Page 23 of The Captive
His fingers continued their path upward, pausing just below the juncture of my thighs. Heat pooled in my core, undeniable.
"Tell me about the O'Malley supply routes," he demanded again, voice steady despite the tension crackling between us.
I remained silent, unwilling to surrender even as my body betrayed me. His hand moved to my throat, not squeezing but resting there—a reminder of my vulnerability, of his power. His thumb traced my racing pulse, his gaze holding me prisoner.
"Your heart's racing," he observed matter-of-factly. "Fear... or something else?"
Before I could answer, he tangled his other hand in my hair and pulled my head back to expose the column of my throat. When he spoke this way, acted this way … was I supposed to be able to form a coherent thought? I gasped at the sudden pain, my body arching involuntarily into that appealing darkness…
"Both, I think," he murmured, his breath on my neck. "How interesting."
He released my hair but kept his hand at my throat, his thumb tracing my jawline with unexpected gentleness that contrasted sharply with the steel in his eyes.
"You're not what I expected, Aoife O'Malley," he said, studying my face with disturbing intensity. "Not at all what I expected. Since the first moment I laid eyes on you."
His thumb moved to trace my lower lip, the touch feather-light yet burning. Against every instinct for self-preservation, I parted my lips slightly, my breath warm against his skin.
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes—hunger, calculation, something primal that made my heart race faster. He leaned even closer, his breath now mingling with mine, the tension between us building to an almost unbearable pitch.
"I could break you," he whispered, his lips nearly touching mine. "Right now. And part of you wants me to."
I forced myself to meet his gaze, refusing to look away despite the truth in his words. "You could try."
His laugh, though muted, rang in my ears. "Such defiance, even when bested."
He knelt down before me. The zip ties bit into my wrists, cutting off circulation. I flexed my fingers, imagining wrapping them around his throat, showing him exactly what I was capable of. The overwhelming stench of mould in the room clung to my nostrils, almost as suffocating as his closeness.
His fingers hovered at my waistband, deliberate and unhurried. The metallic click of my button unfastening echoed in the silence. The slow rasp of my zipper being pulled down tooth by tooth sent ice through my veins.
I sucked in a sharp breath, my lungs suddenly unable to fill completely. "So you're going to use me while I'm all tied up? Is that what makes your cock hard, Alexander?" My voice betrayed the new level of fear coursing through me. Was this his endgame? I wouldn't put it past him. Men like him existed in a moral vacuum.
"I have something much more interesting in mind." His voice dropped to a growl. "And my cock is already hard."
He reached behind me, his chest pressing against mine as he yanked my black jeans down to my knees. Exposed skin prickled in the cold air. Vulnerability crashed over me in waves. His scent—expensive cologne barely masking raw male—enveloped me. Before I could spit out another accusation, he buried his face in the curve of my neck, inhaling deeply while his fingers danced lightly across my inner thigh.
"You're a fucking pig!" The words scraped out of my throat, vibrating with fear I couldn't conceal.
"Liar," he murmured against my skin. "I bet if I touch you there, you'll be soaking." His lips trailed gently over my ear, sending involuntary shivers down my spine. His fingers slipped beneath the elastic of my underwear with practiced ease.
I threw my head back, eyes squeezed shut.This isn't happening. This isn't real.But my body betrayed me. Despite the exhaustion, despite the pain, despite the hatred burning in my chest, heat pooled between my legs.
"Go fuck yourself," I hissed as his lips traced a path down my neck, gentle in contrast to the rough circles his thumb made against my most sensitive spot.
"You're dripping for me, Aoife." The words rumbled from his chest as his mouth descended to my collarbone, teeth grazing skin.
I bit back any sound, knowing my voice would betray me. Every cell in my body screamed in conflict—my mind revolted while my flesh responded. His thumb continued its relentless rhythm, stoking a fire I didn't want ignited. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out everything but the sensation of his lips on my skin, his fingers against my core.
"Stop it," I rasped, sweat beading on my forehead. "Just stop." But the plea lacked conviction even to my own ears.
He lifted his head, eyes locking with mine. His expression was unreadable as his fingers continued their skilled assault. I swallowed hard, my throat clicking dryly. The pressure built, coiling tighter with each targeted touch.
"I don't think you want me to stop," he said, voice like velvet. "I think you want me to get you off like that, princess. And I want you to beg me." He slid two fingers inside me with deliberate slowness.
A half-moan escaped before I could trap it behind clenched teeth. My eyes fluttered shut. The edge was so close—just a few more strokes and I'd shatter. The zip ties cut deeper as I pulled against them, pain mingling with pleasure in a dizzying cocktail.
"Never," I growled through parted lips.
He continued thrusting his fingers, thumb working in tandem. The pressure built to a crescendo, my muscles tensingin anticipation. I arched back, teetering on the precipice, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth as I bit through my lip?—
