Escape From Paradise

by Gwendolyn Field

  “I think I’ll take a walk and then retire to work for the evening. The meal was lovely, Señor Ruiz.”

  Marco nodded, a small smile hiding under his mustache. “As was the company. Enjoy.”

  Colin didn’t like that shit-eating grin, like Marco knew his internal struggles. He felt the eyes of Marco’s men on him as he walked through the halls and breezeway onto the veranda. As always, he was poised to fight if it came to that. He passed the empty pool, listening to the rush of water and feeling the warm breeze against his skin. Colin went to the edge and stared over the side at the rocks and distant crash of waves below. His mind began devising routes of escape. He could scale these cliffs down, but he couldn’t expect Angela to do the same. A jump from this high would lead to death or maiming.

  With surveillance cameras surely covering the property, and armed men at every corner, Marco’s villa was the perfect prison. Colin loved a good challenge, but only when his own life was on the line, not an innocent’s. He had no clue how he’d get her out of here, and he didn’t enjoy the unwelcome nervousness and doubt that rose up in his gut.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets as more immediate concerns filled his mind. He couldn’t feign “inspiration” the entire time he was here based on one instance of good head. He’d be expected to do something more during his time. But not tonight. He would worry about that tomorrow. Tonight he would force himself to start another painting. An image of soft, luscious lips curling around masculine fingertips came to mind and he had to adjust himself.

  This place was already getting to his mind. The way it all seemed so damned…normal. Acceptable. He was grateful this would be his last mission, because he’d need a long break to find himself again after this.

  Something felt amiss as Colin walked through the empty great room toward his hall. He couldn’t place where the threat stemmed from, but warning alarms went off in his head, his senses going on high alert. He’d always had a keen intuition for danger. He glanced behind him. Nothing. When he turned the corner he saw one of the guards standing in front of his door.

  Colin’s muscles were readied for action and his heart was thumping hard as he approached. He was prepared to strike first, if need be. The guard nodded and stepped aside, clearing his throat and speaking in broken English. He thought his name was Luis.

  “Master Ruiz have one rule for his slaves. No permanent damage to the bodies. Sí?”

  What the fuck? “Okay,” Colin said evenly.

  “For his slave Angel he have special rule. No anal sex. And she can no go outside.”

  Colin nodded, baffled. Luis opened the door for him.

  All at once, the blood pumping hard through Colin’s body flooded one particular area, because there, dangling from his bedpost like a creamy gift, was Angela.

  A “thank you” from Marco for the painting, no doubt.

  Colin, already forgetting the guard Luis, closed the door behind him and stared. Her arms were stretched tight over her head, wrists chained to the top of the post. She wore nothing but a blindfold, black lace underwear, and those strappy black heels, which barely touched the ground. Her chest moved rapidly with breaths, showing her nervousness.

  She’d been a captive for two years. Was she always nervous like this? The idea of it made him want to crush something. Namely, every man who’d ever taken advantage of her in this kind of vulnerable scenario.

  Like he was about to do.

  He hated himself as he reached into his pants and pulled his cock higher, attempting a more comfortable place for the damned, out of control monster. As he prowled closer to the girl he felt his own breaths coming faster and harder, matching the rise and fall of her chest. Those pretty, dark pink nipples calling to him.

  He had to touch her. It was expected of him. And he had to. He felt like he might explode if he didn’t.

  But a horrible thought occurred to him. She had no idea he was there to save her. To her, he was just another perverted john, wanting a piece of her. He wished he could explain to her. The thought that she might be repulsed by him was nearly enough to deflate every ounce of lust from his system.

  A low groan came from his throat and she gasped, apparently realizing his nearness. Her breasts seemed to rise up, calling to him.

  I’m sorry, he thought to himself. One day, he hoped to be able to apologize properly, and God willing she could forgive him…and he could forgive himself.

  His hands slid around her waist to the small of her back and she arched toward him. His mouth came down around her sweet nipple and they both moaned.

  She’s acting, he told himself. But he couldn’t think that way. He had to pretend she was enjoying it too, or he didn’t know if he could go through with it.

