Capture (Siren Book 1) (5 page)

He cups my breasts, and his gentle touch becomes rough as he squeezes them, and then pinches my nipples. “Did I say you could stop talking?”

My nipples harden with a mind of their own, and the started gasp turns to a moan. “Make me.”

Calder balks at the hostility in my voice, but with the safe word nowhere in sight, he brushes it off. He rolls on top of me, sitting on my legs to prevent me from trying to knee him, despite my bound feet.  “Sing for me, birdie.” He leans close, claiming my mouth with his, his tongue sliding confidently into my mouth as though there's not the
slightest
chance I'll bite him.

I should, and I
want
to, but I don't dare try it, not bound hand and foot, relying on staying in his good graces until he looses me from the cuffs.

His mouth tastes like scotch, the smell masculine and powerful, reminding me, yet again, who he
really
is. His fingers glide against my scalp, then fist in my hair, and the sparks of pain make me yelp.

He chuckles, and sits up, most of his weight on my hips and thighs. “That's better. You keep talking.”

I close my eyes, try to find words, as he resumes tracing the contours of my body, his touch diffused by the dress. “Do you tie
all
your girls up—”

His fingers find the tie at the back of my neck holding up the dress's halter neckline. He tugs it open, and jerks the dress down, exposing my breasts to the air. “Nah, birdie. Only you. Don't stop now.”

A startled moan leaves me as his tongue swirls around my nipple, whipping me into a frenzy with every stroke. Warmth, and connection, and—

Pain as he bites down.

That steels my focus. “Do you tear their clothes off them, and—”

He laughs. “You think I'd ruin a pretty dress like that? I
was
just gonna unzip it. But, I hate to disappoint—” He reaches for the neckline, guessing that the deep part of the V is the weakest point, and he yanks, tearing delicate fabric like it was spider's silk. The sound of the satin shredding assaults my ears with outsized weight, making me press my legs together. As hateful as his violence is, as
he
is, my body's responding.

He grasps the fabric lower, and tears again, ripping it most of the way down my thighs. One more solid pull and the middle completely gives way. He drops the fabric on either side of me, like he was unwrapping a chocolate, and smiles at seeing the curves he previously was only acquainted with by touch. His palms skim me, and pause at my underwear. I know what's coming before he slides fingers into the crotch of it and yanks, to tear a hole in the center, large enough for him to tease a finger against my entrance. Large enough that he'll have
no
problems sliding into me.

“
You
—are a pain in my ass.” Only without the prospect of
more
torn fabric can I turn my mind toward how
expensive
those clothes were, to be laying like a torn cocoon around me.

His eyes dance, as he replies. “You're saying that
now
, but—”

My head spins—is he implying what I think he is?

“You wouldn't
dare
.”

He smiles, and softens, letting go of our adversarial dynamic a minute. “Only if you want me to.”

My lips clamp together at even the thought, and he takes it as answer enough. A second later, the idea that I'm being a coward hits me, and I defiantly retort, “Bring it on. You think that little thing's gonna—”

The softness leaves him with a cruel laugh. “You don't pull your punches, do you? That's fine.” He levers my knees apart, my feet still trapped together. He threads his legs between mine, where I'll no longer be able to hurt him, and presses himself against me, all soft skin, soft slacks, and hard cock. “Well, just know that this '
little thing'
is gonna fuck you up.”

He resumes kissing my shoulders, bringing his lips up to my lobe and sinking his teeth in, just as suddenly. “I'm gonna fuck you 'til you cry, birdie.”

Good luck with that. Having a deep, husky voice that instantly makes my pussy throb will only get him so far. “Like hell you are.”

“You just keep telling yourself that. Keep saying it right until you scream my name.” He pulls back, and reaches for the button on his pants.

Last chance to say the safe word... and prove him
right?
Am I gonna give him that much weakness?

Hell fucking no.

When he finishes getting his pants down, and sliding them past my straining legs, he digs in the pocket for his wallet, and pulls out a condom. I laugh, noting the brand. “
Beyond Seven
?
Really?
Is your ego that—”

He unrolls it slowly over his length, proving the lie in my taunt. Of course he doesn't bother responding. Why should he? He has all the control here; my little verbal barbs are the most violence I can offer him.

He watches me, that distant smirk in place as he slides his latex-covered cock against me, pulling the wetness from my pussy up to my clit with a sensation that makes me arch into the bed.

His eyes hold me, all thought of insults forgotten. They're calculating, and demanding, and arrogant. Not the gently affectionate ribbing of a minute ago.

I wish he had that softness again, that I hadn't provoked him back into our power play. It would be so
nice
to feel his skin against me, just skin, not a vehicle for something else... It would so nice to feel powerful in my deception, not afraid of it.

He slides home, burying himself in me so deeply that I can't contain a startled cry. As he stretches me to the limit, as the pain goes through me, it brings my mind back to reality.

That softness isn't for me. It's not for
anyone
. It's an act, and a damned good one.
This
is who he is. The monster fucking me 'til I cry, making good on his threats.

Every movement of my hips, every time I try to brace my feet on the bed to try to wiggle out of the restraints, it pistons him deeper into me, and after several good thrusts, I'm not entirely sure whether I'm still fighting to prove some point, or to keep that motion going.

