Sweet Captivity

by Julia Sykes

  I should have been scared at how complacent I’d become, but I couldn’t help finding moments of joy when we were together. I’d never shared this kind of intimacy with anyone, and it felt good to be so connected. It made me ache for more, and sometimes I almost broke down and begged him to fuck me.

  I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. I didn’t want to beg him for it. That reminded me of our first few days together, when he’d been demanding and scary. I enjoyed the fantasy of our relationship too much to face the reality that he was still demanding. And even if I no longer found him scary, he could definitely be intimidating. He touched me however he wanted, whenever he wanted. Just because I liked it didn’t mean my consent was necessary.

  Was it? He still hadn’t taken me against my will. He held himself back, even though I could tell it caused him almost physical pain to deny himself what he wanted: me.

  He wants me to beg, I often reminded myself. I won’t beg.

  I might beg him to touch me on a daily basis, but I wouldn’t beg him to take my virginity. It was my last shred of dignity, of control over my own body and my own life. I couldn’t surrender it. No matter how badly my body ached for him to fill me, to connect with him in the most intimate way possible.

  After years of fear and isolation, his touch was like a drug. I doubted even Bliss would have been more effective at keeping me wet and needy for him as soon as he walked into the bedroom in the evening. He’d been right from the very beginning: he didn’t need drugs to make me compliant.

  At times, dark thoughts plagued me. Despite our chess games, it occurred to me that perhaps I was nothing more than his plaything, his pet. That made my chest ache, a sensation I didn’t fully want to contemplate.

  So I’d ignore it and concentrate on potential opportunities to escape. Even if that made the ache persist.

  But it wasn’t like he ever afforded me an opportunity to escape. He still kept me collared and chained to the bed in his absence, and I was completely reliant on him to see to all my needs. It should have made me resentful. I should have hated him.

  But the way he held me so tenderly when he cared for me made me feel cherished. Even the pain he gave me was a form of caretaking; he brought me transcendent bliss with his deviant toys. I wasn’t scared of the playroom anymore. I wasn’t even scared of the flogger. He’d shown me how good it could feel when applied with my pleasure in mind rather than wielding it to punish.

  When I did think about escape, it was to plan for the day when Andrés would give me access to a computer. The day he decided I was ready to work for his brother. It was the only opportunity I could see available to me.

  And it was coming soon. Some of my days were hazy, but I thought my assessment of three weeks in captivity was about accurate. That was the deadline Cristian had given Andrés. I’d been so well behaved, surely my captor would think I was ready to be trusted with access to the internet.

  Then I could finally get away from him and make my way back to the Bureau. Back to my friends. Back to Dex.

  I rubbed at the dull throb in the center of my chest and turned my attention back to my comic book.

  I’d only been reading for a few minutes when the bedroom door banged open and Andrés stormed in. It was the middle of the afternoon. He shouldn’t be back yet. And the fire in his eyes and furious twist of his scar mirrored his expression on the day he’d dragged me to the spanking bench and threatened to hurt me while he was angry.

  I scooted back on the bed and held up my hands to stall him.

  “Wait!” I gasped out. “Andrés, wait. Please.”

  He stiffened and stopped in his tracks, only three steps away from grabbing me.

  “You’re upset,” I said quickly. “I don’t like it when you’re like this. You scare me. Please, don’t… Don’t hurt me.” My heart twisted as the words left my lips. He might give me pain sometimes, but never more than I could handle. He was always fully in control, carefully administering how much pain he was inflicting. But he wasn’t in control right now. I hadn’t begged him not to hurt me in… How long?

  Long enough that I’d forgotten how terrifying he could be when he was in a truly black mood.

  A low, feral sound rumbled from his chest, and his fists clenched at his sides.

  “Please. Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong. What happened. Is it your brother? Did he—?”

  “Of course it’s my brother!” he shouted, and I cringed away as his rage slammed into me. He closed the distance between us and grabbed my upper arms, pulling my body up against his. I struggled, but he snarled down at me. “He wants to see you. He expects you to be ready by now. But you’re not. I’ve been too soft with you.”

