Hold Me

Chapter 17

17

Nora

When we get into the limo, I realize that I am tired, the tense excitement of the evening dissipating and leaving me drained. Rosa again takes a seat across the aisle from us, and Julian pulls me close to him, draping his arm over my shoulders. As his warm masculine scent surrounds me, I relax against his side, letting my thoughts drift.

My former captor and I just had dinner with my parents. Like a family. It’s so absurd I still can’t believe it happened. I’m not sure what I imagined when Julian agreed to take me for a visit, but this wasn’t it.

I guess on some level, I had simply refused to think about how something like this might go—my kidnapper sitting down to a civilized meal with my family. It was like a wall I’d put up in my mind, so I wouldn’t have to worry. When I had thought of going back home, I had pictured myself with my parents… just the three of us, as though Julian would stay in the background, remaining part of my other, darker life.

It was ridiculous to think that way, of course. Julian never stays in the background. He dominates whatever situation he’s in, bends it to his will. And even in this—in my relationship with my parents—he’s taken charge, inserting himself into our family on his own terms, perfectly comfortable where other men would cringe in shame.

Apparently, a conscience is a useful thing to lack.

“How are you feeling, my pet?”

At Julian’s murmured question, I tilt my head to look up at him, realizing I’ve been silent for the past few minutes. “I’m okay,” I say, cognizant of Rosa’s presence a couple of feet away. “Just digesting everything.”

“Oh?” Julian gives me an amused look, loosening his grip on me so I can sit more comfortably. “Food-wise or thought-wise?”

“Both, I guess.” I smile, realizing my unintentional joke. “It was a good meal.”

“Yes, it was.” Even in the dim interior of the car, I can see the sensuous curve of his mouth. “Your parents did a good job.”

I nod. “They definitely did.” I wonder what it must’ve been like for them, having dinner with the man who abducted their daughter.

With the criminal who’s now their son-in-law and father of their grandchild.

Sighing, I snuggle back against Julian’s side and close my eyes.

The insanity of my life has reached a whole new level.

It takes less than twenty minutes to reach the wealthy community of Palos Park. Growing up, I’ve always known of its existence, driving past it on the way to the Tampier Lake preserve. The residents of Palos Park tend to be lawyers and doctors, and I’ve never heard of anyone renting a house there for a couple of weeks.

Of course, Julian isn’t just anyone.

The house he chose is on the very edge of the community, isolated by a tall, wrought-iron fence. Once we get past the electronic gates, we drive down a winding driveway for another couple of hundred yards before reaching the house itself.

Inside, the house is luxuriously appointed, nearly as nice as our mansion at the estate. From gleaming parquet floors to modern art on the walls, everything about our vacation residence screams “extreme wealth.”

“How much did you pay for this?” I ask as we walk through an enormous dining area. “I didn’t realize a house like this could be for rent.”

“It’s not,” Julian says casually. “I bought it.”

My jaw falls open. “What? When? You said you rented it.”

“I said I got a house for our visit,” he corrects. “I never said how I got it.”

“Oh.” I feel foolish at my assumption. “So when did you have a chance to buy it?”

“I began making the arrangements right after we agreed on this trip. It took almost a week for the prior owner to move out, but the house is now ours.”

Ours. The word rolls so easily off his tongue that it doesn’t register for a second. Then I process what he said. “We own this house?” I ask carefully. “As in, both of us?”

“Technically, one of our shell corporations owns it, but I made you a fifty-percent shareholder in that corporation, so yes, we own it,” Julian says as we enter a spacious bedroom with a four-poster bed.

“Julian…” Stopping in front of the bed, I look up at him. “Why did you do this? I mean, the trust fund was more than enough—”

“Because you belong to me.” He steps closer, a familiar heat igniting in his gaze as he reaches for the buttons of my dress. His fingers brush against my naked skin, making my n*****s pebble with need. “Because I want to take care of you, spoil you, make sure you’ll never want for anything in your life…” Despite his tender words, his eyes gleam darker as he finishes unbuttoning the dress and lets it fall to the floor. “Any other questions, my pet?”

I shake my head, staring up at him. I’m now wearing only a blue thong and a matching bra, and the way he’s looking at me reminds me of a hungry lion about to pounce on a gazelle. He may want to take care of me, but at this particular moment, he also wants to devour me.

“Good.” His voice is a deep, menacing purr. “Now turn around.”

