Claiming My Sweet Captive

“You’re okay,” I assured her in English. “Don’t be afraid.”

She blinked, the terror clearing from her eyes to be replaced with hollow defeat. Her tears no longer pleased me. Not like this.

“Let me go,” she whispered brokenly.

“That’s not going to happen.” I spoke to her calmly, trying to soften the fear I knew my words would inflict.

“Stop touching me,” she begged.

That wasn’t what she needed. And it wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to hold her, to soothe her. “I will touch you whenever and however I want.” I studied her frightened eyes for a moment longer. Then I sighed, and I finally released her. “We will work on this later,” I promised.

She shoved up onto her feet and took several steps back from me, watching me like a wary, cornered animal. Her gaze flicked toward the closed bedroom door.

“No,” I told her sternly. “Don’t try it, or I’ll spank you again. Go wash away those tears.” I gestured in the direction of the bathroom. She needed a little space from me, and I’d allow it. For now.

She darted into the bathroom and slammed the door, locking it behind her as though that could keep me out if I wanted to get to her.

I heard water running for a few minutes. Then silence. The lock finally slid back, but she didn’t emerge. I allowed her some time to collect herself, but she stayed too long. She was testing me, and I couldn’t allow that.

“Samantha?” I prompted. “Come out of there.”

A little sniffling noise sounded through the door. She was crying, trying to hide from me.

“Come out here. Now, cosita.” I imbued the last with warning. She needed to understand that I wouldn’t hesitate to come in and retrieve her. Nothing she did could keep me from getting to her, from holding her and touching her if I wanted to.

She didn’t respond in any way. I sighed, resigning myself to go in if she didn’t come out in the next ten seconds. “You will regret this. You must learn to obey me, even if you’re scared or upset. I’m giving you one last chance. Come.”

She didn’t respond. She didn’t obey.

I opened the door, expecting to find her huddled and weeping. Instead, she launched herself at me with a maddened

shriek. Something sharp and silver glinted in her hand, and I dodged back just in time to prevent the razorblade from nicking my throat. Her aim had been off, and she wouldn’t have done any real damage. As it was, the blade grazed a thin, shallow line down my chest.

She paused, her eyes fixing on the blood that welled up from the tiny cut. She froze in shock. Maybe she had intended to cut my throat, but it seemed she didn’t have it in her. She might have just been sloppy, but her reaction to drawing my blood let me know she’d never truly hurt anyone before.

In her moment of hesitation, I grabbed her wrist. I barely had to squeeze before the razorblade dropped from her fingers to fall harmlessly on the carpet.

She might have expected my ire at her half-hearted attempt on my life, but all I felt was mild disappointment that she’d done something so foolish. If anything, her bravery and resultant shock at harming me intrigued me more than ever. She didn’t strike me as a liar, but she couldn’t possibly be an FBI field agent if she couldn’t stomach hurting a man.

Keeping my hold on her wrist, I took a step toward her. She stepped back.

“I cut you,” she blurted, her eyes clouding with confusion.

“You did,” I responded calmly. She’d have to be punished for her little transgression, no matter how remorseful she appeared. “Are you really so eager for another spanking already? Did you enjoy it so much? I’ll have to devise more clever punishments for you.” Another strange smile tugged at my scar. “We are going to get along well.”

“Stop saying that,” she demanded, her voice hitching. “I don’t want you to spank me. I don’t want you to touch me.”

She might think those things, but they were outright lies.

I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. Her back hit the wall, and I captured both of her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head. Her little body was trapped by mine, caged in by my much larger frame. I liked how small she felt in my hold, how helpless. I liked how she stared up at me with wide eyes as she drew in panting breaths.

“Liar,” I informed her smoothly. “I won’t tolerate that, either. You enjoyed your spanking.” I wedged my thigh between hers, forcing her legs apart. I reached between us with my free hand and lightly slapped her pussy.

She let out a strangled cry. Her eyes remained wide with disbelief, but on the second slap, they clouded over with confusion. Her lower lips would be burning and tingling. If her reaction was anything like it had been when I’d spanked her before, she’d become aroused by the punitive touch.

I stared down at her, watching her reactions closely. I scented her wetness again.

She bucked in my hold, her body torn between a desire for escape and a yearning to seek more of the burning heat of my hand. Her writhing into me caused my palm to rub against her clit, and I pressed forward, allowing her to stimulate herself.