Claimed

While waiting for Kelsey to wake, James sat at his computer desk with the bag and took out the items one by one. He withdrew the hanks of rope and coils of chain. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d do with the chain, but the thought of it wound around Kelsey’s neck, wrists and ankles had given him a boner in the boutique, so he’d bought it.

He pulled out a pair of leather wrist cuffs and a black suede flogger. It had cost a fortune, but James knew it would be worth it. The man behind the counter had assured James with a knowing leer that it packed a delicious sting while still getting its point across. James wasn’t sure about the delicious part, at least not for the person on the receiving end, but that wasn’t why he’d bought it.

As he’d been going through her apartment, and on the drive there and back, James had found himself deeply excited by the idea of “training” Kelsey to become his ideal woman. The thought of her misbehaving and having to be punished gave him an instant erection. The image of her naked and bound while he smacked her perfect little ass with the flogger…!

Jesus, just the image was so powerful he could practically come just picturing it.

It was wrong to raise your hand to a woman, ever, for any reason. He knew that. Of course he did. And yet, those rules applied to the real world, to the world of rules and prescribed, civilized behavior.

When he’d taken Kelsey last night with unbridled passion, he’d crossed the line, taking her along with him. They had left that so-called civilized world behind. There were no rules where they now resided, or rather, the rules were just waiting to be written—by him.

Chapter 7

“About time you woke up, sleepyhead.” James set the breakfast tray on the night table and sat beside Kelsey. He had been up for a while, but had wanted to let her get her rest. He had barely slept the night before, so enamored of having Kelsey in his bed, in his arms. He found he liked that better than having her tied down as she had been the night before. In some ways, her having shot herself was a blessing in disguise. He couldn’t deny he loved the idea of having her physically dependent on him.

He’d given her another pain pill at about two, and she’d sunk back into a drugged sleep until morning. He only had a few of the pills left, but that was for the best. Now that the worst of her pain was probably past, he wanted her alert for all the delicious things he had planned for her.

“Let’s see how your leg is doing.” Carefully he removed the bandages, pleased to see the swelling had gone down, the skin already beginning to mend. He smiled at Kelsey. “It’s looking better already. Another week or so and you should be able to get around on your own.”

Kelsey didn’t respond. James carefully cleaned and gently re-bandaged her leg. Kelsey was staring at the tray of food while he worked.

“Hungry?” James asked.

Kelsey swallowed and nodded, still not speaking. James lifted the tray and set it carefully on the bed beside her. “I sliced you a fresh peach,” he offered. “There’s oatmeal and some toast. Plus I made you a cup of coffee, just the way you like it.”

Kelsey hoisted herself up on the pillows, wincing slightly. She reached for the mug of coffee. “No, no,” James said, swatting her hand aside. “I’ll feed you. I’m going to take total care of you. Your only job right now is to open your mouth, swallow and chew.”

“But—”

“No buts,” James said firmly. “I insist.”

“I don’t like oatmeal,” she responded, a cute pout on her lips.

“Don’t be silly. I added raisins and brown sugar—”

“I really hate oatmeal,” she rudely insisted.

James glared at her, annoyed. He’d spent a lot of time making that oatmeal for her. Then he softened. The poor thing had so much to handle right now. And she didn’t know the rules yet. He would teach her the rules, and then things would go better.

He offered a small shrug. “Okay. No oatmeal. You want the peach and toast?”

“Yes, please.”

That was more like it. James speared a slice of peach with the fork and brought it to her lips. Kelsey took the fruit into her mouth, closing her eyes as she chewed.

“More?” James asked.

“Coffee, please,” she said, and he obliged, holding the mug to her lips and carefully tilting the hot liquid into her mouth. She drank half the cup before settling back against the pillows. “James,” she sighed. “I really can feed myself.”

“I said no,” James said firmly. “This isn’t about what you can or can’t do. It’s about what I want. And I want to feed you. End of discussion.”