His Captive, The Unabridged Collection: Billionaire Dark Romance (12 page)

The ache from the unexpected penetration soon faded, replaced by an entirely unique sort of pleasure that seemed to intensify everything else. I went nearly rigid when I felt his lips, suddenly around my clit and sucking firmly. Just as I began to approach what I was sure would be a thrashing, screaming orgasm, I heard a loud chime, not entirely unlike a church bell.

Chapel.

The moment the tone issued from across the courtyard, I felt his fingers pull out of me quickly, his lips slipping away as well. Before I could raise any protest or ask anything of him, he had jerked the blindfold away from my eyes and was gone.

Only a few minutes later, I heard the same rising cascade of wild, unrestrained screams coming from across the courtyard, going on for just as long as they had before. They were loud enough to echo outside. My body raced with chills.

He knows I can hear him.

He’s letting me.

Just as before, the desperate screaming stopped as quickly as it started. Rafe’s footsteps echoed loudly in the hall, and I realized that the door had been left open. He hadn't bothered to even close it, let alone lock it. Was he so sure that I was helpless, that I was completely subservient?

He was right, of course. Even if I hadn't been tied, I wouldn't have moved from the bed. Somehow he knew, even if I hadn’t.

His footsteps stopped, and the door swung open silently. He stood there for long moments, panting slowly, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each breath. He waited, flexing his hands.

Slowly, I opened my legs wide again, inviting him with a small moan and a shifting of my hips toward him. I soon found his hands at my thighs, stroking softly. I felt a strange heat at his fingertips, but I couldn't be sure if it was the anticipation of the orgasm he'd left me so close to or something else.

One of his fingertips came to my clit, stroking me gently, only rubbing more firmly at all when I began eagerly bucking my hips against him, practically driving myself over the edge into the climax I'd been denied earlier. My feet pressed flat to the bed as I screamed, my hips jerking upward toward his hand and remaining there, my whole body going rigid as wave after wave of howling pleasure roared through me.

All I could think about were his hands. His beautiful hands. So strong, so deadly. So precise and knowing. Nothing had ever turned me on so much in my life.

I woke to the familiar smell of breakfast cooking and the distant sounds of someone in the kitchen. I had no idea where it was, but it couldn't have been terribly far from Gretchen's room. Rafe came in quietly not long after I woke, drawing his fingers along the cool, clean sheets and reaching for my hand.

“Time for a bath, Jolie.”

I got up slowly, still a bit unsteady on my legs, not having used them much for the past while. He held my arm and patiently guided me down the hall to the large, opulently decorated bathroom of the upper floor where I was kept.

I kept my head down for the most part, shying away from him slightly. This seemed to please him, and he said nothing to me so long as I came along quietly. I looked up to him once we'd entered the bathroom and started to thank him before a withering glance from him shut me up. He didn't want to hear me.

I couldn't blame him. Every time I opened my mouth, I ruined things. I made him angry. I caused problems.

He drew a warm bath in the deep porcelain-white tub, urging me with a simple gesture to slip in. The water was left shallow, barely enough to cover my legs. I stared at my flesh, now yellowed and greenish around the edges of the fading bruises.

He gently scrubbed me down, pulling my limbs one by one and lathering them with a strongly perfumed soap that felt like satin on my skin. Then he tipped my head back and slowly washed my hair, plunging his fingers deep into my scalp and massaging me for a long time. As I submitted more and more to his firm, sure hands I felt the dreamy memories coming back of other baths he must have given me. I felt like a child, small and helpless in his grasp, utterly safe and clean.

A clear bottle held some golden oil that he swirled into the water with his fingertips, drawing the mixture over my bruises in a minty, aromatic salve. Then he tugged me back to standing and helped me from the tub, holding out a pristine, fluffy white towel for my balance.

Slipping a smallish pink robe over my shoulders once he was finished drying me, he tied the sash in a neat bow and planted a soft, lingering kiss behind my ear. My hands hung limp at my side almost exclusively, only coming up when he raised them himself. I'd resolved to play the part of his little puppet, doing only what I was bid. It was a strange, empty sort of feeling, but a comforting one, too.

As he arranged the front of the robe demurely over my breasts, he tipped up my chin and looked into my eyes. “Breakfast should be ready by now. Are you hungry, Jolie?”

I gave a soft nod.

“Good. Come.”

He took me by the arm again, leading me back down that stony, windowless hallway. My legs were working a bit better then, and I didn't need to lean on him quite as much. I found myself perversely wishing he'd carry me. It seemed to fit the theme, I thought. Every new strikingly submissive thought was a surprise, and one I wasn't entirely sure I was glad about.

But I couldn't deny that even the short period of total obedience I'd shown had gotten me plenty. I was out of Gretchen’s room, there were no chains on me, and Rafe seemed to be completely pleased with me, for once.