  “You haven’t,” I insisted, desperate. “You don’t have to hurt me.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he bellowed. “He does. Why can’t you understand that? I’m not the one who wants to break you. I want to save you. I want to protect you. I can’t do that if you continue to defy me.”

  “I haven’t defied you,” I gasped out, my fear rising. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”

  “No,” he railed, shaking me. “I’ve given you everything you’ve asked. I’ve tried to make you happy here with me. I’ve indulged you and played with you when I was supposed to be training you. And now he wants to see you, and you’re not ready.”

  “I am,” I squeaked out, needing him to believe he could trust me with a computer. Terror rode me hard, and in that moment, I wanted to escape him more desperately than I had since the day I’d first been captured.

  “Don’t lie to me, Samantha,” he warned on a growl. “You think you can manipulate me with your pretty tears? You think I’ll do anything you ask if you smile for me? I won’t allow you to play games with me. I’m in control. You belong to me.”

  His eyes took on a feverish light as he spoke.

  “You’re not in control,” I said, trying to blink back the tears that burned at the corners of my eyes. “You’re scaring me. You’re hurting me.” His fingers were digging into my arms hard enough to bruise, but that ache was nothing compared to the horrible sinking sensation in my chest.

  Fighting him would get me nowhere. He wasn’t rational at the moment. He was in pain. I could see it in the wildness of his black eyes, the deep furrow of his twisted scar. With trembling fingers, I reached up and tentatively touched his cheek. He flinched away. I tried again, pressing my palm against his scar.

  “Talk to me,” I begged. “Tell me what happened.”

  “What happened is my brother takes everything from me,” he said on a harsh whisper. “Abuela, Valentina. Now he wants to take you.” He pulled me impossibly closer. “He can’t have you. You’re mine.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, trying to soothe him. “I’m yours. I’m not going anywhere. You won’t let Cristian take me away. I… I trust you.” Despite his bruising grip on me, I knew the truth deep in my soul. Andrés would do anything to protect me from his sadistic brother.

  I traced the line of his scar with my fingertips. I’d never touched it before. I’d never touched his face with tenderness. We came together in carnal need, but I never initiated intimate contact.

  He shuddered, but he leaned into my hand. His hold on my arms eased, and he embraced me, cradling my body carefully against his.

  “Sirenita,” he said, his voice strained. “Lo siento.” He turned his face into my palm, kissing my hand.

  “What happened to them?” I asked softly. “The people your brother took from you. Your grandmother and sister.” I didn’t really want to hear the horror of it, but Andrés needed to purge some of the pain from his soul. It was eating at him, driving him to the edge of sanity. I’d known he’d lost them, but it wasn’t until just now that he’d revealed Cristian’s role in that loss.

  He grimaced, but he kissed my palm again, and his arms didn’t tense around me with renewed aggression. He was so big, and I felt tiny in his embrace. But he held me carefully, as though I was somethin
g precious and fragile.

  “Valentina…” His voice hitched on her name. “My sister. Half-sister. Cristian and I share the same father as Valentina. Our father kept her mother as his mistress after our mother passed away, but she died giving birth to Valentina. Father let Valentina’s grandmother live on our estate, so she could care for her. Valentina was my best friend. Her grandmother became mí abuela. I spent more time in their home than my own. Cristian was always jealous of our friendship, our little family. As the oldest, father was harder on him. He had more responsibilities, a legacy resting on his shoulders.”

  He paused, his eyes sliding out of focus as he fell into memory.

  “Your father dealt in cocaine,” I prompted, knowing their family’s criminal history. “He wanted Cristian to take over the business?”

  “Yes. But then father died when I was sixteen. Heart attack.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said softly.

  His jaw firmed. “He was not a nice man. But I had a home with Abuela and Valentina. Until Cristian took over father’s organization. He resented us, our family. Maybe if I hadn’t left him alone with father, things would have been different. But he always had a sadistic streak, even as a child. I wanted nothing to do with him. He scared me, so I stayed away.”

