Sweet Captivity

by Julia Sykes

  “He wants me to give you a birth control shot, too.” She gestured at the waiting syringe on the cart.

  My fingers went numb, and the glass of water dropped from my hands, soaking the carpet.

  Lauren was saying something in a harsh tone, but I couldn’t listen. I couldn’t focus on her. All I could do was feel the pain my heart ripping open. I gasped for breath, pressing a hand against my aching chest.

  I had unprotected sex with my captor. I could have gotten pregnant. And I begged for it.

  A maddened laugh bubbled from my throat. Of course I couldn’t have gotten pregnant. Andrés had made provisions to ensure his fucktoy didn’t inconvenience him with a pregnancy. He’d sent his mindless slave to give me the morning after pill and a birth control shot.

  Stupid. So fucking stupid.

  I’d Stockholm-Syndromed the shit out of myself. I’d been scared of him in the beginning of my captivity. How could I have forgotten that was exactly what I was: his captive?

  He’d told me so many times that I was his fucktoy, his pet. But my brain had reasoned its way around that horrible reality and presented me with a pretty fantasy that he actually had secret feelings for me.

  He’d never lied about the fact that he was a master manipulator. And I’d fallen for it. I’d let him shape me into his willing, eager plaything.

  I had to get out, before I lost my mind completely.

  My training kicked in, and Lauren wasn’t at all prepared for the half-crazy FBI field agent who launched herself at her. I tackled her to the floor, pinning her on her front. I wrapped my arm around her throat and squeezed, putting pressure on her artery.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, tears almost blinding me as she went limp beneath me, slipping into unconsciousness. I released her immediately, not wanting to cause her any lasting damage. Lauren might be loyal to Andrés, but she was still a victim.

  I pushed up off her still form and raced to Andrés’ wardrobe. I slipped on one of his huge dress shirts, only taking the time to secure three buttons with shaking fingers, just enough to cover myself.

  Lauren groaned, and I hurried back to her. I braced my arm around her waist and dragged her upright. She stumbled along beside me, somewhere partway to consciousness. I pulled her through the bedroom, into the sitting room, and straight to the elevator. I pressed her thumb against the call button.

  The door slid open without a sound. No angry buzz. Nothing to alert anyone that I was escaping.

  I shoved Lauren back into the sitting room and jammed the button for the door to close before she could come back to her senses. She was still blinking up at me from where she was sprawled on the floor when the silver doors slid closed. I pressed the button for the ground floor, praying no one else had access to this elevator except for those Andrés trusted. I couldn’t afford to be stopped on my way down.

  Adrenaline coursed through my system, my body preparing for a fight. If I did meet anyone, I’d remember my training for once.

  I have to get out. I have to.

  The elevator glided all the way down to the ground floor without stopping. When the doors opened, I found myself at the end of a long corridor. I could see light at the end of it, streaming through a glass door.

  I started moving before I fully thought it through, my feet racing toward freedom. If I could just get outside—

  A hulking body blocked the light in front of me, blotting it out as he ran straight for me.

  “Hey!” he shouted. “Stop right there.”

  I didn’t stop. I launched myself at the man, my fist connecting with his jaw. He reeled back, and I darted past him. His fingers tangled in my hair, and a defiant shriek left my lips as he dragged me back, away from the light. Using his leverage on my hair, he jerked me toward him so he could grab my upper arms. Before I could get my hands up, he slammed me back against the wall. My head cracked against it, pain lancing through my skull. The world flickered around me, and I lost control of my limbs.

  “How did you get out?” he asked, his voice rough with anger. “I saw you running down here on the security feed. You whores are supposed to be locked up on the third floor.”

  Blinking hard, I willed the world to stop spinning. As soon as his furious, red face came into focus, I slammed my forehead into his nose.

  He dropped me with a curse, and I stumbled forward. My head ached, and my vision swam.

  I struggled to right myself, to run. I made it two fumbling steps before his weight barreled into me, taking me down to the hard marble floor.