He led me to the laden table with one chair situated at each side. As I slid into the padded seat, my eyes were drawn outside to the garden below. I hadn't noticed how beautiful it was—seemingly endless vines, bushes, and trees in a timid, early spring bloom now. I could almost smell the flowers from where I sat. I always wanted something like that.

I almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. I'd always dreamed of a garden like that, and now... it may as well have been a million miles away instead of on the other side of the glass. I was never going to set foot in that garden, because I was never going to leave the house. It was one thing to bring me down a hallway for a bath, or around a corner for a meal, but he'd probably never let me outside.

I plucked the gold fork between my fingers and held it above the plate of eggs benedict and grilled vegetables. One of my favorite things, but I was suddenly too sad to eat it. I cast my eyes down and willed myself not to cry as sorrow and self-pity sloshed through my chest.

I felt his hand atop my head, stroking my hair softly. “Now you're beginning to understand. Submissive, obedient, pleasant. You're being very, very good.”

I shook my head. I couldn’t help it.

Defiant.

“No?” he said with an amused, curious tone. He took the seat opposite me and flung the napkin out deftly, then let it settle over his firm, thick thighs.

“You know, many people struggle with the role of submissive until they discover the rewards it holds.”

I stared at him mutely, a fork of avocado and poached egg posed just under my open lips.

He nodded, obviously pleased. “I know that sounds strange but then, why would so many people be drawn to this, if there wasn’t some sort of pleasure to be had in each role. It’s logical, yes?”

I found myself nodding slowly.

He smiled fondly and I felt myself smile back.

“You see? You did that perfectly. Right there, just the smallest concession to honesty: I appreciate you, and it feels good, doesn’t it?”

Oh god. It actually does.

He grinned at his plate and dug in, slicing the eggs to ribbons. “There’s so much more, Jolie. You’ll see. So many delights in store for us.”

A small smile spread over my lips, and I nodded as I chewed. I couldn't deny that it felt good to be praised, even with the cloud of depression and resignation beginning to form over my every thought.

Once he'd taken a few hasty bites, he placed his fork and knife down, speaking softly, haltingly. “I... hmm. I do apologize again for the situation in which you find yourself, Jolie. This was never my intention, but surely you understand, yes? I couldn't simply let you go. We had been seen together. At the bar.”

I nodded softly, suppressing the crazy urge to sympathize with him. He seemed so suddenly tentative.

He gave an oddly light, airy laugh. “You've really made quite the turnaround, you know.
Here
.” A hard knock at the table. The sound drew my attention, and he brought his fingers up to his eyes, meeting my gaze. “Look here. You can ask me another question, if you like. You've been so good.”

I knew that it would be a waste to ask about me, my fate, or anything like that. There
was
one question gnawing at the back of my mind, however.

“Who's Gretchen?”

Rafe leaned back in the chair then as if he'd heard some sort of terrible news, folding his hands in his lap. I watched intently, and saw a flash of pain over his features. His eyes were the ones cast toward the table then as he spoke, slow and quiet.

“Gretchen was my wife.”

I couldn't stop myself. It didn't make sense. I was being kept in her room. Was Gretchen the one screaming across the house?

“Is she here? Or… Did you kill her?”

His eyes widened and shot to mine. I couldn't tell if it was anger, fear, or simply surprise that I saw in the fraction of a moment before Bronson came in through the side-door of the kitchen. When he laid eyes on me, he stopped in his tracks, brow furrowing hard.

I shouldn’t have asked that.

My fingers crawled along the tablecloth toward Rafe. I still needed to know. I needed to talk to him without Bronson. He quaked in his chair.

“I’m sorry, Rafe. I’m so sorry I—”

He pivoted in his chair stiffly, obviously holding himself together by tenterhooks.

“What is it, Bronson?”

Bronson shot me a sour, disgusted look before answering. He straightened up a bit, almost as if he were delivering some sort of status report. “There's someone waiting for you in the chapel.”

I heard the slightest hint of a growl at the back of Rafe's throat as he quickly stood, shoved his chair back, and stormed out of the room. As he exited, he barked, the pain plain in his voice, “Take her back to Gretchen's room.”

Bronson’s smile was slow and spreading, like a wound.

“You heard the man.” With a few long strides, Bronson made his way across the room and gripped me tightly by the arm. “Breakfast is over.”

I didn't make any attempt at fighting him. He was too big, too strong, and I was too weak from my confinement. I stumbled behind him as he dragged me back to the room, his fingers pinching painfully against my arm bones.

Callously he shoved me to the floor at the foot of the bed. My legs crumpled beneath me like twigs and I huddled in the smallest pile I could make. He leaned in, arms crossed tightly over his scrawny chest.

“You should be grateful, you know,” he hissed, spittle flecking white at the corners of his mouth. “You're being treated like a fuckin'
guest
. Do you like that, huh? Sitting at his table like… what. Like a fucking
date
?”

My hands trembled around my head, automatically trying to fend off what was coming. I shook my head, hoping that was the answer he was looking for.

