Captive

by R. J. Lewis

  Then he came to me.

  Strolled to me in four easy steps.

  I felt my body press back into the mattress. I tightened the blanket around me, but my eyes bore into his the whole way.

  He didn’t give me any time to process what he was going to do.

  He simply stopped by the bed and yanked the blanket off me in one quick move. He threw it on the floor behind him and dropped to his knees. He grabbed at my legs and spun me around, yanking me down the mattress so my legs were dangling off the edge.

  I was naked and vulnerable and about to have a heart attack. I closed my legs as he gripped my thighs and shook my head at him. “Don’t, Nixon.” My words were weak. I was crying. I felt the tears fall down the side of my face as I looked down at him.

  “Why?” he retorted, his face grim. “You’ve been looking at me for days. You’ve been wet and squirming. You want me to make the ache go away, baby?”

  Baby.

  That word again.

  The way he said it.

  So gentle. So doting.

  More tears fell. I hid my face from him, sobbing because the pulse between my legs quickened and I would do anything to satisfy it.

  “It’s wrong,” I cried. “I don’t want it. I don’t.”

  “You don’t?” he questioned. “Or you keep telling yourself you don’t?”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  “No, you shouldn’t.”

  “It’s wrong,” I restated.

  “Yeah, it is,” he agreed. “So why does that excite you so much?”

  I shook my head, more at myself than him, because he was right. For some sick reason, I was so fucking excited. I wanted him to bury his face there. Had imagined it at night. Had wondered what it would feel like since the moment I saw him on that bus.

  What if he did it and I hated myself for it?

  How could I live with myself for being so weak, for allowing a murderous man to touch me without putting up a fight?

  The whole situation was wrong.

  I was so fucking confused.

  “Do you think you won’t be a victim anymore if you let me touch you?” he asked me. When I nodded, I felt his hands grip my thighs tighter. “Tell me no, then, baby, but open your legs for me when you do.”

  I took a few breaths absorbing his words. I understood his intentions. It sounded like a sick little game. If I told him no, but spread my legs, it was an invitation but not one I would admit out loud to.

  I was aware how close he was. I could feel the need in him by the way he gripped my thighs. He’d been hard for me, I realized. Maybe he’d been fighting himself this whole time.

  As I let out a long breath of air, I relaxed my legs and whispered, “N-no.”

  The air sounded like it’d been ripped from his lungs when he uttered, “Thank fuck.”

  Within seconds, he spread my legs wide and buried his face between them. The moment I felt his mouth at my swollen core, the heat of his tongue along my wet slit, I could have blacked out from pleasure. I gasped as delicious jolts shot up my belly. I buried my fingers into his wet hair as tremors wracked my body.

  “Jesus, you’re sensitive,” he said, awed. “Why are you so fucking sensitive, Victoria?”

  I didn’t know.

  But I could guess.

  I didn’t care to respond because his tongue was making my body twist and turn with need.

  He sucked hard, then slow, then teased around my clit. He drew out sounds that surprised me. I cried for him to stop, even though I held him still to me, my body begging for more of his mouth.

  “Say my name when you come, baby,” he groaned as he sucked me hard.

  I shook my head, moaning, “No,” over and over again.

  “Yes,” he urged. “Say my name while I suck your delicious cunt.”

  I dug my feet into the mattress as he swirled his tongue around my clit. I yanked at his hair so hard, aware I was going to come. I tried to whisper for him to stop, to tell him no again, but the second the crest of pleasure approached, I began whispering, “Nixon,” instead.

  I came hard.

  All the tension left my bones.

  The orgasm ripped through me, intense and more satisfying that I could have ever imagined. Even the aftershocks were heady.

  After I came down from the high, he pulled away and I instantly buried myself under the blanket again, forcing a barrier between us.

  I couldn’t face him.

  Not after that.

  I could hardly face myself.

  Nixon…

  No one had ever touched her like that before. He knew it by the way she gasped. She made these surprised little sounds as he sucked that sweet little pussy.