  “Bitch,” he snarled. “You almost broke my fucking nose. You’ll pay for that, dirty little whore.”

  I felt something hard pressing against my ass where Andrés’ shirt had ridden up, leaving me exposed. I screamed and scrambled against the marble, my hands slipping uselessly against the smooth surface.

  Dirty little whore.

  Dirty little girl.

  You want me to touch your secret place again, don’t you, dirty little girl?

  Dirty. Wrong.

  Pure, icy terror seized my lungs as I heard his zipper lowering, heard the dreaded sound of his fist pumping his shaft.

  I didn’t want this. I didn’t. It was dirty and wrong. It felt good for a little while when he touched my secret place, but then it hurt.

  I beat my fists against the marble as I thrashed and screamed. All my training left my head as my mind receded to a long-forgotten, long-buried place.

  I don’t want this.

  I don’t want this, Uncle Robert. Please…

  I couldn’t breathe. I gasped for air, but nothing filled my lungs. He was on top of me, his breath hot on my neck as he pinned my tiny body down…

  His weight was lifted off me, and a furious roar reverberated through my skull. I curled my knees up to my chest and hugged them tight, trying to protect myself in the only way I knew how. I heard a horrible, wet sound; a man screaming; bone crunching; silence.

  “Samantha.” Red-painted hands reached for me, and I flinched away, curling more tightly into myself.

  “Cosita, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”

  “Andrés?” My voice was soft and strangely high, like a child. Past and present mingled, toxic fear clouding my brain. “I don’t want him to touch my… I don’t want this. I don’t… I don’t…” I started hyperventilating, my chest convulsing as hysteria overwhelmed me.

  Strong arms closed around me, but they didn’t frighten me. They were warm, powerful enough to protect me.

  I turned my face into his chest and sobbed, my fingers fisting in his shirt as I struggled to get closer. A soothing stream of Spanish rumbled over me. Even though I couldn’t understand the words, I focused on the lilting cadence, allowing it to fill my mind and blot out all the awful things.

  But now that the memories had finally been unearthed, I couldn’t bury them again. They played out in my head in horrible, vivid detail. Every muffled cry, every shameful gasp. The wrenching pain between my legs as Uncle Robert violated my small body.

  Big hands stroked my back, my hair, my cheeks. They were warm. Familiar. I leaned into them, seeking more heat. I was so cold, frigid down to my bones. My entire body shook, except for my fingers, which were fisted so tightly in his shirt that my knuckles were white.

  I didn’t want to remember. I didn’t want…

  “Where is your uncle now?” he asked in English. His soothing voice roughened, and his arms were tight around me.

  “What?” I asked, struggling to move from memory to reality.

  “You said…” He trailed off on a growl. “You mentioned Uncle Robert. Where can I find him?”

  I shuddered at his name. “Why?”

  “I’m going to kill him for you, Samantha,” he swore, his hand firming on my head where he’d been stroking my hair. I realized I wasn’t the only one shaking. Andrés’ strong body practically vibrated with barely-restrained violence.

  “He’s dead,” I said hollowly, remembering the day I’d watched his casket
being lowered into the ground. I’d been fifteen then, when his alcoholism had sent him to an early grave. Six years after my parents had left me alone with him so they could go on a week-long vacation. They hadn’t known about his drinking at the time. They hadn’t known about him. About what he wanted to do to me.

  “I cried at his funeral,” I whispered, anguished. “I didn’t know why I was so upset. I fucking cried over him.”

  “How old were you?” Andrés asked. “How old were you when he—?” His teeth snapped closed, as though he couldn’t let the words leave his tongue.

  “Nine,” I said softly. “But I forgot. How could I forget?”

  Everything made so much sense now: my nervous tics, why I was so uncomfortable around men. I’d always been awkward and shy, even as a child. Before. But I’d had friends at school. People I wanted to play with.

  After, I stopped going to my classmates’ birthday parties. The idea of a slumber party, especially, gave me crippling anxiety. I didn’t want to leave my parents.