“What are you wearing?
What are you fucking wearing?!
”

He tore at the silk fabric at my shoulder, ripping the ribbons and exposing one breast. I tried in vain to cover myself as he quaked, hands out at his sides in cruel, strained fists.

“You are not Gretchen!” he roared.

“No!” I answered immediately.

“YOU ARE NOT HER!”

My head shook of its own accord.

“I’m not! I’m not her!” I babbled hysterically, choking on my own breath.

He took a step back, whirling on his heel and pacing the room several times with fast, jerky strides. Then he came back to where I lay in a heap, pointing at my throat.

“I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing but… You’re not her.
Not. Her.
”

“I’m not. I’m not anybody,” I agreed nervously. “Not anybody.”

“Fuck yeah you’re not anybody,” he muttered, then arched his back and stared at the ceiling. His fingers flexed over and over again. I peered at him, trying to decipher his manic energy.

Rafe told him not to hurt me. He is barely obeying.

“Fuck, like a fucking
guest
,” he muttered, pacing again. “And here you are, moping and miserable. Look like you're about to cry. Of
course
. Fucking ungrateful bitch. Things would be a hell of a lot different if he'd have just let me take care of you. All this could've been avoided.”

“Rafe told you… n-not to hurt me,” I blubbered, tears hot and sticky on my cheeks.

He reached out quickly, grabbing my face tight in his grip the same way he had when I was strapped down.

“Fuck that. Just you and me, now. You're going to answer me.
Rachel
. Where is she? What does she do? Where does she go? I'm going to find her, and you're going to help me. If you want out of this, you're going to tell me
everything
you know about her.”

I stammered and stuttered, trying to find any way to placate him without actually putting Rachel in danger. I told him where we lived, where she worked, the clubs she frequented—things that anyone could've found out about her easily with a quick check-up.

With a hard shove, he pushed me down to the ground completely, dropping to one knee, crushing my face against the floor. “You're being coy now, huh? You think I don't know all that already? You live with her, no shit. I'm giving you a chance to be useful. You know that's the only reason you're still alive, don't you? The prospect that you'll be
useful
. That's it!”

My eyes were wide with terror as I slid along the floor beneath him, face down. I could see his cock straining at his pants. This was getting him off, and I was absolutely revolted. I tried in vain to twist away from the pressure that kept me pinned to the ground, but it was useless. His free hand reached up to the footboard, drawing down the bolt of cloth to tie my hands at the foot of the bed, making it impossible for me to sit up too much, let alone stand.

“Pity we can't have a little fun, you and me. Oh, it'd be
such
a good time.”

“Leave me alone!”

Crack!

The hard toe of his boot drove brutally between my ribs and I coughed, as much in surprise as anything else.

“You stay put, now,” Bronson snarled in my ear as I gasped, my cheek against the hard stone tiles. He turned with a low chuckle and exited, presumably going to join Rafe.

I laid there for a long while on the verge of tears, but none seemed to come. My ribs twanged fiercely with each deep breath and so I breathed as slowly and shallowly as I could.

A chime boomed through the hallway. My heart leapt, but then I realized this was different. It wasn’t the chapel’s chime. It was… a doorbell? I listened hard, straining to hear more.

As I worked at sitting up, I felt the cloth shifting around my wrists, and with a single tug, the hasty knot Bronson tied fell open. My hands slipped out of the binding.

Sliding along the tiles, I held my breath and listened hard. From the small opening beneath the door, I heard voices. Only one of them was Rafe, and I heard at least two or three others. Rafe’s tone was distinct and strained. He sounded almost wounded. Afraid?

Flinging open the wardrobe door, I pulled the peach kimono from its hanger and swirled it around me. With trembling fingers I knotted the sash tightly around my waist and dashed into the hallway, padding quickly along the stone tiles in my bare feet.

I looked over the carved, gleaming banister to the foyer below.

Rafe turned at the sound of my footsteps, his eyes hooded and narrow. He quickly whipped back around to the two uniformed officers, but they'd already caught sight of me. They lifted their chins to where I stood on the landing above them. Their hands drifted to their gun holsters and their feet shifted subtly apart, to a ready position.

Bronson glared up at me too, his eyes red-rimmed and murderous. I could see his pulse throbbing in the pit of his neck from where I stood.

Instinctually I looked to Rafe. His coal-black eyes showed me almost nothing, but I could feel the charge, that electricity between us like a length of telegraph wire. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

One of the officers cleared his throat as the other gripped the radio at his shoulder epaulet.

“Ma'am,” said the young one, his jaw working nervously back and forth, “we're with the police department. Is your name Jolie?”

I stood in stunned silence. I couldn’t decide whether I should be elated or terrified.  One of them made their way around Rafe, who simply stood, seemingly just as shocked as I was.

My voice sounded strange and hoarse, like a dry leaf floating slowly into the foyer below me. “Yes. I’m Jolie.”

The second officer circled silently behind Rafe and I heard the snap of the holster coming undone as his thumb flicked against it. He nodded to his partner.

“We've been looking for you.”