  And now he was aching worse than ever before.

  She hid herself from him so fast, like she couldn’t confront him, or herself for that matter. He felt his heart soften at that. She was so sweet, and he was so…so…

  F

  U

  C

  K

  E

  D.

  He sat back down on the chair and stared at her little form buried under the covers. He wanted to remove them, wanted to run his hand down her soft body and tell her it was okay to feel confused.

  He felt confused, too.

  That wasn’t a game he had ever played.

  Frankly, he was shocked his dick hardened for it.

  He liked it.

  He knew she liked it, too.

  As twisted as it was.

  As wrong as it was.

  It just… was.

  Victoria…

  No words were exchanged for hours. I remained hidden under the blanket, listening to his every move. He wasn’t stomping around like usual, which was an okay sign. But I did feel him come near me at times, and I sensed he was staring at me.

  For a long while, I was confused with myself.

  I expected to feel dirty, but I didn’t.

  I expected to be dismayed by myself for allowing it, but I wasn’t.

  I kept replaying the feel of his tongue against my most private part. One could get seriously addicted to that. The stories made sense. Kim’s gushing over it had not been exaggerated.

  Just as it was nearing bedtime, he did his usual infinite push-ups beside his bed in just his briefs. I peeked at him from under my blanket. The flashlights were all off. The only light was coming from the glow of the fire. I watched his dark silhouette as he moved briskly. Up and down.

  Nixon was a devastatingly beautiful guy.

  A monster with a face that could attract anyone.

  I did have to tell myself that Roz too had been beautiful, and I had felt absolutely nothing for that monstrous man.

  Beauty didn’t influence my feelings.

  So, what was it about Nixon then?

  Why did he make my body thrum with unwanted feelings?

  It felt primitive to allow your body to have so much control. It seemed like such a cop out, though, to blame my weakness on visceral needs. Because my thoughts weren’t condemning me. I was not angry at what I had allowed to happen, or at how aroused I still was.

  When he finished, he collapsed into the other bed. I held my breath as I watched him rest a hand under his head. His chest began slowing down as his heart rate returned to normal.

  I slowly removed the blanket from my head, feeling like the darkness was a blanket of its own. Resting on my side, I watched him, trying to make out his face, wishing I knew what he was thinking.

  He could have touched me when he went down on me.

  He’d been bursting for it.

  The guy didn’t take it by force. It was simple as that. He wasn’t like the others. It didn’t redeem him, not at all. The idea of him still frightened me, but he wasn’t totally emotionless, and he wasn’t entirely without morals.

  Monsters were supposed to be black and white. They were meant to commit evil deeds and have selfish motivations. Nixon wasn’t fitting into the role, and it was impossible not to be curious abo
ut it.

  As twisted as it was, a part of me hoped he’d come to me, and when he didn’t, I felt hollow. My thighs squirmed against each other. Desperation crept in; the urges were too great to ignore.

  I… began to shiver. I made my teeth chatter loud enough he could hear. I hiked the blanket up to my chin and shook. I even let out a few short breaths. I played it up, pretending to be so cold, I couldn’t get warm.

  In all fairness, the room wasn’t the warmest it had been.

  There was a chill, so he couldn’t doubt it.

  I just happened to exaggerate it. I turned over so my back was to him and scooted to the wall. I made myself into a cocoon and shivered. I heard the shuffling sounds from his bed. I wondered if he was watching me.

  Then I heard more movements, and I held my breath.

  I was asking for it.

  I was being reckless.

  I had a longing only he could fill.

  Body trumped mind. What a dangerous game to play.

  I shivered for barely a minute when the bed dipped with the weight of him. He slid under the covers and wrapped an arm around my middle, pulling me into his chest.

  “You cold, baby?” he murmured into my hair. I nodded in response, teeth still chattering the same time I felt my heart quickening with excitement.

