ll be rewarded.”
I expect to see emptiness behind his eyes, a lack of empathy and a ‘that’s how it is’ attitude, but what I see is fear. I see a need for control that goes so far beyond being a dominant kidnapper. I’m a fool for wanting to understand it.
“What if I don’t want to be rewarded?”
“You do.” He shrugs again and pulls a cracker from a packet. When he holds it to my mouth, I take a small bite. “It’s human nature to search for a reward. I’ll make you understand, don’t worry.”
“I am worried.” I’ll give him that, let him take a point. I need to keep him talking, let me figure out how to beat him.
“Don’t be.” He trails the backs of his fingers down my cheek. I shiver. “I promise I’ll make the rewards worth it.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I whisper, hating that I nuzzle into his touch. “You don’t know what I want.”
“I know exactly what you want,” he answers, and I don’t doubt it for a second. I hate that I can’t doubt it. Really fucking hate it. I hate it even more when his hand lowers to my knee and he squeezes in a way that makes my womb ache and my already bound legs squeeze tighter together. “I don’t break my promises. Follow my rules and you’ll earn oblivion you never knew existed.”
I nod. I’m nodding. Why am I nodding? I don’t want this. I don’t want to be here with him. I want to go home. I want to see Griffin and Blue. I want to see my parents. I want to see Rob and Mike, and my team.
“The swim meet!” I yell, propelling my body forward and forcing Cooper to hold the chair down to stop it from toppling.
“It went well,” he says. “I wrote the scores down for you. They’re in my office.”
“You…How long have I been here?”
“Five days.”
“Five days!” I panic, taking deep breaths. My damaged lungs punish me and I choke. “My family will be looking for me. Please, Cooper. Please let me go home.”
He doesn’t answer me, but he steps behind me to untie the secondary bindings, gripping my elbow to help me stand.
“I’m going to untie your feet. Run and I’ll shoot you. Another house rule.”
He’s insane. Certifiably insane. How can I get away from him? I look around me as he bends and undoes my legs. The kitchen is bright and open, and the floor to ceiling windows on the far end of the room lead out to what looks like endless greenery. Where am I?
“Herefordshire,” he says, answering my unasked question and standing to face me. He’s a good six inches taller than me and I have to crane my neck to look into his eyes. Rule number one when facing a predator: make eye contact. Show them you’re not afraid.
“How did you get me here?”
“I drove you, of course. Laid you out across the backseats with a blanket.”
“Thank you.” I bow my head, giving him a hint of the submissive woman I know he’s looking for. “For keeping me alive.”
“For now,” he corrects.
“For now.”
“Come on. Let me show you the scores.”
He leads me through the house, via different rooms than the ones he carried me through to the kitchen. Pulling a key from his pocket, he unlocks the door an
d holds it open for me to step in first. My shaky legs carry me slowly, but I enter the room and head straight for the desk.
“Nuh-uh,” Cooper says, gripping my elbow and spinning me round. When I stumble he tosses me and I land on a plush sofa. “Stay away from the desk.”
I nod, realising this is another house rule and wiggle to sit upright.
“Will you tie my hands in front of me?” I ask.
“When you’ve earned it.” He grabs a sheet of paper from his desk and holds it in front of me. “Here are the scores.”
I read them quickly, caring more about the competition at this point than I do my own safety. Connor won the medal, like I knew he would. Ellie took bronze in breaststroke. Ryan, Sam, Louis and Jake took gold in the relay…and then the scores are gone, the page fluttering to the floor face-down.
“I wasn’t done,” I snap, meeting his glare.
Jesus. This guy changes his mood more often than the British weather.
“Now you are,” he says. Then he sits beside me, curls his arm around my shoulders and dives into my neck to inhale my scent. “Mmm, we need to go swimming.”
“I’m not getting in a pool.”
Fear slams into me and I gasp, choking for air as phantom drowning seizes my ability to think clearly.