  “What did he do?” I asked, softly prodding. This was the most personal information Andrés had ever shared with me, and I was beginning to understand his warped relationship with his brother. Andrés was bigger than Cristian. Scarier. Smarter. It didn’t make sense that he worked for him when he so obviously hated him. Unless the emotional scars went deeper than the ones carved into his flesh.

  “He sold Valentina,” he whispered, his gaze dark with pain. “She was fourteen. He traded her for money, for bribes to secure his place as father’s successor. Well, he said it was for money. He did it to punish me. To punish both of us for our happy childhood. One that had been denied him.”

  My stomach churned, and my heart ached for the innocent, teenage Andrés who’d lost his sister and best friend in such a horrible way.

  “Abuela died nine months later,” he said bitterly. “Breast cancer. She didn’t even try to fight to survive it. Not after losing Valentina. She left me alone. With Cristian.”

  I suddenly understood Andrés’ fierce desire to keep me. He didn’t want to lock me in a cage like an animal, to keep me as a pet. He just wanted someone who was his, someone to care for and protect. Like he hadn’t been able to protect his grandmother and sister.

  Lauren had been right when she’d said Andrés needed me to be good for him. He needed my submission, my willing surrender to his control. He needed to see me restrained, because it reassured him that I couldn’t leave him. He needed to see me cry, because he couldn’t shed the tears himself. He wanted to care for me, but more than that, he craved my devotion in return.

  Cupping his scarred cheek in my hand, I leaned up into him and lightly pressed my lips to his. For a moment, his mouth was tense beneath mine; a hard, anguished slash. Then he groaned, a long sound of pained release, and he opened for me. His fingers threaded in my hair, pulling me closer as his tongue swept into my mouth, devouring me like a starving man.

  Hunger rose within me, more than physical need. I craved his closeness, skin-to-skin. He’d just dropped so many barriers between us, letting me see into his tormented soul. I wanted to offer him something in return, something I’d never offered to anyone.

  But I didn’t want to beg. I didn’t want to prostrate myself before him and cheapen our connection to nothing more than his victory and my subjugation. I wanted him. All of him, good and bad, ugly and beautiful. And I’d give myself to him, willingly, eagerly.

  My hands went to his shirt, tearing at the buttons in my haste to feel his hard chest, the thick ridges of the scars that were physical marks of his inner pain. I wanted to touch them, to explore every lash that had been inflicted on his soul and heal them.

  He growled against my mouth, kissing me harder as he shrugged out of his shirt and helped me remove the rest of his clothes. When we were both naked, he gripped my waist and guided me down onto the bed, his weight settling over me. His hard cock pressed against my inner thigh, straining toward my virgin channel.

  “I want you, Andrés,” I gasped when he broke our kiss so we could both draw in much-needed air. “Don’t make me beg. I want to give this to you. I want to give myself to you.”

  He pressed his forehead to mine, so we exchanged each ragged breath. “You don’t have to beg, sirenita. You just have to say yes. I need to know that you want me. Let me in.”

  The tears that spilled from my eyes welled up from a place deep inside as emotion flooded free. “Yes,” I whispered. “Please, Andrés.”

  I begged because I chose to. Because he didn’t demand my surrender. I gave it willingly.

  “Samantha,” he groaned my name and lined up with my slick opening. I was wet and ready for him, my core throbbing with need. “Do you feel what you do to me? You are so perfect.”

  His swollen cockhead pressed at my entrance, parting my pussy lips as he eased inside. I whimpered at the burning stretch of him pushing in, but he didn’t stop at the sound of my discomfort. He stroked my cheek with one hand and reached between us with the other, playing with my nipples, giving me the little bites of pain that always drove me wild. My whimper turned to a high whine, and my inner muscles relaxed as my arousal grew, easing his progress as he penetrated me slowly.