  It startled me how good this felt, to be in Nixon’s arms and not feel any bit of fear. Arousal dominated my senses, made the lines blur worse than before.

  I felt him pressed against my back, felt the hard ridge of his cock against my ass. It was…fuck, it was scrambling my brain.

  My nude body squirmed against him. My butt pressed against his length. I was wet again and burning. I wanted that sweet release, wanted him to touch me again.

  “Go away,” I whispered weakly, cheeks burning.

  I was so fucking bold.

  I couldn’t believe lust triumphed over shame.

  When I felt his arm begin to loosen around me, I pressed my back against him. With quick breaths, I repeated, “Go away.”

  There was a moment of stillness in him.

  Then his arm tightened back around me, and I felt another bolt of excitement at the pit of me. I felt his breaths against the back of my shoulder. Felt his mouth skirting along my skin. “Did you like me sucking your clit, Victoria?” he asked huskily. “Is that why I’m back here?”

  My eyelids drooped at his words. My mouth parted; the breaths left me faster now as I whispered, “I didn’t like it at all.”

  “Does your pussy feel the same way?” he questioned as he pressed light kisses along the back of my shoulder. “Or is it wet for me right now?”

  Jesus.

  I was so aroused; it was hard to focus. I blinked slowly, forcing out, “Not wet for you, Nixon.”

  “No?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  Suddenly, he pulled me up the bed. My heart caught in my throat as he sat up and settled me on his lap, my back pressed against his front. He threw the blankets off us and spread my legs apart on either side of him. Before I could turn to look at him, his hand shot up to my throat. He gripped it, keeping me still. A bolt of fear shot up my spine, stiffening me, until he leaned his head in, mouth pressed to my ear, whispering, “You tell me to stop playing, and I will, baby. That’s all you have to say, anytime, however raw with need I am, however lost you are, you just say Stop. But if you don’t, I won’t hurt you. Trust me.”

  “Trust a killer?” I let out, my head dizzy with worry.

  “Have I hurt you before now?” he replied, his tone gentle.

  I felt tears cloud my vision. “No,” I admitted.

  “I saved you from the bad men, didn’t I?”

  “All but one.”

  He chuckled deep in his throat. “Fuck, you got some fight in you, you know that? You can be feisty with me, if you like. I know a little vixen when I see one.”

  I didn’t respond. My chest was moving fast with warring emotions. His hand still gripped my throat. I was aware how we must have looked – me sitting on his lap, his cock hard beneath his briefs, my legs parted, vulnerable and open as ever. His other hand hadn’t moved. He waited for me, waited for my lead.

  And the seconds passed like this. With me realizing he wouldn’t hurt me. The stiffness in me left as I slowly relaxed against him. He noticed it straightaway because his hand slid up my inner thighs… slowly.

  So painfully slow.

  “I’m going to finger you,” he told me, tightly. “You’re going to grab at my arm and try to pull me away from your neck. You’re going to plead for me to let you go, but I want your hips to grind against me. Got it, little vixen?”

  I was so lost to the feel of his hand running up my thigh, so close to where I needed him to be. All my senses fixated on his touch; my body yearned for it.

  “Yes,” I panted. “I got it.”

  He blew out a harsh breath, like he was stunned by my response. “Fucking hell, baby.”

  Nixon…

  Fucking hell.

  Was this real?

  She threw her hands to his arm, digging her nails into his skin, trying to remove his hand from her neck. He was taken aback by her strength at first. Little beauty was full of surprises. He almost thought to let go…but then his hand reached the tender flesh of her core and her hold on him lessened dramatically.

  Her hips bucked up to meet his touch as a soft moan left her mouth. Just the sound of her in the throes of pleasure made Nixon delirious. He shut his eyes, feeling his pulse quicken as his fingers swirled around her slit.

  She was drenched.

  Wetter than when he took her in his mouth.

