Captive, Mine

by Natasha Knight

  That’s my girl.

  “Your house was ridiculously easy to break into. You need a nosy voisin watching out for this place.”

  The barrel of the gun steadied instantly, pointed directly at him. Her eyes narrowed. “Show yourself, or I start shooting. I’m bound to hit something.”

  He flicked on the light next to the chair, the little chain on the switch rattling against the metal base of the lamp.

  “You’re still holding it like I taught you.”

  Lily’s face went pale, and this time the barrel of the gun did drop. “Lake?”

  He stood, but she raised the gun again.

  “I… you shouldn’t be here. You said—”

  “I said you needed to forget. But no matter how hard I tried, no matter how many days went by, I couldn’t forget.” He took a step closer, but she backed away.

  She was thinner than he remembered her, her hair shorter, faint lines of worry around her mouth that hadn’t been there before. She was so small. Somehow that fact registered now more than it ever had — and his need to protect her had never been stronger. Even if she hated him — and how could she not — he still needed to protect her.

  “You… you left me, Lake. Why?”

  He took another step. “You know why. It’ll never end for me.”

  “So why come back?” Her lower lip trembled ever so slightly.

  “Because you never left.” He stepped closer still, but she held her ground. “Every night, alone in the dark, I remembered. Every night I cursed not having you in my arms, I remembered. The worst thing I’ve ever done turned out to be the only thing that matters to me anymore.”

  “You can’t just fucking… come back.”

  For a moment, like the passing of a cloud across the face of the sun, he saw the weight of it, the pain, the loss… and the longing. But was it a longing for what was… or what she hoped would be?

  “Yes, I can come back.” Lake stood before her, looking down upon the petite beauty who had every reason to hate him, and who’d become the one thing he needed most. “I came back to give you one more choice, Lily girl.”

  She flinched at the words, but her cheeks colored. God, how he’d missed that blush.

  “You don’t give me anything anymore, Lake. This is…”

  “Tell me to go then. Tell me to leave and never come back to you.” He grabbed the hand that held the pistol, wrapping his fingers around hers, raising the gun up again until it pointed at his chest. “Say the words, Lily girl.”

  Those words were on those sweet, red lips, the lips he could still feel upon his flesh, the lips that spoke her words of devotion, of surrender.

  And of love.

  But she didn’t speak them.

  Huge tears welled in those eyes that had haunted him every day they’d been apart.

  “I can’t…”

  “Say it, Lily. Either you say it — or you’re mine. For good. Say it, or we find out how deep this goes. Say it — or I’m never letting you go.”

  Her lips were a deep red O, and he couldn’t help but hold her delicate chin in his hand, stroke those lips with his thumb until, with a sudden intake of breath, she set her forehead to his chest, a deep, hollow sound coming from inside hers.

  He slowly lowered her weapon. Popping the magazine from the pistol, he took both from her hand, dropping them to the wood floor, the sound jarring in the small, quiet house. When she quieted, he lifted her face to his, and she pressed a weak fist to his chest, leaning into him as her eyes shut and she wept silently. Lake watched her, watched her release, a profound gratitude flooding through him.

  This was right.

  For the first time since before the death of his wife, he felt… right.

  It didn’t matter what forces had brought them together, the lusts, the rage, the twisted desires that drove them both. No, what mattered was this moment. This woman. Forever.

  Mine.

  She pushed herself away from him, her gaze locked with his, and he knew. They both did. She belonged to him. She was, always...

  His.

  Without another word, he snaked a hand up to the back of her neck, fingers curling around the base of her skull, his other hand closing over her still-fisted one, holding it to his chest while his mouth closed over hers, pushing her backward until her body pressed against the wall. When her free hand came to his waist, he took it, raising it up over her head, crushing it too, to the wall, his palm flat against hers, fingers intertwining as his kiss deepened, the hunger of too many months without her manifesting in the rough reclaiming of her mouth.

