Page 28 of The Captive
She studied the device, then me, with a smirk. "And if I refuse yourgenerousoffer?"
"Then we continue as before." I lowered my voice to the register that had made her pupils dilate yesterday. "And I don't think either of us has forgotten how that ended."
"With you failing to break me." She extended her wrist, the gesture simultaneously surrender and challenge. "Let's see these famous gardens you're so proud of."
I secured the tracker, fingers deliberately lingering against her pulse point. Her skin felt impossibly soft, betraying nothing of the steel beneath. "The system is foolproof," I said, running my thumb across her inner wrist where blue veins traced delicate patterns.
"Like your interrogation techniques?" Her smile was knife-sharp. “I think not.”
"Really?" I maintained contact longer than necessary. "I remember things differently."
Fresh clothing and a shower later, she emerged looking dangerously alluring in the simple jeans and sweater I'dprovided. The items fit well enough to suggest I'd paid attention to the curves I'd explored with my hands the day before.
"Lead the way," she said, the way she spoke the words absurdly arousing.
Morning dew still clung to the grass as we walked the estate grounds. I maintained professional distance while remaining acutely aware of her—the subtle rhythm of her breathing, the occasional brush of her arm against mine, the way sunlight caught fire in her auburn hair.
"For a man who tortured me yesterday, you're being curiously hospitable today," she observed, scanning our surroundings with practiced efficiency.
"I prefer to think of it as adaptable strategy." I guided her toward the rose garden. "And I wouldn't classify yesterday as torture."
"No?" Her eyebrow arched elegantly. "What would you call it?"
"Exploration." The word hung between us, charged with meaning.
She laughed—a genuine sound that transformed her face. "Again I must say, is that what gets you through the night, Alexander? Calling your sadism by prettier names? I thought we’dexploredenough already. Long ago." She pursed her lips.
I decided to ignore her reference to our previous meeting years back. "You didn't seem to find it entirely unpleasant." I stopped, turning to face her fully. "In fact, I recall quite different signals from your body."
"And yet—" she stepped closer, close enough that I could feel her breath against my neck, "—I never gave you what you wanted. Never begged so shamelessly as you’d have wished."
My cock, of course, had a mind of its own. "This… interrogation isn't over, Aoife."
"No?" She trailed one finger down the front of my shirt, stopping just above my belt. "And what techniques do you plan to employ next?"
I caught her wrist, squeezing. "That depends entirely on your cooperation."
"We both know I'm not the cooperative type." She didn't try to pull away, instead pressing closer. "But then, I don't think that's what interests you about me."
"What interests me is information," I lied, my body betraying me as her hip brushed against my hardening cock.
"Liar." Her smile was knowing. "What interests you is that I see you, Alexander Moore. Not the Flanagan golden boy. Not the perfect lieutenant. The real you—the one who gets hard when I fight back. The one who's imagined bending me over every surface in this big old mansion." She winked. “The one who’s been fantasising about our shared … past.”
My grip tightened involuntarily. "You have no idea what I want."
"Don't I?" She leaned closer, her lips a breath away from my ear. "I felt how hard you were yesterday, when you had your fingers inside me. When you thought you were breaking me, I was calculating exactly how many inches you'd be stretching me with."
Jesus Christ. I stepped back abruptly, needing distance from her. "This is counterproductive."
"On the contrary." She followed, maintaining the charged space between us. "I think we're finally getting somewhere interesting."
We reached the stone bridge spanning the small lake. Aoife paused, looking out over the water with an expression I couldn't decipher. Did she like it here? Or was she thinking about how fast she’d get back to her life?
"Beautiful property," she observed. "I understand why my father wanted it."
"The Flanagans took it," I corrected automatically. "It’s what they do."
Her eyes narrowed. "Including your loyalty? The housekeeper's son, elevated just high enough to be useful but never equal. How does it feel, Alexander, to build an empire for another man's name?"