  He circled his tongue around her nipple, feeling it tighten and perk so he could suck it properly. Then he moved to the other side until both nipples were at attention.

  He hadn’t been lying when he told Marco he loved the scent and taste of a woman. Colin moved slowly to his knees, running his tongue over her ribs, kissing her belly button, and trailing his hands over her ass and the back of her toned thighs. Too thin, but so beautiful.

  She was panting when he lowered her thong to her ankles and lifted her feet one at a time to step out of them. At her core was a thin strip of trimmed hair, light brown. The rest looked incredibly smooth. Silky. Grasping her hips, his mouth covered her and she cried out. Colin needed better access, so he lifted one of her legs and draped it over his shoulder, glad when he felt her put some weight onto him. He used his thumbs to gently open her, and he dove in, his tongue going wild at the sweet and salty taste of her.

  She was so vocal. Under his hands and mouth she bucked her hips. His tongue dipped further, finding complete wetness at her opening, and he groaned again. He wanted to put a finger in and feel her, but all his concentration was centered on her clit. As his tongue went back to it, flicking rapidly, he swore he felt her tense. And then she was moaning, her thighs tightening around his face. He felt the undulations of her orgasm, the pumping of blood through her sex as he suckled. Her breathing and shouts came in short, feminine spurts.

  It gave him immense relief to know he’d brought her pleasure, but he couldn’t let it go to his head. She’d probably had to learn to enjoy all things sexual in her time of captivity. A wave of remorse pounded him as he stood and faced her. He didn’t want to be a nameless, faceless man, and she deserved to see who touched her.

  She sagged a bit in her chains, but when Colin pulled the blindfold off she straightened, her eyes going wide. They stood there staring at one another, both of them resuming another round of hard breathing. Without thought, Colin lowered his mouth to hers. The sound of surprise she let out shot a spike of fear through him.

  Was he not supposed to kiss her?

  In an instant she reacted, kissing him back as if her life depended on it, her mouth hungry for him. His arms went around her waist and he pressed his hard length against her stomach. Their lips moved in perfect harmony, their tongues exploring as if they were discovering the bliss of kissing for the first time.

  His fears disappeared, replaced by golden stars that flooded his vision.

  He would get this girl away from Marco’s lair or die trying.

  How long had it been since someone kissed me? Truly kissed me, like this? Like they couldn’t get enough of me. Like I was a nectar to their dying thirst.

  Never.

  My boyfriend’s kisses had always been sweet. After him, there were drunken kisses at parties, and of course the lust-filled kisses from Fernando that I tried never to remember.

  When Marco’s patrons kissed me with sloppy, impassioned ownership, it was for their own pleasure, never mine.

  Every now and then I’d get a patron who I knew wanted me to come, but even then, it always seemed to be for their own egotistical purposes. An outward show of their control over my body. Not because they cared.

  This felt different. Strangely real. It was confusing a
nd worrisome, but I couldn’t stop the thoughts that came to me.

  My mind went back to last night. The way he’d looked into my eyes like I was a woman, not an object. The way I’d sensed something like reluctance from him. I couldn’t place it. All I knew was it felt different. Deep down, I knew he was probably the same as anyone else who came here, but I wanted to enjoy this moment. For however many days he spent at the villa, I wanted to pretend he was just a sexy, normal man, and that I was a normal girl choosing to be with him.

  I must have looked starry-eyed when we returned to the slave quarters last night because Josef eyed me with complete seriousness and disapproval.

  “Qué?” I’d snapped. What? Though I knew what. Having any emotions was dangerous around here.

  He only shook his head slowly and whispered in Spanish, “Be careful, Angel. Guard your heart.”

  I loved him for caring, but I wasn’t going to fall in love with a patron—I wasn’t that stupid. However, I would take my kicks where I could get them, and this guy was seriously hot. Nobody who came here was ever hot, except that Latin pop star who preferred Josef.