  * * *

  Passion erupted like nothing else. Lake kissed me hard, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I wanted harder. I needed it. I needed everything.

  Tearing his mouth from mine, he looked down at me, his breath coming hard, his eyes molten on mine. Gripping my coat, he tore the buttons from it pushing it from me, dropping it to the floor. I reached for his shirt with the same intensity, my fingers clumsy as they worked the buttons while he simply ripped my blouse in half, his mouth once again closing over mine. His hand found one breast and gripped it hard, squeezing it while I pushed his shirt open, my mouth moving to his neck, the scruff along his jaw scratching my face while I sucked on the curve of his shoulder. He turned me, walking me backwards, catching me as I tripped while he stripped off his shirt and led me to the bedroom, pushing me onto the bed, the light of the full moon illuminating us in an almost eerie silvery light.

  Opening the buttons of my jeans, he pushed them, along with my panties, down my thighs. I watched him in that light when he did. It was as if he couldn’t stop looking at me, even as his gaze had to shift to the work of stripping me. I watched him, my hands reaching for the buckle of his belt, the touch of leather reminding me of the leather he’d used to punish me, the leather I somehow missed. He kissed me again, lifting me higher onto the bed once I was naked, standing for a moment to strip off his pants, his eyes never leaving mine until he could climb on top of me again, his knees nudging mine wider, his cock finding the slick entrance of my ready sex. My breathing came as ragged as his when he gripped my wrists and spread my arms wide, our eyes locking when he thrust deep inside me, causing me to cry out, my body not ready to take him but wanting him all the same, stretching for him. My fingernails dug crevices into my palms as he thrust again and again, harder each time, each stroke punishing, taking, reclaiming, owning.

  Finally, he brought his mouth back to mine, our lips opening, not quite kissing, our breath hot, until we both came, the orgasm strange, the sound that came from his chest stranger as he pumped his seed into me, sweat dripping from his forehead onto mine.

  Only when he collapsed on top of me did he still, allowing me to cradle him in my arms, some part of me still, even now, even with his cock still inside me, his weight crushing me, his breath hot on my face, in my ear, still not believing that he was here, that he’d come back. That after everything, he’d come back.

  I held him for an eternity, neither of us speaking for a long time. Finally, he lifted his head and looked down at me. He slid his cock out of me, my thighs suddenly slick with the gush of his cum on them. Setting his elbows above my shoulders and supporting his weight on his forearms, he kissed me again, that passion somewhat abated, this kiss more tender, slower, more exploratory. And when he pulled back, I saw something in his eyes I’d never seen before. It was a tenderness, but more than that. A strange sort of peace, as if he were, finally, satiated.

  “Lake,” I said, touching his face, pushing sweat-covered hair from his forehead.

  His fingers touched my face in turn, as if he, too, did not believe.

  “If you leave again…now…you’ll break a piece of me.” They were the truest words I’d ever spoken and, in a way, up until now, I’d managed. I’d kept going somehow, but I hadn’t been whole, not after the cabin. I hadn’t been living. I’d been surviving, that was all.

  He touched my face with the tenderest of touches. “I w
on’t break you. Ever. I promise, Lily.”

  I studied him, my eyes scanning his, and I believed him. And not only that, but I knew in a way that the same was true for him. For the first time since I’d known him, I knew Lake was as fragile, as vulnerable as me. I knew I’d break him as surely as he’d break me. We were the same in this one thing. I believed his promise and I made my own. I had made that long ago though even if I only realized it now.

  I smiled when he ran a finger down the bridge of my nose, his touch feather light. “I’ve missed you, missed everything. I love you, Lily.”

  I didn’t know until hearing them how much those words meant to me. Those words coming from him.

  “I love you,” I repeated back to him.

  He kissed me then, softly, tenderly.

  “Make love to me, Lake. Make love to me.”

  What we’d done now, it wasn’t lovemaking. It was fucking; it was hard and it was necessary, the only way for us to come back to each other. Softness didn’t suit us, not really, but right now, I needed exactly that. I needed him to make slow love to me, tender love. I needed kisses and caresses and tomorrow I’d take the leather. But not now.

