Page 43 of The Captive
"Lovely curves," she whispered, gaze hungry as it roved over my exposed body. "Don't you think so, Alexander?"
I refused to look at him, focusing instead on controlling my breathing, on not giving her the satisfaction of seeing my fear and humiliation. But I could feel his gaze on me—intense, burning, filled with something that wasn't quite pity. No, definitely not pity.
Beatrice's behaviour grew increasingly erratic. She suddenly dropped the knife with a clatter and pressed her hand between my thighs, fingers probing invasively.
"Look how wet she is," she announced, her touch rough and unwelcome. "She likes being watched. She likes you watching her, Alexander."
I bit down hard on my lower lip, tasting the blood again as I fought back any sound that might escape me. Violated and exposed, I retreated into the compartmentalized mind that had helped me survive in several situations before although none as harrowing as this: separating myself from what was happening to my body.
Beatrice leaned forward without warning and took one of my nipples into her mouth, sucking hard enough to make me sob in agony. Her teeth grazed my sensitive flesh, the pain sharpand unexpected. I caught Alexander's gaze across the room. His jaw clenched so tightly I could see the muscle jumping. His eyes conveying a silent message I couldn't quite decipher.
Then, abruptly, Beatrice stepped back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Bitch, he'll never choose you," she spat, her mood switching from aroused to furious in an instant. "If you're some kind of item, you're just a temporary distraction from what he really craves." Her voice dropped to a whisper, leaning close to my ear. "See, Alexander is like me. He likes it dark... depraved... filthy. Pain and pleasure intertwined until you can't tell where one ends and the other begins."
She retrieved the knife from the floor and turned back to Alexander, walking toward him with renewed purpose. "Watch, Aoife. Watch how much he likes it."
She straddled him without preamble, pressing the knife against his throat with one hand while the other guided his head up to face her. "You can do it even when scared, can't you, Alexander?"
With theatrical slowness, she pulled her short dress up, revealing she wore nothing underneath, her bare sex exposed and glistening with arousal. She gyrated her hips and lowered herself onto him, rubbing herself on his still-soft cock.
"Now you feel how wet I am for you," she breathed, the words almost a prayer. "How much I've needed this..."
She lowered her free hand and grabbed his cock, stroking it roughly. "If you don't do as I say, I will slit her throat first, then yours."
Alexander's jaw clenched, but his eyes found mine over Beatrice's shoulder. There was calculation there, not just fear—the look of a man formulating a plan even in the midst of hell.
Beatrice rose from his lap, then knelt between his legs, setting the knife on the floor within easy reach. Withoutpreamble, she took him into her mouth, her blonde head bobbing rhythmically between his thighs. Alexander's expression remained tightly controlled, but I could see the revulsion he was fighting to hide.
His cock remained stubbornly unresponsive despite her increasingly aggressive efforts. Frustration radiated from her as she worked harder, one hand stroking his shaft while her mouth moved over him. Still, nothing.
Then his eyes locked with mine, sending a silent message to me. Understanding dawned—he needed help, and I was the only one who could provide it. If we wanted to survive this, I had to set aside all pride and play along.
I pushed aside my disgust and fear, focusing instead on the raw connection that had always existed between us. I slid my tongue across my lips with deliberation, parting my legs as much as my suspended position allowed, stretching down on tiptoes. The chains rattled as I shifted into a more provocative pose, remembering the electricity that had sparked between us that night two years ago—the explosive chemistry that had led us to abandon caution in a roomful of observers.
The corner of Alexander's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. Slowly, his body began to respond, blood flowing to his cock as Beatrice continued her assault. His gaze never left mine, creating a connection that somehow excluded Beatrice entirely despite her intimate position.
I began to move subtly, undulating my hips as though invisible hands were exploring my body. The whole scene was contrived, but with my falling into character something deeper stirred within me—a perverse arousal at the intensity of his gaze, at the danger of our situation, at the forbidden nature of our connection.
I was so completely fucked up, as luck would have it.
At last, he was fully erect. Beatrice pulled back, wiping her mouth with triumphant satisfaction before straddling him again, knife back in hand. She positioned herself over him and sank down, taking him inside her with a moan that echoed through the barn. He winced, jaw tight. The pressure to perform was real.
She began to ride him, her movements frantic and uncoordinated.
"Watch, Aoife," she ordered breathlessly. "Don't turn away or I will hurt him."
With the knife pressed against his throat, Alexander had no choice but to comply with her demands. But his eyes—those intense eyes that had haunted my dreams for two years—remained fixed on me as Beatrice used his body.
I caught his gaze and held it, then began moving my hips in time with Beatrice's, creating the illusion that I was the one taking him, that this coupling was happening between us alone. I increased the intensity of my movements, watching as his breathing grew heavier, his muscles tensing visibly.
"Look at me," I mouthed silently, giving him somewhere to focus beyond the violation of his body. "Only me."
Something shifted in his expression—gratitude, perhaps, or a deeper understanding passing between us. His breathing quickened, his powerful body tensing as Beatrice drove herself on him with increasing abandon.
“Come, or I kill her,” she said.
I nodded. “Soon…” I breathed, sighing.
