Blood Ties

2. These Dreams

A cool hand trailed down her stomach, making her entire body shudder. It traced the small dip of her belly that had been made by hours of working on a farm, toned by almost two decades of ballet. With a shiver racing own her spine, she shivered, tried to pull the covers higher. She was denied.

The hand moved away, pushing the sheets down before cupping her hip. She was slender, like most dancers, the bone jutting out as the man’s thumb flickered over it in a quick caress before he was pulling her closer in to his cool, hard form.

Quinn tried to open her eyes, but they seemed sticky, glued shut, for some reason. She could feel the man’s breath tickling her cheek before his lips were at her ear, a tongue darting out to taste her skin. It made the flicker of lust that stirred in her belly grow, a gentle pulse beating between her legs.

She wanted to say his name, felt like it was on the tip of her tongue, ready to be spoken—known like the well-worn pages of her favorite book. Almost an old friend. She tried to, anyway, but it came out like a moan, the sound tumbling inside her head before being stopped. Her mouth wouldn’t open.

Until it did. But only for him. He kissed her, licking along the seam of her lips, and as if his saliva was a lubricant that greased the way, she opened her mouth for him, inviting him in with a deep inhale.

Then his mouth was fused to hers, sealed to her skin like he wanted to devour her, licking hungrily into her mouth. Her stomach twisted, knotting and unraveling and sending a surge of desire rippling outward. Up her chest, shooting out to her fingers, dipping below and making her legs pinch together. She could feel the slippery slide of her p***y as it seemed to melt from her core outward. Her hips started to gyrate, begging for his hand to touch her, cup her—placate that need she felt sizzling in her veins.

She burned. Everything inside her felt hot and tight, and she wanted to open her eyes, see this man whose name was right there on the edges of her mind. This was something both familiar and foreign, and a feeling of déjà vu niggled at the back of her mind.

Then, his hands were moving, slowly, as if he’d been able to intrinsically tell what she needed. The flat of his palm rested on her abdomen for a moment, only to slowly slide down.

Had she gone to sleep naked? It wouldn’t have been the first time, but she usually wore jammies to bed during the winter. There was nothing as comforting as wearing her soft flannel bottoms with an old, timeworn t-shirt, and she had an overabundance of both. Plus, she was quite thin from being a dancer, and was known to wear pants even during the summer evenings on the farm.

His touch was suddenly there, just above her p***y, lingering until she wanted to scream out for him to do something—anything to stem the ache she felt. It tightened up her abdomen, and she bucked her hips until she felt one finger graze her clit. Quinn made a hungry sound, like she was both choking on air and destitute for more. When the man’s touch became firmer, she struggled, but turned her body to him, hoping that would bring her some comfort. Close—or at least closer. She couldn’t get near enough.

With her head nuzzled into his neck, she felt his firm grip widen her legs for him, opening her up. He mumbled something to her under his breath, though she couldn’t discern the words. All she could sense was the rumble of his chest as it pressed against her, the broad expanse cool and unyielding as he circled a finger around her clit. She bit her lip, trying to stifle the sound that bubbled up her throat. It slipped out once he used his free hand to thumb open her mouth. She shook. Pleasure mixed with a need so deep, it was dizzying, and she churned her hips, hoping for him to get her there.

His touch became firmer, his breath becoming more heated and coming faster. It was like he fed off the pleasure he gave, and Quinn wanted to know if that was indeed the case. Marcus and she had been dating for a little over a year, but he’d never catered to her like this. A little foreplay, some kissing—just enough to get her ready, get him hard, and then he was splitting her apart.

Who was this man that was touching her with such a loving caress and gentle fingers? She wanted to stop him, but couldn’t. Everything felt good and right—she felt whole. She needed this orgasm, this pleasure, because the good Lord knew she didn’t always come when she was with Marcus. Sometimes she just couldn’t, and nothing she tried could force it. Those were usually the instances she wasn’t all that in the mood for s*x. It happened, but she never said no to him, and getting her wet was about as far as she could get the times when she just couldn’t achieve orgasm.

But this man with the clever fingers and soft touch was different. She knew he wouldn’t try to f**k her until she’d come first. She could almost hear the plea for her to let go just from his touch.

He wound her higher, fingers circling, palm putting the mildest pressure on her clit, hand pulsing against her when he slipped a couple thick fingers inside her. They curled, rubbing her g-spot until she was practically humping his hand and crying out. Quinn gripped one shoulder, riding a high that seemed to burst over her as she called out, his fingers finally slowing with the dissipating spasms of her p***y. The man’s breathing seem to slow in tandem with hers, like he too was coming down from some high that he’d felt by osmosis.

