Captured: Claimed Book 3

by M James

  7

  Zach

  I have to admit, Vincent’s home in New York is different than I expected. For one thing, I’m surprised he lives in a brownstone and not some modern penthouse loft, like the residence I know he owns in Chicago. But maybe he likes to mix it up. Or maybe this house was in his family, designed by someone older, with better taste.

  It’s really fucking classy. We passed through the living room with wood and leather and soft cushioned furniture, with expensive tapestried rugs and antiques in glass cases and art that probably are all originals, not copies. The entire house is like that—the dining room with the long mahogany table and carved chairs and wrought-iron chandelier, the thick rugs everywhere, the curving mahogany staircase that leads to the upper floors, and more of the gorgeous art.

  The master suite is on the second floor with the library, and then the guest rooms are on the third floor. I force myself not to glance at Rain as she stops on the second floor with Vincent and turns off towards their room—I’ll go crazy if I think about what they’re probably doing in there tonight. Vincent’s leaving, and he’ll probably want to sleep with his fiancee before he goes. Or maybe not. Who the fuck knows, but I sure as hell don’t want to think about it.

  “This is actually more than acceptable,” Sonya says grudgingly as Andrea shows us to our room. She’s not wrong—the fucking guest room is almost as big as my whole studio apartment, with a four-poster bed covered in an expensive-looking duvet, a gleaming hardwood floor covered in another of those rugs, and then a fireplace against the wall with two leather wingback chairs. I can’t even imagine what the bathroom probably looks like.

  I can see why someone would get sucked into a life like this. Lavish homes, delicious food, expensive alcohol, beautiful women. I have everything a man could want right now, and if I were a different kind of man, I’d probably be tempted by the offer that Sonya made to me on the plane. Very tempted.

  Would I be more tempted if I hadn’t, and didn’t still, love Rain? That’s a good question, one that I don’t want to think about too hard. I’d like to think that I’m the kind of tough nut that the agency likes to hire, that they saw in me that I wouldn’t crack no matter who threw themselves at me or what I was offered.

  “Would you rather have a place like this than your apartment in Chicago?” I ask curiously as I start to unbutton my shirt. “It is nice.”

  Sonya laughs. “Why not both? A glamorous apartment in Chicago and an elegant brownstone in New York. What about a summer house in the Hamptons, a ski home in Colorado, a getaway in the French Alps.” She pulls off her shirt, throwing it carelessly onto a nearby chair. “I want everything Vincent has and more.”

  I hang my shirt up in the closet, reaching for my belt. I can see her undressing out of the corner of my eye, stripping down to a blue bra and panties that look phenomenal against her bronzed skin.

  But they look even better off, as I can see when I turn around and she’s standing there completely naked, the nipples of her slightly upturned breasts hard despite the warmth of the room.

  “You think you should be going with Vincent.” It’s not a question. I already know the answer.

  “I should be running this entire fucking business,” Sonya growls, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Vincent is an idiot. He cares more about power than about seeing Ezio’s legacy thriving. He’d burn it to the ground if someone offered him more influence and threw some barely legal pussy at him.”

  I think about the way the men at the party looked at Erin. Tomorrow, you need to start thinking about how you will get information, I tell myself. But for now, you need to make Sonya happy. Make her talk.

  “You’re right.” I walk towards her, pushing my boxers off and leaving them on the floor, letting her see that I’m already half-hard from the sight of her naked body. “You’re ten times the businessperson that Vincent is. You should be leading this family, not him. Didn’t you say that’s what Ezio originally intended?”

  Sonya licks her lips, watching me like a cat as I kneel down in front of her, grasping her firm thighs and pushing them apart. I slide my hands up her legs, smoothing my fingers over her soft, shaved pussy as she moans softly, her head tilting back. She’s immediately wet for me, her tanned skin glistening, and I part her with my fingers, leaning forward to slide my tongue over her clit.

  “Yessss,” she hisses. “On your knees for me, Chase, just like these other men should be. Make me come. Worship my fucking pussy.”

