Wrong Way Home - Taken (Criminal Delights 1)

With his hands occupied, Taron couldn’t exactly answer, but he wasn’t letting Colin stay upstairs after all that kicking. Plus, if the cops came back with a search warrant, there was a chance they’d miss the bunker entrance. If Colin was upstairs however, things could get messy. Earlier, Colin had proved he could stay quiet when needed, but he was growing volatile since the moment he’d sensed he had something to hold over Taron’s head.

Taron headed straight for the bedroom, and this time, maybe for his own safety, Colin didn’t wiggle like a rabid eel on the way into the bunker.

He remained completely still, like a dead body over Taron’s shoulder, to be dumped into an unmarked grave deep in the woods. There was nothing erotic about Colin’s nakedness now, and Taron wanted to lock him up as soon as possible to escape the discomfort.

Colin didn’t even put up a fight when Taron pushed him into the cage, but no matter how much sense it made to keep him confined, it didn’t sit right with Taron to leave him with nothing after they’d shared so much pleasure.

The atmosphere was somehow even denser than on that first night, and Taron sensed a physical discomfort deep in his chest when the boy refused to look at him, hunched behind the bars and wiping fresh blood from his nose. He got into Colin’s line of vision so that he’d see the words meant for him.

Colin swallowed and turned away from Taron, curling up in the corner of his tiny prison. “You can paint it with real gold, and it’s still gonna be a cage.”

Chapter Eight

This time, it was Colin who stayed silent, which was no easy feat, as he’d found out that biting his tongue when he wanted to speak was a constant battle. Colin wanted to give Taron a piece of his mind. Tell him to shove the new, comfortable mattress up his ass, to eat the Twix bars himself, and to take away the TV.

He was not a dog to be bought with treats and toys, especially when the swelling left on Colin’s nose by Taron’s fist was still painful.

Yet whenever Taron left, Colin ate the chocolate, watched television, and slept on the mattress. There was no point denying himself what little comfort was offered to him.

At least Taron wasn’t raping him just because he could. That counted for something. His captor had even tried to engage Colin. Asked if Colin liked coconut, and what channel he wanted to watch. Colin stuck to his guns and ignored him. So he’d ended up with an Almond Joy bar and reruns of Prison Break, which felt very appropriate.

He’d gotten his clothes back as well, washed and fresh, smelling of sunshine. Colin hadn’t expected that. He’d assumed keeping him naked would have been Taron’s prerogative.

But Colin wouldn’t let Taron’s bribes get to him. He was determined to find a way out. He considered ways he could use the springs in the mattress, the chocolate wrappers, or the button of his jeans in a bid for freedom, but he was no MacGyver, and he didn’t know how to pick locks, so the sturdy padlock on the cage door could have been a cement wall.

As days passed following his single venture outside, his mood had been on the decline since his short walk, and the inability to help himself was proof that perhaps he wasn’t as smart as he’d thought. That maybe he deserved all this suffering for breaking the rules that one time.

The yellow glow of the light bulb couldn’t replace the sun, and energy was draining out of him with each hour spent underground. His ideas were getting increasingly colorless and lacking in finesse, as if the walls around him were sucking the life out of him, to leave behind a shell for Taron to play with.

And most shamefully of all, since the hard fuck in the mud, boredom put Colin in an erotic frenzy where he imagined Taron unlocking the cage and crawling in, to fill the available space with his bulk. To leave his seed in Colin again and rub him with fresh sweat that smelled like a real man.

And because Colin didn’t want Taron to know he entertained such fantasies, he licked the traces of his own release each time, imagining it was his captor’s. What Taron didn’t know, couldn’t hurt Colin.

He’d been considering jerking off for a few minutes now, because there wasn’t anything much better left to do once the TV got turned off. It only operated for an hour or two a day, he’d read the books three times now, and there were no cats to play with either. His decision-making was cut short by the trap door opening above. Real light dispersed the gloom of the cellar, and Colin didn’t even care that it wasn’t shining straight at him. It was natural daylight, so at least he knew what time it was.