  Now, I needed Lake to simply love me.

  Epilogue

  “Lake, my shoulders.”

  His response was to bring his finger to his lips, telling me without words to be quiet.

  That was part of the deal, a part of this exercise.

  He checked his watch then leaned back against the wall to watch me, arms folded across his chest, his silence unnerving.

  I groaned. He raised an eyebrow in warning and I lowered my gaze to my feet, which were bare, my toes just touching the floor.

  We’d stayed off the grid for over a year before finally moving into the secluded house on Graham Island three months ago. The island chain, stretching north of Vancouver Island, was called Haida Gwaii — but Lake still called it the Queen Charlottes. I didn’t argue with him.

  We meant to settle here. At least I did, anyway. I was finished with hiding, with being on the run and always looking over my shoulder. Although I knew that last part wouldn’t ever be over. Not really. We were both too realistic for that.

  Randall was locked up, DeSalvo had kept his word — too afraid not to — and it was just Lake and I now. I was ready for more. But first, this little exercise of Lake’s.

  I watched him, never could get enough of looking at him, his dark eyes, their weighted gaze always drawing me. He stood in worn, faded jeans, his feet bare, his chest naked, the dark trail of hair disappearing into the denim, his erection pressing against his jeans. I licked my lips and gazed up into his eyes once more, lust clouding my vision now. I wanted him, but he wouldn’t fuck me. Not yet.

  I had a dozen strokes of the crop coming first, after his version of a time out was paid.

  I wasn’t sure what I disliked more, the lashes themselves, or being strung up in the middle of the barn, naked, dirt beneath my feet, the now familiar scent of horses bringing with it this strange anticipation coupled with unbearable arousal. I did like the fucking though. It was always harder after a whipping, that fucking. And I wanted it every time. Craved it.

  Lake checked his watch again, then moved behind me. I would have turned to follow his movements, and could have with the way I was bound, but I knew what was expected of me and remained facing forward, facing the open barn doors, looking at the two horses out in the pasture lazing away the summer afternoon. The sun was bright today, the approaching dark clouds making the light even brighter.

  I listened to him, listened to any sign that the cropping was about to begin, but he enjoyed my anticipation too much to make this happen too quickly. My heart beat fast, and it took all my effort not to tense my bottom at the slightest sound. He liked me to keep it soft. Enjoyed watching it bounce and redden with each stroke, and in a way, I liked him watching. I liked giving that to him, that small act of submission.

  “Time, Lily,” Lake said from behind me, making me jump.

  I nodded, as if my acknowledgment was needed for what came next, the part of this ritual I dreaded and desired all at once.

  But we both knew better.

  I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder to find him taking the longer crop from the wall. It was the same one he used on Balthazar, his horse — although I was quite certain Balthazar never received the sort of treatment I did with the fearsome implement.

  “That’s an additional five strokes,” he said as he ran his fingers over the crop. He hadn’t even turned around.

  Shit.

  I quickly faced forward once more.

  “You know better than that.”

  He always caught me.

  “Five, Lake? Isn’t that…”

  “Make it six.”

  I bit my tongue, but stomped my foot.

  “Seven then.”

  I pressed my lips together, forcing myself to remain silent. Nineteen strokes. I could have been done at a dozen.

  “Good girl,” he said while he lined the crop up against the fleshiest part of my bottom, just inches above the crease of my thighs.

  I reached up to wrap my hands around the chain he’d hooked the cuffs to, knowing I’d need the support once he began.

  “In silence.”

  I nodded again, everything completely quiet as if even the sounds of birds and insects from outside no longer penetrated the space. In fact, the only sound was that of the crop as the first stroke came down, the slight whistling a warning before stiff leather struck vulnerable, barely warmed flesh.

  I gritted my teeth, clenching everything for a moment while pain spread across my skin. One down, eighteen to go. At least he didn’t make me count today. Today was for his pleasure; it wasn’t a punishment I’d earned.