  Once he was fully seated inside me, he paused. My core contracted, struggling between pushing him out and welcoming him in. His jaw was clenched, his scar drawn deep and fierce. But the sight didn’t scare me. I touched the mark again, tracing the furrow across his handsome face. He closed his eyes, a shiver running through his entire body as his cock jerked inside me.

  He withdrew slowly, using aching care with my untried body. His cockhead dragged across my g-spot, and pleasure lit up my system, burning away the discomfort. My core heated and relaxed, opening for him. I wrapped my legs around his hips and dug my heels into his sculpted ass, pulling him back inside me.

  A rumbling shout left his lips at my bold movement, and he grasped my wrists, pinning them over my head with one hand while his other played with my breasts more harshly. He pinched and pulled at my nipples. Each little hit of pain went straight to my pussy, making it flutter around him.

  He began to move, pumping his hips faster and harder as he clung to his control by a thread. I knew he was holding back so he wouldn’t hurt me, but I didn’t want that. I didn’t care if it hurt. I welcomed the burn of his huge cock filling and stretching me. It made me hyperaware of our intense connection, bound together by pleasure and pain. This was how it was meant to be between us: our bond so tight that it was nearly too much to bear.

  “More,” I begged, rocking my hips up to meet his thrusts. “Please, Andrés…”

  My pleading triggered him. With a snarl, his control snapped, and he started fucking me in harsh, possessive strokes. His hand tightened around my wrists, and his weight pressed me deeper into the mattress, pinning me down so there was no escape from his onslaught.

  I cried out, welcoming more. I didn’t want to escape. I wanted to stay right here, in Andrés’ brutal hold.

  He hit my g-spot over and over again, making pleasure build deep inside. My entire body tensed, my toes curling and my legs shaking around him.

  “Come for me, sirenita,” he ground out, the order barely intelligible.

  My body conditioned to come on his command, I let go. My orgasm claimed me with shocking force, ripping through my system in a vicious rush of ecstasy. My scream mingled with his wild roar, and his scorching seed pumped into my pussy, branding me with heat.

  He drove deep one last time, holding himself inside me as he emptied his cum into me. Primal chemicals mingled in my body, easing my harsh rush of pleasure to something softer, cocooning me in tingly bliss.

  Our shaking and spent bodies remained locked together as his lip
s crashed down on mine in a soul-searing kiss, marking me as his.

  Chapter 19

  Andrés was gone when I awoke the next morning. The warm glow that filled my chest dimmed as soon as I opened my eyes to find myself alone in his bed. My fingers searched the cool sheets, as though I could summon up his warmth somehow.

  He’d held me all night after our mind-blowing first time together. He’d petted me and told me how beautiful and perfect I was. It had felt real. I’d felt… whole.

  I didn’t like waking up without him beside me. I needed his touch, needed to be cuddled close after the intensity of what had passed between us.

  I sat up and crossed my arms over my chest to ward off the sudden chill that clung to my skin.

  Something was different. When I moved, the familiar sound of metallic clanking didn’t reach my ears. I lifted my fingers to my throat. The collar wasn’t there. I wasn’t chained to the bed.

  Tears pooled in my eyes as an irrational sense of loss knifed through my chest.

  Why hadn’t he put it back on this morning? Didn’t he want me to bear the mark of his ownership? The symbol of my devotion to him?

  I took several deep breaths, telling myself that I was being unreasonable. My emotions were raw and exposed, and I didn’t like not having Andrés’ strong arms to cling to when I was feeling so vulnerable.

  The bedroom door opened. My heart leapt, then sank to my stomach.

  It was only Lauren, bringing my breakfast.

  “Where’s Andrés?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Master Andrés doesn’t tell me about his business.”

  Something ugly stirred in my gut when she called him Master Andrés. I’d never liked it, but this time it stung. I tried my best to ignore it and act rational.

  “He instructed me to give you this.” She held out a large white pill and offered me a glass of water.

  “What is it?”

  “The morning after pill.”

  A block of ice formed in my stomach. “Oh.” The sound left my chest along with all the air from my lungs, as though someone had punched me.