  Victoria liked this fucked up game more than he’d imagined. She completely let go of herself, moaning into the air, holding his arm instead of pulling it away. He tightened his grip around her throat and forced her face to his. She gasped in response, enjoying his dominance. He had to see her face. He had to look her in the eyes as he slid his middle finger into her.

  Her eyes were glazed back, and her mouth parted when he slid his finger into her wet channel. Her pussy gripped him so tight, it made him tense with surprise.

  “Why are you so tight?” he growled, nipping at her jaw. “Anyone ever done this to you, Victoria?”

  She was too lost in pleasure to respond, but he felt he knew the answer already.

  She was so stunned by the sensations, so utterly sensitive to his every touch, it was obvious why that was.

  And it made him angry.

  Angry that those fucks might have taken her.

  Taken what was his.

  She was his.

  He believed it in his bones because he looked at her and wanted to taste every inch of her soul. He wanted to devour her, claim her, bury his teeth into her skin and leave marks all over her. It was so fucking animalistic the things he wanted to do to this little body.

  He watched her writhe in his lap, bucking at every touch, moaning incoherently, and he was awestruck by her beauty. She could pretend she didn’t like it with her words, but her body spun a different truth.

  He could get used to this game.

  He might never tire of the challenge to prove her words wrong.

  But he needed his cock inside her. He needed to feel her pulse around him. Needed it so badly, he was shaking with unrestrained need.

  “I like this, Victoria,” he grunted into her ear. “I like you writhing in my arms. You’re perfect, you know that?”

  Her cheeks flushed from his words. He saw a tear escape her eye and as it fell, he lapped it up with his tongue, ridding it from view.

  He didn’t like to see her cry, but she looked beautiful with glistening eyes. He felt her body tighten, knew the signs of coming release. His hold on her neck tightened and it drove her over the edge. She came hard with his finger inside her pussy, with his thumb circling her clit, with his name whispered in his ear.

  And he shut his eyes, savouring every second of it.

  39.

  Vic
toria…

  I was still shaking as I came down from my orgasm, but the throb between my legs hadn’t dulled. I turned my head to Nixon and ran my lips along his neck. I felt him tensing beneath him. His hand still gripped my neck and it tightened, as if to admonish me.

  “Nixon,” I whispered, wantonly. I was writhing in his lap, desperate to quench the need in me.

  His chest rose and fell rapidly now. “Be cautious, Victoria,” he warned.

  But we were past the point of caution. I’d tasted nothing but blood and danger; it was in this room, tainting my senses. “I think we’re beyond that.”

  “No,” he snapped, sounding feral. “We’ll be beyond that the second I have you beneath me. There’ll be no going back, you understand?”

  I nodded stiffly, but he remained unmoving. “I gotta hear you say it,” he urged tightly.

  “I understand.”

  He inhaled sharply. I could feel how tight his body was beneath me. “Give me your mouth, kitten.”

  I looked up at him just as he dropped his head down to me. He brushed his full lips against mine; it felt intimate, soft. His other arm went around my waist, tightening around me like a belt as his other hand dropped from my neck and ventured to my breasts. He cupped my breast possessively as he added more pressure to the kiss. It was such a heady feeling, I parted my lips, giving him complete access to my mouth. His tongue clashed with mine, and he let out a soft, approving groan; that sound went straight to the apex of my core, and I writhed again, unable to resist.

  “Now, I know you’ve done that before,” he murmured, pulling away to catch our breaths. He trembled around me, unreserved and open. “Do you feel your heart about to burst, baby?”

  My cheeks warmed, but I responded, “No, I don’t.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, amused. “Because I can feel it against my hand here.”

  “I think you’re mistaken.”

  “And I think you’re lying.”

  There was such a fucking rush in this, I couldn’t explain it. “Prove it, Nixon.”

  In a blink of an eye, he had me flat on the bed beneath him. He was over me, propped on his elbows on either side of me. He had the most wicked grin on his face as he peered down at me. “I’ll prove it when you scream my name,” he told me. “You’ll be clawing my back, arching into me, begging my dick to split you in half.”