  He lined up the second stroke, rubbing the crop across my bottom before pulling back to strike again, just below the first stroke. I stumbled forward, grunting, and before I’d even righted myself, he struck again, three in quick succession, after which it seemed impossible to take the whole of the nineteen strokes in silence.

  “Shh,” he muttered, his hand on my hip pulling me back a little so that my bottom was pushed out. “Like that. Take the rest like that.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Calloused fingers traced the line of one of the strokes, crossing over onto another.

  “Looks good,” he said, stepping back.

  I remained as I was, bent slightly, pushing my bottom out, the humiliating position serving to arouse as much as embarrass.

  Lake lined up the next stroke at the center of my ass and struck fast, the whipping sound short before pain exploded along the mark. Again, I stumbled but quickly resumed my position for the next stroke, no longer able to keep quiet. He seemed to accept that though and didn’t berate me into silence. Instead, he kept up with my punishment, laying stroke after stroke until my nineteen were paid and the whole of my ass throbbed, the flesh hot and tight.

  “Stay,” he said, although I had no intention of moving. I knew better.

  Lake replaced the crop then returned to me. I gasped when his hands wrapped roughly around my hips, thumbs pushing into bruised skin.

  “Beautiful,” he said, kneeling behind me.

  He kissed me first, kissed each of the thin welts the crop had left, his lips tender before he dug his thumbs into the bruised flesh, pulling my cheeks apart. His tongue licked the length of my sex then and he worked two fingers around to find my clit. I gasped, wanting to push back into him but knowing I needed to remain still, to feel everything, every slight movement of his tongue as he licked, his fingers as he worked my hard little nub. I wasn’t allowed to come, not yet. He’d only allow it once he’d impaled me on his cock.

  “Please, Lake,” I said as he continued to tease, to taste.

  “Please what?” he asked, rising to stand, letting go of my hips for a moment while he unzipped his jeans.

  “Please fuck me. I want to come.”

  “You want t
o come?” he asked, lifting me slightly off the ground and pulling me backward so that his length rubbed all along my dripping sex.

  I nodded. “Yes. I want to come. I need to come.”

  “You want me to fuck you hard or soft?”

  “You know!” I pressed into him, frustrated at his taunting.

  “Say it. I like to hear you say it.”

  “Fuck me hard, Lake. Fuck me as hard as you whipped me and make me come.”

  “That’s a good girl.” He lifted me once more off my feet, this time lowering me onto his cock, making me gasp as he pushed the length of himself hard inside me, my wet pussy needing to stretch to accommodate his girth.

  “Yes. Oh yes!” He lifted me slowly, dragging me off his cock before impaling me again, this time closing two fingers over my clit.

  “You like being stripped naked and bound while I watch you, Lily?” he asked, lifting again before pulling me hard onto himself. “You like me striping your ass? Because you were dripping before we even started.”

  “Please…”

  He’d need to give permission and I wasn’t sure I could stand it. If I didn’t though, I’d be in for a real punishment.

  “Tell me and I’ll let you come, Lily. Tell me how you like it.”

  I hated that he made me do it. It embarrassed me to no end and he knew it.

  At my hesitation, he pulled out of me.

  “No!”

  “Bad girl.” He turned me to face him, lifting me again, taking my arms down, the cuffs off. I wrapped my arms around his neck.

  “I’m not a bad girl,” I said, kissing him.

  “You are.” He kissed me back, walking me to where the hay was stacked. “Now I know you don’t want that freshly whipped ass to come anywhere near that hay.” He kissed me again as I wrapped my legs tightly around his waist. “Tell me. Tell me what you like.”

  “Please, Lake, you know I hate to say it.”

  “But I so enjoy making you,” he said, his lips never truly leaving mine. “Besides, I won’t be able to whip you like this in the coming months.” At that he pulled back, smiling, something different in his dark eyes, something almost… happy.