My pulse quickening in nervous anticipation, I do as he says. Even though I crave the darkness now, there is a tiny, instinctual curl of fear in my belly. Julian has always been unpredictable. For all I know, the domesticity of this evening reawakened his sadistic desires, unleashing the demon he’s kept in check these recent weeks.

A warm, treacherous throb begins between my thighs at the thought.

As I stand there, I hear a quiet rustling, and then a soft cloth covers my eyes.

A blindfold, I realize, holding my breath. Deprived of my vision, I feel infinitely more vulnerable. My right hand twitches with the sudden urge to lift my arm and tear off the piece of cloth.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Julian catches my arm, his fingers like steel cuffs on my wrist. Leaning down, he whispers in my ear, “Who said you could do that, my pet?”

I shiver at the heat of his breath. “I just—”

“Quiet.” His command vibrates through me, adding to the heated pulsing between my legs. “I will tell you when to speak.” Releasing my wrist, he pushes me forward, causing me to stumble and land face down on the bed. “Don’t move,” he orders, stepping closer.

I obey, hardly breathing as he runs his hands over me, starting with my shoulders and ending with my thighs. His touch is gentle, yet somehow invasive, like that of a stranger. Or maybe it just feels that way because of the blindfold. I can sense him behind me, but I can’t see anything, and he’s touching me like he would an object… doing with me whatever he pleases. I can feel the calluses on his large, warm palms, and the memory of our first time together flashes through my mind, making my belly tighten with anxiety and dark need.

When he’s done stroking me, he rolls me over onto my back and rearranges me on the bed, placing a pillow under my head. Then he grabs my arm, and I feel him looping a rough-textured rope around my wrist. He secures the other end of that rope to what I can only assume is one of the bed posts.

After that, he walks around the bed and does the same with my other arm.

I’m left lying there like some kind of a s****l sacrifice, my arms stretched out diagonally and the blindfold still covering my eyes. I’m even more helpless than usual, and that fact both alarms and thrills me, like most of my interactions with Julian. For other couples, this is only pretend. But for us, it’s as real as it gets. I don’t have the option to say no. Julian will take me whether I want it or not, and perversely, that knowledge deepens the needy ache in my s*x.

“You’re beautiful.” His harsh whisper is accompanied by a feather-light brush of his fingers over the sensitive skin of my stomach. “And all mine. Aren’t you, my pet?”

“Yes.” My breathing turns uneven as his fingers approach the top of my thong. “Yes, all yours.”

The mattress dips as he climbs onto the bed and straddles my legs. The material of his jeans feels rough on my naked thighs, reminding me that he’s still fully clothed. “That’s right. . .” He leans down, the buttons of his shirt pressing into my stomach as he covers me with his hard, broad chest. His teeth graze over my earlobe, causing gooseflesh to rise over my arms as he murmurs into my ear, “Nobody will ever have you but me.”

I suppress a shudder even as my core floods with liquid heat. From a different man, this would be just possessive pillow talk, but from Julian, it’s both a threat and a statement of fact. If I were ever so foolish as to allow another man to touch me, Julian would kill him without a second thought.

“I don’t want anyone but you.” It’s true, yet my voice shakes as Julian kisses my neck, then sucks on the tender flesh under my ear. “You know that.”

He chuckles softly, the deep, masculine sound reverberating through me. “Yes, my pet. I do.”

He climbs off me, and I sense him moving to the foot of the bed. When he catches my right ankle, I know why.

He’s going to tie my legs as well.

The rope is looped around my ankle as I lie there, my heart racing. Julian rarely restrains me so thoroughly. He doesn’t have to. Even if I were inclined to fight, he’s strong enough to control me without ropes and chains.

Of course, I’m not inclined to fight. Not when I know what he’s capable of, what he’s willing to do to possess me.

When my right leg is secured, he reaches for my left. His hands are strong and sure as he wraps the rope around my ankle and ties the other end to the remaining bedpost, leaving me lying there with my legs spread open. It’s a disconcerting position, and as soon as Julian moves back, I instinctively try to bring my legs together. I can’t close them more than an inch, of course. Like the ropes around my wrists, the ankle restraints hold me tightly in place without cutting off my circulation.

My kidnapper may not be into traditional b**m, but he certainly knows how to tie someone up.

