Sweet Captivity

I dodged back, and my bare butt hit cool glass. I glanced behind me at the shock of cold, and my stomach instantly dropped at the view. The Chicago skyline stretched out before me, and the people dotting the sidewalk below were far too small. Familiar fear twisted my gut at the sensation of being too high up, adding a fresh layer of terror to my overloaded system. I tried to push away from the floor-to-ceiling window, the only thin barrier between me and a long fall to my death.

I smacked into a wall of warm, hard muscle. Andrés had closed the distance between us swiftly and soundlessly, trapping his prey with ruthless intent. And just like a small, cornered animal, I lashed out at the threat in an attempt to save myself.

My training kicked in without thought, and I swung my fist at his granite jaw. The blow connected, sending pain radiating through my knuckles. He barely flinched. I didn’t pause, intent on inflicting as much damage as possible. I brought my knee up, desperate to hit him where he was most vulnerable.

He shifted, his rock-hard thigh blocking my knee before I could make contact. I had a split second to register his disapproving frown before my entire world tilted and spun. His big hands were on my naked body, taking me down to the plush carpet. My hips hit his thighs, and the air rushed from my chest as his palm pressed down between my shoulder blades, pushing my breasts against the floor to the point of pain. My fingernails scrabbled against the carpet, struggling for purchase as my flight response kicked in again.

A high, feral sound left me when his hand left my back, only to catch my wrists. He encircled both with his long fingers, pinning my arms behind me so all I could do was thrash wildly, gasping and kicking my legs at nothing. I was trapped again, unable to fight, unable to flee. My heart fluttered against my ribcage, and I gasped for air as panic clogged my throat.

I heard the crack resound against the high ceiling just before the shocking sting bloomed on my upper thigh. I shrieked and writhed, trying to escape the burn of his palm. A twin hit landed on my other leg, and my shocked cry turned to a furious scream. Impotent rage seared through my veins alongside white-hot mortification. He was spanking me.

“Don’t ever try that again,” he admonished in even tones as he delivered another cruel blow, just beneath the lower curve of my ass. “You will not fight me.” Another burning hit. “You belong to me. You will accept your place.”

“Stop fucking saying that!” I shouted, tears of frustration and pain pricking at the corners of my eyes.

“I get to say what I want. I get to do what I want.” Each statement was punctuated by a slap. “You will learn to mind your tongue. You will learn to behave. You’re mine, cosita. Mine to play with. Mine to punish. Just mine.”

“No.” The refusal came out on a low moan. My flesh was on fire, my mind flooded with fear and humiliation. My naked body was draped over my captor’s lap, and he was making it clear that I didn’t have a hope of fighting him. I didn’t realize that I’d stopped thrashing, but a harsh sob tore from my chest.

The blows stopped, and he smoothed his palm over my heated skin. It prickled with awareness, every nerve ending on fire.

“There,” he said, his voice rich with satisfaction. “Isn’t that better? Don’t try to hurt me again, Samantha.”

He continued to stroke my aching ass, and I groaned in relief. The light caress helped soothe away some of the pain.

Fresh shock tore through me when he touched two fingers against the seam of my sex.

“You’re wet,” he said in a low rumble. “We are going to get along, sirenita.”

I stiffened in his hold. He was touching me there. No one touched me there. Not even me.

Horror washed over me, smothering awareness of what he’d said. I couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. Fear clouded everything, seeping into my mind like dense fog.

“Don’t,” I squeaked out, renewing my struggles. I became very aware of the hard rod pressing into my belly. His erection throbbed and jerked as I twisted on his lap.

He hissed out a breath, and his hand tightened around my wrists, holding me securely in place. “Stop grinding against me,” he said tightly. “You want me to touch your little clit, greedy girl?”

You want me to touch your secret place again, don’t you, dirty little girl? a long-forgotten, phantom voice whispered across my mind. Terror and shame mingled in a sickening cocktail, making my stomach clench and my head spin. I couldn’t think; I couldn’t think about the voice. All thought blanked out, overtaken by pure, icy panic. The cold sank into my bones, and I shuddered violently.

Warmth enfolded me. Slowly, the ice ebbed away. I became aware of a low, lilting voice saying words I couldn’t comprehend. A few seconds later, I realized they were spoken in Spanish, but I still didn’t understand more than a word or two dotted within the comforting litany.

“You’re okay. Don’t be afraid,” he finally said in English as he continued to smooth his big hands over my body, warming my frigid skin. I realized I was cradled in Andrés’ strong embrace, but I couldn’t bring myself to try to fight my way free anymore. I felt wrung-out, weak. Small and helpless.

Tears streamed down my face, and my brain whirred back to life. I was naked and crying into my tormentor’s chest. The voice in my head was gone; wiped away, forgotten. All I knew was that my captor had tried to touch me sexually, and I’d freaked out. I didn’t want to be raped.

“Let me go,” I whispered brokenly.

“That’s not going to happen” he told me in that same sure, calming tone.

“Stop touching me,” I begged. I couldn’t bear the feel of his hands exploring my naked, vulnerable body, stroking me like he was soothing a frightened animal. Or a favorite pet.

“I will touch you whenever and however I want.” He paused and sighed. “We will work on this later,” he declared ominously, but he released me.

I shoved up onto my feet, willing my shaking knees to support me as I put several feet of space between us. My eyes flicked to the closed door across from the bed, which I presumed was the way out.

“No,” he said sternly, noticing the direction of my gaze. “Don’t try it, or I’ll spank you again. Go wash away those tears.” He gestured at an open door to my right, which led into a bathroom.

I became suddenly, acutely aware that my basic needs hadn’t been met for long hours, and I darted into the bathroom without any further thoughts of defiance. As I moved, I noticed the slickness between my thighs.