  So I’d stayed at home. I’d found solace in my computer games. I hid behind a screen, isolated from everyone. No one could touch me.

  Until Andrés. He hadn’t let me hide from him. He’d pushed past my barriers and demanded that I let him in. It might have been fucked up, but he’d been right: I never would have found intimacy with another man like what I shared with him. Not even Dex. My gentle giant of a friend might be a Dominant, but he was far too sweet to have given me what I truly needed.

  I needed ruthlessness. I needed darkness. I needed Andrés.

  “I’m sorry,” I choked out. “I’m sorry I tried to leave. I thought you didn’t care about me. I thought—”

  “You thought I didn’t care?” he demanded, his muscles tensing and rippling around me. “Do you know what it did to me, seeing another man hurting you, touching you? Seeing you broken and crying when you remembered what—?” He cut himself off again before he fully verbalized what Uncle Robert did to me.

  His black eyes bored into me. They sparked with fury, but lines of anxiety tightened around them. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, his voice strangely thick. “Last night. Did I hurt you?”

  He thought he’d hurt me during sex?

  “No,” I reassured him, touching my fingertips to his cheek, tracing the line of his scar just as I’d done when he’d been buried deep inside me.

  “Then why? Why would you leave me?”

  Shame heated my cheeks at the hurt in his voice. “I woke up, and you were gone,” I said, my voice small. “I didn’t have my collar. Then Lauren brought me the pill and the shot, and I thought I must have imagined… I thought you didn’t care.”

  His face shifted to a carefully blank mask, but something stirred in his dark eyes. “Do you want to get pregnant?”

  “I… No. Not… Not right now.”

  The thought of having a child with Andrés—of having a family again after losing my parents—made something tug in my chest.

  He started petting me again. “That’s for the best,” he said, sounding as though he was talking to himself as much as to me. “You need to take the pill.”

  “I… okay.” It was the rational thing to do.

  But then why were my eyes stinging?

  “You were upset because I was gone?” he asked, cuddling me close. “Then I’ll stay. Do you want your collar back on? I thought you resented it.”

  “I, um, I got used to it. I like it,” I amended truthfully. “It makes me feel safe. Like you’re with me, even when you’re not here. But I’d rather not be chained to the bed,” I added. It would be nice to be able to take care of myself during the day, instead of relying on Lauren for everything. In a weird way, part of me would miss it, knowing Andrés was thinking about me waiting in his bed. It seemed I’d developed a kink to match his.

  He traced the line of my jaw, rubbed his thumb along my lower lip. “You can have your collar, but I’m not going anywhere. I left this morning to see my brother. I was convincing him to give me more time with you.”

  “Oh. Thank you.” I’d thought he’d been playing me this whole time, but he’d been honest with me from the beginning. Yes, his kinky games were meant to train me in how to please him, but everything he did was ultimately meant to protect me. He wanted me to cooperate for his brother so Cristian wouldn’t hurt me.

  “I still don’t want to work for him,” I said quietly. “It goes against everything I believe in.”

  “I know. I’ve read enough about your superheroes to see that.”

  “Then what are we going to do?”

  He sighed, his eyes clouding with anxiety. “I don’t know yet. I’ll figure something out.”

  “We’ll figure something out,” I told him. I was no longer willing to sit around and wait for rescue. Cristian was the one threatening me, not Andrés. He wasn’t my captor, he was my protector.

  He stared at me with something like awe, cupping my cheeks in his hands before pressing his lips to mine.

  Despite the horrible memories that had just resurfaced, I didn’t flinch away from his masculine touch. I leaned into him and parted my lips, offering myself to him. I wanted him to claim me. I wanted to be his.

  Chapter 20

  Andrés held the final bite of bacon to my lips, and I playfully nipped at his fingers as I took it. His lips curved up in a doting smile. There was no sharp warning in his eyes, no rebuke. Just pleasure.