  I have a lot of respect for her, but her words make me want to laugh instead of turning me on. All of these people are so easy to read. They think they’re mysterious and special. I knew immediately what Sonya wanted, that she wanted her man on his knees, making her feel like a goddess, licking her to orgasm without any thought for his own pleasure. Just like Vincent could be easily manipulated if Sonya would get over her need to not play Vincent’s game.

  But their feud is, hopefully, going to make it all that much easier for me to get them both to slip up.

  “Fuck, that’s good,” Sonya moans. “Your tongue feels so good, Chase, fuck.” She moans again, her legs spreading wider, giving herself over to it completely. “I’m going to make them wish they’d never underestimated me,” she gasps, her hips bucking up against my mouth. “I’m going to fucking rule every single one of them. I’ll bring Vincent down if it’s the last thing I do. I’ll make it all mine. Every…last…thing…will…oh my fucking god, Chase!”

  She screams my name as she comes, her hand grabbing the back of my head and pressing my mouth hard against her pussy, grinding against me as she comes hard on my tongue, her moans filling the room until I’m sure anyone on this floor can hear her. But it’s clear that she doesn’t care, caught up in the pleasure of my mouth on her, the orgasm rippling through her body.

  “Get on the bed,” she orders, her clit still pulsing under my tongue, and I obey, climbing onto the soft mattress and letting her look at me in all my naked glory, my cock thick and rigid and waiting for her.

  She wastes no time straddling me, sinking down onto it, and I can’t help myself. She always feels good, hot and wet and tight, and my body takes over without my meaning for it to. Her hands are on my chest, and I force myself not to think of Rain, to look up into Sonya’s face, at her dark eyes and bronzed skin and jet-black hair, to feel her grinding down onto me, and not bring Rain into this.

  This is my life now. Until the job is over, this is my girl. I have to stop wanting what I can’t have. I’m going to go insane if I don’t.

  “I need a condom,” I gasp, realizing for the first time that it feels so fucking good because I’m in her naked, her hot, wet pussy squeezing my cock in a death grip. “Fuck, Sonya, we need to wrap it up.”

  “I can’t stop,” she breathes, riding me faster. “I’m so fucking close, Chase. Just let me come, and you can shoot all over my tits. Or my face, if you want. You want that?”

  Oh god. The thought of my cum shooting all over Sonya’s face is almost enough to make me bust then and there. “I wouldn’t disrespect you like that,” I say instead, letting her lean forward, pinning my wrists above my head the way she likes, taking charge. “You’re the one in control, babe. I’m just your toy, remember? Your fling to fuck how you want.”

  She moans, and I feel a flood of her arousal over my cock. I know I’m headed in the right direction then. “Yes, oh god. Just let me come, Chase. Let me come on your cock, and I’ll get a condom then, I promise—”

  Sonya trails off, a helpless moan spilling from her lips. I feel her tightening around me, clenching as she orgasms again, her head thrown back and her back arched so hard that I can feel her soft black hair trailing over my legs.

  In the next second, she whips her head forward, that same hair cascading around my face as she grabs my chin and leans down to kiss me, grinding down on me hard as her pussy keeps fluttering around my cock, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing as her tongue plunges into my mouth, and I realize
with a sort of detached horror as my balls tighten and throb that I’m not going to be able to stop. I’m going to come, and come hard, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  She’s like a goddamn succubus, and I can’t fucking stop.

  “Sonya!” I snarl her name into her mouth, and I don’t know if it’s a sound of pleasure or frustration with her, myself, the huge fucking mistake that this is, but there’s no fucking way I can quit now. She’s riding me hard, gripping my wrists. I feel my cock go rock-solid inside of her as I spill my cum, so deep that it’s probably halfway to her fucking womb already. I’m helpless in the onslaught of pure ecstasy that’s coming inside of a woman bare.

  “Chase!” She screams my name again, and I don’t know if she’s really coming for a third time or not, but as the last of my cum spills out. Some of my sanity returns; I wriggle out from under her, glaring at her as she rolls over onto her back, still gorgeously nude.