“Julian?” It occurs to me that I’m still wearing my underwear, both the bra and the thong. “What are you going to do to me?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, I feel the mattress dip again as he gets up, and then I hear his footsteps and the sound of the door closing.

He walked out of the room, leaving me tied to the bed.

My heart starts beating faster.

I flex my arms, testing the rope again even though I know it’s futile. As expected, there’s almost no give in the restraints; the rope bites painfully into my skin when I try to pull on it. I’m nearly naked and alone, blindfolded and tied up in this unfamiliar house. And even though I know Julian won’t let anything bad happen to me, I can’t help the tension that invades my body as seconds tick by with no sign of his return.

After a couple of minutes, I test the rope again. Still no give in it… and still no sign of Julian.

I force myself to take a breath and slowly let it out. Nothing terrible is going on; nobody is hurting me. I don’t know what game Julian is playing, but it doesn’t seem particularly brutal.

But you want brutal, a small, insidious voice inside my head reminds me. You want pain and violence.

I quiet that voice and focus on remaining calm. Julian’s mercurial approach to lovemaking may excite me, but it also frightens me. The sane part of me, at least. I want pain, yet I dread it in equal measures. It’s always that way nowadays. It’s as if I’ve been split in two, the remnants of the person I used to be warring with who I am now.

Another few minutes crawl by.

“Julian?” I can no longer remain silent. “Julian, where are you?”

Nothing. No response of any kind.

I rub the back of my head against the sheets, trying to dislodge the blindfold, but it doesn’t budge more than an inch. Frustrated, I yank at the restraints with all my strength, but all I succeed in doing is hurting myself. Finally, I give up and try to relax, ignoring the anxiety creeping through me.

A few more minutes pass. Just when I think I might go out of my mind, the door creaks open, and I hear the soft sound of footsteps.

“Julian, is that you?” I can’t hide the relief in my voice. “What happened? Where did you go?”

“Shhh.” The sound is followed by a tickling sensation across my lips. “Who told you that you could speak, my pet?”

My pulse jumps at the cold note in his voice. Is he punishing me for something? “What—”

“Hush.” His fingers press on my lips, silencing me. “Not another word.”

I swallow, my throat suddenly feeling dry. He’s not touching me anywhere but my lips, yet my body ignites, my earlier arousal returning despite my growing nervousness.

Or maybe because of it. It’s impossible to tell.

“Suck on my fingers.” His whispered command is accompanied by increasing pressure on the seam of my lips. “Now.”

Obediently, I open my mouth and suck two of his large fingers in. They taste clean and slightly salty, the edges of his short nails rough against the tender roof of my mouth. I swirl my tongue around his fingers as I would over his c**k, and his hand jerks, as though the sensation is just as intense for him.

Just as I’m starting to get into it, Julian withdraws his fingers and runs them down the front of my body, leaving a cool, damp trail on my skin. I shiver in response, my inner muscles tensing as his fingers circle my navel, his nails scraping lightly over my belly. Lower, I will him silently, please, just go a bit lower, but he lifts his hand instead, depriving me of his touch.

I open my mouth to plead with him, but then I remember that he doesn’t want me to speak. Swallowing, I suppress the words, not wanting to displease him when he’s in this unpredictable mood.

If Julian is indeed punishing me for something, I don’t want to provoke him further.

So instead of begging, I lie still, waiting, my breathing fast and shallow as I try to listen to his movements. I can’t hear anything. Is he just standing there watching me? Staring at my semi-naked body stretched out and restrained on the bed?

Finally, I hear something. A scraping noise, as if he picked up something from the nightstand.

I wait, listening tensely, and then I feel it.

Something cold and hard sliding under the tight band of my bra, pressing between my breasts.

I almost flinch in shock, but manage to remain still, my heart beating frantically.

Snip. The noise is unmistakeable.

It’s the sound of metal cutting through thick fabric. Julian just used scissors on the front of my bra.

I allow myself a small exhalation of relief, but then I tense again as I feel the cold scissors sliding down my body.

Snip. Snip. Both sides of my thong are cut, the dull edge of the scissors pressing into my hipbones. I feel the warmth of Julian’s hand as he pulls the mangled scrap of fabric off my body, and then I hear him suck in a breath. He’s looking at me. I know it. I picture what he’s seeing as I lie there naked, with my legs wide open, and a flush heats up my skin at the pornographic image in my mind.