The pain's long gone, but the sensitivity it brought to my flesh isn't. His hands push my knees further apart, testing my flexibility to its limits, my hip sockets straining to accommodate him. It's a completely different level of exposure, one that makes me try to see things from his view. Is he looking at my bouncing breasts, with each long stroke? Or is he looking at my sex, exposed to him completely, as he slides in and out? Is he aware that when he's in me fully, his skin presses tight against my button, a motion that I would, under other circumstances, be digging my nails into his hips to maintain?

The bindings on my ankles jerk tight, cutting into me more and more every time he pulls back and his ass bumps into them. Even when I try to tighten my legs around them, it scissors my ankles too tightly in the bindings. Truly, I'm as helpless as I'm ever gonna be.

This is the most he's ever gonna get out of me. Not my ass, not my weakness.

I imagine stabbing the needle deep into his neck, feeling his weight fall across me, limp, as he bucks into me deeper. Just the knowledge that, no matter what he does to me now, I
will
be his downfall... it warms me to my core, foolhardy as it is, with the syringe in the other room.

He moans, hissing out, “Rachael,” and bites my shoulder, his teeth sinking in with abso
lutely
no restraint. No affectionate love bite, but a desire to draw blood, to mark me.

He doesn't know he already has. He doesn't know I've been marked my whole life.

His cock hardens inside me, warning me he's close, and each thrust brings
me
closer, too. I don't want to give him that, don't want him to have that part of me, especially because no one else has managed to share it before now, but he has other plans. He takes his hands off my knees, using one to brace my hips to take him deeper, and the other to stroke my clit, fast hard circles that only amplify the pressure and force of his thrusts.

Colors explode on the back of my eyelids as I fight back the sparks, but fight to
not
be the one giving up the fight. He gasps, “C'mon,” to me, and rides me harder, and it's all I can take.

My blood hums through my clit, dying for closure, for completion. Nothing for it—I can't take this, and I can't let him see me come.

“
Red
,” I yell, as he thrusts again, his desperate cock pushing deeper. “
Red.”

But from the pulsing against my g-spot, I'm too late. I'm clenching around him, riding through waves of pleasure half-panicked, knowing full damn well he's doing the same, spilling warm seed into the lifeless condom.

The tears turn cold on my cheeks, as he withdraws, detangling himself from me. He walks into the bathroom we passed on the way into the bedroom, and comes back with a damp cloth, sans condom. Tenderly, lovingly, he runs it over my thighs, wiping my arousal from between my legs, though it still stains the remnants of my panties. If I wasn't tied up, I'd fight him; he has
no
right to touch me this way. If I hadn't already used my safe word, and if it wouldn't look
really
weird, and cost me my mission, I'd try that, too.

I'm helpless, even moreso than when he was inside me, holding me down like he was adding insult to the injury of the cuffs and rope.

That's not a happy thought, so I feign exhaustion, let my eyes flutter shut.

“Where's the keys for those?” he asks, jerking his chin toward my hands, as he reaches for the knot at my feet.

Shit.
Are they in my purse? Will he discover the ampule and realize how close he came to his own destruction? Or would he assume they're heroin?

A second later, I remember. I put them on my car keys, for safe keeping.
Those
are safely hung on a hook well above my purse. I should be safe. “The key hooks by the front door?”

“Okay.”

The seconds stretch by as his footsteps recede down the hall. With each one, the fear builds. Did he knock the bag down, and see it while shoving its contents back inside? Did he happen to catch a glimpse of light reflecting off it, and look out of curiosity?

But he comes back with no aggression or violence, just my keyring.
Fuck
.

He releases my hands, and sets the cuffs to the side, then rubs the marks they left. “That was fun.”

I can't think, can't breathe, with him touching me.
I came around him
. I mean, at least I wasn't yelling the bastard's name, but still.
He felt me
come
.
I pull my wrists away to rub them myself, and he accepts that, uses the towel to wipe himself up instead. “So—do you want me to go?”

Shit
, he's picking up on my confusion. I have to keep him here, at least a
little
longer.

I grit my teeth, and lean forward to kiss him passionately. “No. Stay the night. I've gotta be up early, though. You don't have to get up with me.”

The tension melts out of his shoulders at my kiss, and when I pull back he nods. “Okay. Good. I'm about ready to pass out, anyways.”

He adjusts my decorative pillows, and pulls the comforter down, sliding under it. No longer distracted by other things, I have
entirely
too long to obsess over his naked body, over the lean muscles and sprinkling of hair. Gods and monsters, surely
both
bred the Roanes. Is his brother as handsome as him? I can't remember having actually seen George Jr. in public, aside from campaign bullshit.
No one
looks good with a smarmy smile and stage lights.

He holds his arm out expectantly, and I tuck myself under the covers with him, to keep up the act.

His warmth sears me, but soothes me at the same time. That heartbeat, thumping on, steadily... I fixate on it, pulling its sound, its pulse against my cheek into my memory. Someday soon, it'll still. I'll put my head on his chest and hear nothing. I'll replace the memories of his hard cock with memories of his comeuppance. It won't matter that I let him violate me, that I
came
while he did. All that'll matter is that I won in the end.

Calder turns his head to kiss my forehead, his lips soft against my skin. I'd rather fake sleepiness and wait for him to drift off, but he doesn't seem to be quite there yet. “So you work early? When are you off?”

“Mmm?”

“Your schedule. I'd like to see you again.”

Shit
. “It's... not very regular.”

“Oh.”

My heart races, as it occurs to me that he might not give me a moment to get to the syringe. That he might be too far on edge for that. Or that I might chicken out if I have to do it while he's awake. Do I risk him noticing it hidden in my palm, and wrestling it away from me?