“What did I say about following my exercise routine?” he asks against my neck, warming me from the outside in. “Are you scared of the water?”
“No,” I lie. “I just don’t want to go. Wait…” The pool. If I go, I might be able to scream for help, find someone to save me. “Maybe a swim is a good idea.”
“Yes.” He nods, agreeing. “I want you to smell like chlorine.”
“Is that why you drowned me?” I ask. “Because you want me to smell like the pool.”
Tipping his head from side to side, Cooper considers answering me…but he doesn’t.
“Let’s go.”
He stands from the sofa, taking me with him and keeping a possessive hold on the inside of my arm. A thrill shoots through me. We’re getting out of the house. We’re going to the pool. We’re going out in public where I can cry for help. Someone will save me. My family will be looking for me and I can find someone to save me.
Cooper turns me to face him and drops to his knees, taking hold of the loose bottoms—bottoms that aren’t mine, but his. I’m wearing his scent. Something flutters in my stomach and I gasp when he yanks them down to my ankle, instructing me to step out of them. I’m naked beneath them and a cold chill licks between my legs, before his warm breath soothes me and ignites me and screws with my head like I want him to screw my womb. Shit. When he stands up, he fists the vest I wore to the pool on Friday night and tears it from me.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, feeling the flush of embarrassment redden my entire body, naked before him.
“Taking you swimming. Let’s go.”
He takes my hand and pushes me out of his office, locking the door behind us before he pulls me towards the front door. I suddenly don’t care that I’m naked, and will be in public. I’m going home.
I’m not going home. Cooper has a fucking pool, his own mini leisure centre in his back garden. Built entirely from glass, I can see every section as he leads me across the grass. The pool is in the centre, blue and sparkling against the sun, and so inviting, despite the fear coursing through me. There’s a gym in the far corner, mats and machinery set up perfectly in line. In another corner, there’s a Jacuzzi, bubbling away and steaming with the promise of warmth my body temperature won’t muster itself, and behind the Jacuzzi is a glass box with a lightwood bench. A sauna.
“Did you think you were going home?” he asks, sensing my disappointment when I realise I’m still trapped.
“No,” I lie, causing a laugh to break from him as he opens the door and leads me inside.
It’s warm, wet heat sticking to my skin and making it clammy. I feel a sudden hunger to get into the water, to sink beneath its depths and let it relax me. Maybe I can make sense of all this when I’m in the pool. Maybe I can clear my mind and figure out what I’m supposed to do. I need to know why he has me here so I can find a way to force him to let me go.
“I will tie your hands in front of you,” he says, leaning down to kiss my bare shoulder and whisper in my ear. “You’ve earned it by attempting to lie to me. But believe that you can’t. You can’t lie to me. And if you run, if you touch me beyond where I place your hands on my body, I won’t squeeze the water out of your lungs again.”
“I understand,” I breathe, swallowing past the painful lump in my throat. “I’ll be good.”
He closes his eyes for a second, allowing my promise to flow through him. There’s a vulnerability to him that tells me my captivation here has more to do with him than it does me. Maybe I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Which means there’s hope. I just have to make him understand I’m not the woman he needs.
“Good girl.”
Turning me to face the water with my back to him, he undoes the rope threaded around my arms until a solitary length of rope binds my hands together. But I can bend my elbows now, and I do, feeling more of the numbness I woke with slip away and grant me a little control of my body.
“Get in the water.”
“But…”
“I said,” he snaps, each word slow and cold. “Get in the water.”
I nod, deciding not to fight this. Not this time. I will find a way to fight. I drop to my knees, twist them beneath me to sit on the side of the pool with the water up to my knees, and I slide in, feeling a slither of relief when my feet touch the floor.
“Now, bring your hands underneath you and bend through the loop. It’ll bring your hands to the front.”