Quinn panted, begging for her eyes to open, to see the man in front of her. She was surprised. The next time she willed her eyelids opened, it worked. Like her orgasm had caused her to see, she blinked them wide to see a sparkling green she’d never encountered before. They weren’t the sinfully warm caramel brown of Marc’s, nor the light cornflower blue of her own. They were different, both deep and light at the same time. They seemed all-knowing, and they crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

Her breath caught, and she choked on it.

“Who are you?”

His mouth opened to speak and—

Her alarm woke her up.

Groaning, she reached over to it, pressing the spot on the screen that was nearly muscle memory now that she’d had it set for the same time every day for several years. On Saturdays after a long night such as the one before, she usually just went back to sleep for a bit before starting her day.

By the time she realized that wasn’t going to happen today, it was too late.

She knew she should have checked the apartment before she went to bed last night, but she’d simply been too exhausted.

The hand that cupped her elbow gave her a jolt of anxiety she rarely felt. When she went to scream at the unwelcome touch, a hand clamped over her mouth, making the sound muted.

Damn Mrs. Genovese. If only she’d only wear her stupid f*****g hearing aids once in a blue moon, this might not be happening. At least it was possible that she would hear the struggle going on above her head. The old woman’s bedroom was right below Quinn’s studio apartment, and if she’d only wore the damn hearing aid Medicare had provided, the police could have been on their way this very moment.

“Don’t scream, not that it matters with Mrs. Genovese below you. Quite stubborn, isn’t she? Refuses to wear those expensive Eargos that her son in the Bronx helped pay for.”

Quinn immediately wanted to ask how he knew what brand of hearing aid the old woman used, but the thought of asking flew out of her mind when he replaced his hand with a clean rag that he stuffed in her mouth. It tasted a little like soap, as if he’d run it through a cycle in the wash before he’d come over to assault her.

How thoughtful.

“Don’t worry, my pet,” his silky-smooth voice wound its way into her ear. “I’m not going to harm you. I never would. To harm you would be like taking a silver knife to myself. Your pain is akin to my pain.”

Then why, she wanted to ask. He was already tying a knot at the back of her head, though. She couldn’t have made a sound if she tried. When he was finally done at the back of her head, he moved around to her side, adjusting her body until she had her back rested against the headboard of her full-size bed, cushioned by one fluffy pillow. She had to think the man was some kind of nut, first thinking that she would believe he wasn’t going to harm her, and then trying to prove it by gentling his touch and placing padding so her back wouldn’t hurt.

It didn’t surprise her. The world was full of the insane, and New York City, with it’s bustling streets and population—both housed and unhoused—was the mostly densely populated city in the United States. There was bound to be a higher number of crazies in the general vicinity with a whopping 27,000 people her square mile. The population of Manhattan alone was 1.63 million people, and you weren’t even tapping the outer boroughs or homeless with that staggering number.

The maniac ran strong in this behemoth of a city, and it wasn’t like she kept pepper spray or a stun gun by her bed when she was at home. She was royally f****d.

“I’m sure you’re wondering who I am and what I’m doing here, but that will be something that I’ll tell you about a little bit later.” His voice was almost carefree, completely offhanded and soft, like he was discussing the weather instead of using his strong muscles to bind her hands behind her back with thick rope. Quinn tensed her own hands into fists until he scolded her.

“Stop it, my sweet. You’ll make me tie you tighter, and I don’t want to bruise your delicate wrists.” The soft pad of a finger traced down her palm after she relaxed it, and it jolted a memory from her dream to the forefront.

God, she wished she could ask him a myriad of questions. What color were his eyes? What did he look like? All she could see was one strong shoulder, part of a trim torso, and the muscles that flexed in his forearms. The side of his neck was obscured, but he tilted his head a little until she saw the cut of his jawline. Covered in dark scruff, she tried to see if she could catch his eyes, plead with him to let her go. His mouth moved with more words, causing her to try and inspect that as well. Everything would be helpful if she were to get away and could find a policeman.

Was he going to kill her? Sell her into human trafficking? It didn’t make sense if he was going to murder her, unless this was all an act to make her compliant, easier to handle. He said he wouldn’t hurt her, but she knew that was all lies, and she tried not to panic. She felt her throat closing up anyway. She would have been inhuman not to react.

“Don’t struggle, and it’ll be easier on you. I promise you will have all the facts once we get to our destination. I’m sorry that I had to come in like this and steal you away, but I promise I mean you no harm.” He sounded truly sorry, like he really was sad she couldn’t believe him.

She wanted to plead with him, but only a muffled whimper could be heard before he was moving to her front. She looked up at him, recognizing the eyes from her dreams. His hair was short and brown, and she memorized every little nuance of his face. She was pretty good at guessing height and weight, and even from his seated position she could tell he was a tall man, well over six feet, maybe close to 6-3 even.

Their eyes caught, and she struggled to bring more air into her lungs around the lump in her throat and snot clogging her nose.

She wished she had a hand and could wipe away her tears.

“My name is Adam, and you belong to me now.”

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