  When I’d first looked up at Mr. Douglas after dinner, a feeling I hadn’t had since Cancun filled me. My first thought was, “Oh, my God. I can’t wait to tell my friends about this guy!” By “friends” I meant my sorority sisters, not my fellow slaves.

  It was such a strange, alien thought to have here at the villa, and my heart sunk the moment it crossed my mind. I would never be telling my friends about him, and as that realization struck me I was filled with an overflow of loss and sadness that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Yes, I had to be careful. Guard my heart. And I would.

  Under that sexy scruffiness, Mr. Douglas was a heartless criminal just like the rest of them. I had no business letting “old Angela” thoughts into Angel’s life. Still…the way he’d looked at me…and then when I’d heard him speak. Hearing my native language in that roguish accent made something bloom to life inside me that had been long dead. I hadn’t heard English in a year. The sound was a salve to my soul, though I knew I was foolish to feel that way.

  When I’d heard there was a Scottish man at the villa I’d ignorantly imagined some big-bellied, bald man in a kilt. Then Jin came in that afternoon giddy. Giddy. Whispering about the Scottish patron.

  Still, I couldn’t imagine any patron being worthy of all that.

  Until I saw him.

  The way he’d watched with those deep eyes as I danced made me tingle all over. And then when I’d unbuttoned his pants and sprung free the most perfect cock in existence—thick girth thrumming under my hands—I actually didn’t mind going down on him. That’s something that rarely happened.

  And now. Now he was kissing me with unadulterated passion. Men needed to put more stock in kissing, and less importance on the size of their balls. A good kiss could bring a woman to the brink and make her beg for more, just as I was feeling now, panting against his mouth, the pain in my wrists long forgotten.

  I remembered his mouth between my legs. The feel of his five o’clock shadow gently scraping the inside of my thighs. Men went down on me all the time, but it was like the kissing thing—it was for them, not me. Why did this feel different? Was it all in my head, because I actually felt attracted to this man? Whatever the reason, I had to stop analyzing it and just enjoy. I pushed my hips against the hardness at his crotch.

  I wanted sex. I actually wanted it, and it was liberating, because that above all was something I could want and actually get.

  Mr. Douglas reached up and undid the straps around my wrists, bringing my numb hands to his belt. I was breathing hard. He watched my face as I unbuckled and unzipped. Then he stepped back and undressed himself the rest of the way.

  I could do nothing but stand there in his predatory sights, anticipating what was to come and knowing I’d probably relive it every day in my imagination, even envision him while I was with future patrons.

  I dropped my stare to look at his crotch, just as impressive as the night before, so thick. And then his shirt came off.

  Oh, yes, yes, yes. I’d felt his muscles last night, but seeing that six pack made me breathe harder. He had tattoos up the insides of his arms, but I couldn’t make them out. He came at me, backing me against the tall the bed and kissing me again with abandon, his hands tangling inside my hair, pulling, his erection pressing against my stomach. He was impassioned, but not gentle. My hands were all over him, up his taut sides and over his muscled back, waist, then his hard ass. For once I was behaving with a patron the way Marco really wanted me to. I wondered if he was watching. If he was proud. But the thought was fleeting.

  Mr. Douglas growled, grabbing underneath my butt to lift me onto the bed. I crawled backward as he loomed, coming at me. Just as I was about to reach for his cock, he surprised me, pulling back the blankets and pointing for me to climb under the sheet.

  It wasn’t my strangest request ever. I complied, as always, without question or hesitation. He climbed under with me, pulling the sheet up to his shoulder blades as he found his way between my legs and held his weight above me. His eyes bore into mine. He looked at me so much. It was highly unusual for a patron, and even more unusual for me to stare back, but his eyes were so beautiful—an expressive dark blue, saying things I couldn’t understand.

  Would I get in trouble for looking at him like this? Momentarily scared, I dropped my eyes and concentrated on his body. Up the inside of one of his arms was writing. The other arm had a design…a tree, maybe? When he began to lower himself I stopped trying to focus on his tatts.