He doesn’t trust me. He knows, without doubt, he could undo the rope completely and retie it, giving me no choice but to let him even if I fight. But he didn’t do that. Again he exposed a weakness. Trust. I have my first weapon and I tuck it in deep inside to keep for later as I duck under the water, curl my legs up and bring my arms under to the front of my body.
“Performed like a professional,” he says, easing into the water behind me. “Good girl.”
I hate that I love those two words. I hate that I love it when he says them to me. I don’t want to be his good girl. But I do. But I don’t. I’m his prisoner. When I turn to face him, I drop my gaze beneath the surface, blinking the water from my eyelashes as I take in his nakedness. He isn’t wearing anything, no trunks to hide the erection pointing in my direction and making me feel disgusting.
“Don’t be ashamed,” he says, sliding towards me. “You can look. I like the way your eyes eat me like your mouth wants to.”
“No,” I say, taking a step away from him and slipping on the tiles. “I don’t use my mouth.”
Not because I don’t want to, but he doesn’t need to know that. Maybe if he thinks I’m a prude little girl, he’ll realise I’m not what he wants, and send me running back to my life.
“Doesn’t mean you don’t want to.”
“I-”
Before I can say anything else, he grabs my shoulder, turns me quickly, and slams me into the edge of the pool. My back bounces off the wall and I lose my footing, but Cooper’s hands on my cheeks hold me still. It’s so much like before and my heart begins to race in terror. Instead of drowning me in the pool, he crushes his lips to mine and drowns me with his taste instead. His mouth is firm and assertive, and the tip of his tongue sneaks out to pry my lips apart. I let him, gasping when he grips my hips, and allowing his tongue to dive in and explore. The scent of chlorine drives me wild, the masculine and relentless smell of Cooper Jennings stealing me from reality. I kiss him back, my bound hands stroking his erection as he grinds it into me. His cock is thick and smooth, hairless, and that kicks me closer to the edge.
Taking hold of my wrists, he bends my elbows and places my hands on his chest.
“Don’t move them,” he murmurs against my lips, making me shudder. “Don’t eve
n flex them.”
I nod. Then I throw my head back and cry out when his hand dives between my legs, his index finger instantly seeking out my clit.
“You might think that the water hides your arousal,” he says, stroking slowly back and forth. “But it doesn’t. I know you’re hot for me, for what you’ve never had…” With a growl, he sinks a finger into me. “A real man who’s not afraid to fuck you until it hurts.”
“No.”
He swallows my protest with a kiss, our lips colliding in anger and conflicting lust. I want to tell him to stop, to cease his command of my body and let me breathe beyond the desire I shouldn’t feel, but I can’t. Two fingers are buried deep, dragging my climax closer to the surface as I try to fight him off and gasp for air. I’m conscious of my hands. I need to come, but I have to stay aware of my hands and resist the urge to punch him, claw at him, force his fingers from me and do it myself so I can avoid the guilt.
“Does it feel good?” he asks, dipping his head to bite my neck. When I feel blood draw to the surface, I moan and close my eyes. “Do you want to come?”
“Yes.”
“So come.”
“I can’t.”
“New house rule,” he growls. “Come when you’re told to come.”
“I can’t. I can’t just come on demand. I’m not a fucking toy.”
“Oh, but you are.” He chuckles, he free hand squeezing my breast until it hurts. “You’re my toy and you will come.” Laughing again, he shakes his head. “On second thoughts, don’t come.”
He picks up the pace, his fingers fucking me until I bruise. His palm rubs my clit and I feel it swell and pulse against his hand as every muscle in my body clenches. He pinches my nipple, dragging his thumb across it as the water laps against us. He takes it in his mouth and bites—hard. I cry out, clenching my fists.
“Don’t touch me,” he warns, biting harder in punishment.
Tears spring to my eyes and I beg him to stop. I need him to stop. I don’t want this, despite what my body is saying.
“Please!” I cry.
“Please…?” he asks. “Don’t come, Erin. I’m warning you.”
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