  “What the fuck were you thinking?” I demand, and Sonya rolls her eyes. She climbs out of bed, walking to her purse still nude, and I catch a glimpse of my cum glistening on her thigh. She doesn’t bother going to the bathroom, just slips her panties back on and reaches into her purse for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

  “What were you thinking?” I ask again, my voice harsh. I’m too upset with us both to do my usual charmer act—I’m pissed at her for being so fucking stupid in the first place and with myself for not being strong enough to just shove her off of me and go get a fucking condom. They say men always think with their dicks, I thought I was better than that, but apparently, I’m not.

  “I was thinking that I wanted to fucking get off,” Sonya says coolly, taking a drag on her cigarette and blowing the smoke out of the window.

  “Please tell me you’re on the pill,” I groan. “Sonya, I know you said you wanted to get serious, but this is going too far—”

  “Of course I’m not on the pill.” She laughs. “You think I’d fuck up this body with hormones? Please.”

  “Sonya—”

  “Calm down.” She takes another drag on the cigarette. “I’ll go get plan B or something in the morning. It’s not even the right time in my cycle, and it was once. It takes more than that to knock a woman up, Chase.”

  “It’s not worth the risk.” I’m still pissed, whatever her reassurances. “You think you’re going to be able to take over Ezio’s empire with a kid in you? Do you think a bunch of men are going to listen to you when you’re obviously pregnant? No, it’ll give them another excuse to relegate you to the kitchen where they already think you belong.”

  “I didn’t know you were that much of a feminist, Chase.” Sonya finishes her cigarette and stubs it out on the windowsill, flicking it outside. She walks back towards the bed with a sultry smile, her hips swaying in the pale blue panties, the rest of her still perfectly nude. I can see the spot on her panties where my cum has leaked out of her, and despite myself, my cock starts to stiffen at the thought of her full of it.

  “There you go.” She climbs onto the bed, sliding between my legs. “How would you like to come again, but somewhere less dangerous?”

  Fuck. I can’t say a word as her mouth slides over my stiff cock, and my brain shuts down yet again. There’s a reason men lose wars over women, I think, just before she deep throats me, and I lose the ability to think at all.

  8

  Rain

  I feel adrift back in New York. The next morning when I wake up, Vincent is already gone. I have no idea what to do with myself beyond getting up and eating the breakfast that’s left for me in the fridge, plain Greek yogurt with berries and cold overnight oats. From there, April accompanies me to my session with my personal trainer. Then once I return sore and sweaty to get into the shower, I’m completely at a loss as to what else to do.

  Erin doesn’t want to come out of her room, and Gianna is hovering over Ezio in their room, watching him like a hawk as the nurses on their shifts come in and out. I catch a glimpse of Sonya and Zach headed out to the pool. Although I’d thought about going up there, the last thing I want to do is see Sonya’s perfect bronzed body in a tiny bikini while Zach fawns over her. The thought makes me feel slightly nauseous.

  All I want to do is forget what’s going on. I glance at the minibar every time I pass it, and by lunchtime, I tell myself that a gin and diet tonic with lunch won’t break any of my fitness rules. I have one with my chicken and kale wrap, and since I hardly ever drink, that’s enough to give me a soft buzz and blur the edges of my emotions just a little. As soon as it starts to wear off, though, the ache in my chest comes back, and I can’t stop thinking about last night, about how Vincent treated me, the things he made me say, and how this is my life from now on. I pass Gianna in the hall, and when she mentions to me that tomorrow she’d like to talk to me about starting to plan the wedding, I make a beeline back to the bar.

  By dinnertime, I’m well and truly drunk. I don’t know how I even get through it. Without Gianna, who opts to eat in the room with Ezio, there’s no one to force everyone to dine together. Erin still refuses to answer any knock at her door, so I tell Andrea to send up a tray for her, and Zach and Sonya eat in the smaller dining room. Which leaves me. I’m not even really hungry, so I go out back to the pool and make myself another drink, sitting on the edge with my feet dangling in the water.