“You’re already wet.” His voice, low and thick with lust, makes me burn even more. “Your p***y is dripping for me.” He accompanies the words with a butterfly-soft touch on my aching clit. His fingertips feel rough on my sensitive flesh, yet fire rockets through my veins, filling me with desperate need. Unbidden, a moan escapes my throat, and I lift my hips toward him, silently begging for more.

This time, he answers my plea.

I feel the mattress dip again as he climbs onto the bed, settling between my legs. His hands, large and strong, grip the top of my thighs, and then he lowers his head to my s*x. I feel his hot breath wash over my open folds. I almost whimper in anticipation, but I hold back at the last second, not wanting to do anything to cause Julian to change his mind. I want his touch. I need it. It’s agonizing to be without it.

And then I feel it—the soft, wet pressure of his tongue between my folds, the pressure that both quenches and intensifies the ache. He doesn’t lick me; he just holds his tongue against my clit, but it’s enough. It’s more than enough. I rock my hips in small, spasmodic movements, creating the exact rhythm I need, and the tension within me grows, the pleasure gathering in a hot, pulsing ball within my core. His tongue moves then, his lips closing around my clit in a strong sucking motion, and the ball bursts, shards of ecstasy blasting through my nerve endings as I cry out, no longer able to stay silent.

Before my orgasm is completely over, he starts licking me. Just soft, gentle licks that extend the pleasurable aftershocks coursing through my body. It feels good, even with my clit swollen and sensitized, so I lie there, enjoying it, limp and content from my release. It’s not until a minute later that I realize that the pleasure is sharpening again, growing stronger, transforming into that aching tension.

I gasp, arching toward his mouth, needing more pressure to bring me over the edge, but he keeps touching me with those light licks, his tongue just barely grazing over my clit.

“Please, Julian…” The words escape before I can remember the restriction on speaking, but to my relief, he doesn’t stop. Instead, he keeps licking me, his tongue moving in a rhythm that slowly and torturously winds me tighter, pushing me closer but not letting me get what I need. I try to push my hips higher, but I can’t gain much leverage, stretched and spread as I am.

All I can do is endure, utterly at the mercy of whatever pleasure-torment Julian chooses to dole out.

Just when I think I can’t bear much more, he shifts to the side, moving his right hand from my thigh to my throbbing s*x. His large, blunt fingers probe my entrance, and I moan as he pushes two of them in, penetrating me with startling swiftness. I’m almost there, it’s nearly what I need… and then his thumb presses hard on my clit.

I fly apart, acute pleasure rippling through my body as I convulse, gasping and crying out.

“Yes, that’s it, baby,” he murmurs. His hand leaves me, and I hear the sound of a zipper coming down. I register it only dimly. I feel drunk on orgasms, worn out by the brutal intensity of it all. My heart is pounding as if I ran a race, and my bones feel like they’ve turned to jelly.

There’s no way I could possibly want more, yet when he covers me with his large body, a tiny twitch of renewed sensation makes my belly tighten. He’s naked, having already removed his clothes, and I can feel his heat, his hardness. His raw male power. Even if I weren’t restrained, I’d feel helpless and small, surrounded as I am by him, but with the rope on my ankles and wrists, that feeling is magnified. I can hardly breathe under his weight, but it doesn’t matter. Even air feels optional at the moment.

All I need is Julian.

He shifts on top of me, propping himself up on his elbows. The hard, smooth tip of his erection brushes against my inner thigh as he lowers his head to kiss me, and I tense with anticipation as I feel him beginning to press in.

I’m wet and slick from the orgasms, my body primed for his possession, yet I still feel the stretch as his thick c**k forces apart my inner walls, the sensation stopping just short of pain. His tongue invades my mouth at the same time, and I can’t even moan as he begins to move, his thrusts deep and rhythmic. It’s overwhelming, the feel of him, the taste of him, the way his body completely dominates and claims mine. I can’t see, can’t move. I’m drowning, and he’s my only salvation.

I don’t know how long it takes before the pulsing tension coils in my core once more. All I know is when Julian comes, I come with him, shuddering and crying out in his embrace.

Afterwards, he removes the blindfold and the ropes and carries me to the shower. I’m so exhausted I can barely stand, so Julian washes me, taking care of me as if I were a child. When he brings me back to bed, he pulls me into his arms, and as I fall asleep, I hear him say softly, “I will give you the world, my pet. The whole f*****g world—just as long as you’re mine.”