  He’d held me all day after my ordeal and cuddled me close through two nightmares involving my uncle. It had been a difficult night, but he’d comforted me and kissed me back to sleep.

  This morning, he was staying late again. I worried about our timeline with Cristian, but Andrés didn’t seem to want to leave me.

  That suited me just fine, because I didn’t want him to leave, either. Until we figured out how to deal with Cristian, I didn’t want him to face his cruel older brother.

  “Yesterday, you said you wanted your collar,” Andrés murmured, trailing his fingers along my bare neck. “Do you still want it?”

  “Yes,” I said immediately, leaning into his touch.

  He beamed at me. “Then you’ll have it.”

  He lifted me off his lap where we’d been cuddled on the bed and went to the chest of drawers. When he turned back to me, he held the thin strip of black leather in both hands, touching it with careful reverence.

  “Kneel for me.” It was an order, but there was a hint of trepidation in his tone that made it clear that I could refuse. He wanted me to choose to obey. He wanted me to choose him.

  I got up off the bed and sank to my knees before him, moving more gracefully than I ever would have imagined I was capable of. He’d never asked me to kneel for him before, but I knew how to present myself from what I’d seen online. I spread my thighs so my pussy was open to him, and I pulled my arms behind my back, placing my hands on the opposite elbows. The position made my back arch, offering my small breasts to him. Keeping my spine straight, I bowed my head and waited to feel the leather kiss my throat.

  He was silent for a long moment. Then his fingers brushed over the top of my head, trailing down through my hair before exploring the line of my jaw. His forefinger curled beneath my chin, and he lifted my face so I looked up into his dark gaze. The light flashed against his eyes, making them shine brighter than I’d ever seen.

  “You are so beautiful,” he said hoarsely. “So perfect. Mí sirenita.”

  I flushed with pleasure. “So are you.”

  I still saw his scars clearly, but they weren’t repulsive. They were physical reminders of his vulnerability. They were slices in his armor, and he’d allowed me to open them up and look inside to the man underneath the monster.

  He stared down at me in awe. “You’re not scared of me? I don’t frighten you?”

  “No,” I promised. “I’m not scared of you, Andrés.”

  His lips parted, as though he was about to speak. Then he closed them and swallowed hard. His eyes shone with a w
orshipful light as he brought the collar up to my throat and wrapped the leather around my neck.

  I heaved out a sigh of relief at the familiar, reassuring feel of it encircling my throat, a physical reminder of our connection.

  “Mine,” he said, tracing the line of the collar.

  “Yours,” I replied with fervor.

  He bent down and gripped my waist, lifting me up and guiding me back down onto the bed.

  “Are you ready for me?” he asked, his voice strained with need.

  He was asking my permission. He didn’t want to push me after the dark memories that had risen up to torment me.

  But those memories couldn’t destroy my desire for Andrés. He’d taken me in his harsh hands and ripped down all my barriers, helping me conquer my fears, even when I didn’t understand them.

  “Always,” I promised, taking his hand and moving it between my legs so he could feel my desire for him. “I want you.”

  He groaned and grasped my ankles, pulling my ass to the edge of the bed before resting my calves against his shoulders. Still standing while I lay on my back, he gripped my hips and entered me in one hard thrust.

  I cried out as he stretched me, my lingering soreness from our first time making me hyperaware of his size.

  He paused, his brow furrowing. His dark eyes studied me, tight with concern.

  I placed my hands atop his, curling his fingers deeper into my hips. “Please, Andrés…”

  A low sound of longing left his chest, and he withdrew from me before slowly pushing all the way back in. He claimed me in long, careful strokes, playing with my clit and lighting my body up with pleasure.

  He fucked me until I saw stars, and we both came undone.

  No. Deep in my soul, I knew that wasn’t right. He didn’t fuck me.

  We made love.

  Love.

  I was still contemplating my feelings hours later, as Andrés and I lay tangled in the sheets. He’d dozed off for a while after we’d had sex, but I’d been wide awake, my brain buzzing.