  I swirl the liquid in the glass, watching the last rays of the sun glitter through the cut glass of the tumbler. It’s just like Vincent to have actual glassware out here on the deck, instead of something more practical for cookouts and hanging out by the pool. I stare at it, thinking back to the days when I’d drink five-dollar bottles of wine on the floor of my tiny apartment that I’d shared with Dena and Mallory. Back when I wasn’t drinking alone—well, mostly alone if I account for April’s presence hovering somewhere around the French doors—but with my friends. Watching reruns of The Bachelorette and making fun of the contestants, eating Lunchables and cheap cheese and bowls of popcorn and Milk Duds, not bothering to count calories or wondering how to burn it off later, laughing until we had awful headaches that the cheap wine was at least partially responsible for.

  Now I’m sitting outside of a brownstone that cost millions of dollars in New York, wearing designer clothes, holding a glass that probably could have bought me groceries for a week back in Chicago. I’m drinking top-shelf gin, and I’ve never been more lonely or more depressed.

  The gin tastes bitter on my tongue, despite the tonic cutting it. Still, I chug it and fix myself another one.

  “How are you doing?”

  I spin around, almost spilling my fresh drink, as April’s voice cuts through the fog of my misery and catches me off guard. Not just because I didn’t realize she was behind me, but because she’s never once spoken to me like a human being—like you’d talk to another person instead of a job. She’s always addressed me formally, spoken to me only when necessary, and carefully hidden any emotions she’s ever had about me or my situation or anything else. It’s jarring to hear her speak to me like that now, to ask me an actual question, and I’m immediately on my guard.

  “What?” I blink at her, taking another gulp of my gin and tonic. “I’m fine. Vincent wants an update on my emotional status?” I tried my best to keep the sarcasm out of my tone, but I’m too drunk to not let it slip through, just a little.

  But as I look at her, I realize there’s genuine compassion on her face. If this is a trick, it’s a good one, because she looks…sorry for me. And that both hurts and makes me angry because I don’t want pity, especially not hers.

  “You’ve been drinking all day,” she says gently. “I can’t help but see. You’ve looked pale lately too, and tired. Are you not sleeping well? I’m just concerned—it’s my job to look out for you, Rain.”

  God, it’s good to hear my actual name on someone else’s lips, to remember that it’s still my name, after hearing Poppy from Vincent all the fucking time. But I still don’t trust her not to have an ulter
ior motive here. Of course I’m not sleeping well, but I’m not going to admit it to the babysitter that Vincent hired for me, who I know reports back to him.

  “Did Vincent add insulting me to your job description?” I ask, as haughtily as I can, the way I’d think a rich snobby wife would talk to the help. I hate hearing the tone in my voice, but I’m scared. Scared that she’s trying to trap me and equally scared that she might actually care because I don’t know how to trust that anymore. “Is he too busy to do it himself these days?” I take another long swallow of my drink, draining it, and go to fix a third. My words are slurring now, but I’m past caring. I want to sleep so hard that I don’t dream at all.

  To my surprise, when I turn back around, April’s expression is hurt. But I force myself to ignore it. The last thing I can afford to do right now is add my handler’s feelings to my list of things to worry about.

  But that last thought hovers as I swirl the drink, and I feel awful for talking to her that way. I can’t even pretend to be this person. It’s not who I was ever meant to be. I’m afraid that if I start pretending as a defense mechanism, I’ll really become the kind of woman who snaps at the help and demands things constantly, the kind of woman who fits into this world, but who I never wanted to be.

  I stop, setting the glass down and biting my lower lip. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, fighting back the tears. The old Rain, the girl that I was before Vincent, before my life started on this downward spiral, would never have even considered talking to anyone that way. Especially not someone just trying to help.

  But I don’t feel as if I really have anyone who truly wants to help anymore. Not with Marcus and Mallory out of my life. Dena hasn’t talked to me in weeks, and my mother is so thoroughly under Vincent’s spell. Erin is so oblivious and self-centered. It’s hard for me to trust that and Zach...I can’t even factor him into this. He isn’t my Zach anymore. He’s Chase...