  I raised my hips, ready for him, but when he settled himself on top of me he pressed his cock inside the crook of my thigh and leaned forward, rocking his body seductively. He bent and placed his lips at my ear, whispering low.

  “Pretend I’m talking dirty to you. Say, Oh, yeah.”

  What? That was…weird.

  Damn it. Disappointment rushed through me. He was a freak, just like all the others.

  “Oh, sí, Señor Douglas,” I moaned.

  He began to move his strong hips in a delicious circular motion and thrusting his hips, making the bed rock.

  Again he lowered his lips to my ear. “Pretend I’m fucking you.”

  Was he kidding me?

  This was beyond strange. What the hell was going on here? The man was as hard as a rock. Why wasn’t he having sex with me?

  My thoughts were interrupted when his hips moved enough to shift his cock against the center of my slit. He found my wetness there and we both groaned as he slid up and down against me.

  Okay, weird or not, that felt really good. I rocked up and back, meeting his strokes. He watched me, moving a strand of hair from my mouth.

  “You’re fucking beautiful, you are.” His thumb moved over my cheek, down my chin, and he watched it trailing my skin. “A wee, golden flower.”

  My fingers gripped his muscular sides and my nails dug in just slightly as I felt another orgasm building. This was my lucky freaking night. I wanted him to keep talking. Keep looking at me like that. My breaths quickened. He pressed harder, moved faster, taking all of my body’s hints.

  “Fuck, yes,” he whispered as I clung tight and came hard against him. I rubbed and rubbed against his wide shaft, pressing to release every tiny tremor, and then a deep rumble rang from his diaphragm. Men made all sorts of funny sounds when they came. Most went high-pitched, but not Mr. Douglas. When he orgasmed his voice lowered, like a growling beast of a man, and it was incredibly sexy. I wanted to hear that sound again and again, and I hoped I would in my dreams.

  His voice lowered further and he sat up on his knees as if pulling out of me, grasping himself as the sheet flew back. He came, a thick stream shooting across my belly and breasts, up to my chin.

  We were both breathing hard. He wouldn’t look at me now, and I had to wonder…

  What was that? The best non-sex of my life, yes, but why hadn’t we done it? If he was gay he could have requ
ested Josef. Nobody around here had any qualms about that, so I couldn’t imagine he was hiding homosexuality. Did he think I was diseased? He’d obviously been blood-tested when he came, like all patrons to my knowledge, so he had to know I was clean.

  Why didn’t he want to have sex with me?

  Unfounded hurt crept over me. I felt offended, though truly I was more baffled than anything. Part of me thought it was ironic that I’d be upset over a patron not wanting to fuck me. And even more ironic that I’d wanted to fuck him.

  Mr. Douglas moved to the edge of the bed and I sucked in a gasp. He had a gorgeous Gaelic word tattooed across his upper back. I wished I knew what the word meant, but I didn’t dare ask. He sat there, running a hand up and down the back of his shave head. The short hair gave him a dangerous, edgy look. I could see from the outline of the new growth that he wasn’t balding or receding. He was an utter mystery.

  He climbed down and reached for his undershirt, coming back to the bed and wiping his come from my skin. The thoughtful gesture suddenly made my eyes burn and I had to swallow hard. It wasn’t unheard of for patrons to be kind or gentle, but it was rare. I believed Marco was gentle with Perla, and I’d always wished for that. I was starving for true kindness.

  He tossed the soiled shirt to the ground and pulled on his boxer briefs. I prepared myself to say the words I always had to say if there was no prearranged agreement.

  “Señor Douglas…Quieres que me quede?” Do you want me to stay?

  He finally looked at me again, but the passion was gone now. He seemed guarded.

  Please say yes, I silently begged. Ask me to stay.

  “Do you only speak in Spanish?” he asked.

  I paused, taken aback by the question, and then nodded.

  “No,” he whispered, and my stomach sunk. In a stronger voice he said, “You may go.”

  Dismissed.

  Without looking at him I quickly climbed off the bed, picked up my panties from the floor, and left. Luis was waiting outside the door to escort me to the slave quarters.