Page 39 of Wildling

Captivity

Afew days go by, possibly a week, although it’s hard to tell. I haven’t ventured too far out of the cabin.

It’s always the same. Nick wakes at the earliest light, pulls me in closer to him, his lips teasing the back of my neck, making my belly squirm. He kisses my head and leaves for the day, doing whatever he does, roaming the woods with his gun.

I’ll sit out in the garden for hours, tanning, reading old books, getting my knees dirty, picking weeds. I’ll pick veggies for dinner or fruit on the apple and cherry trees that surround the property. Then I’ll head in and bring Frank outside. We sit next to the fire pit, and I make sure not to upset or confuse him. I never have the heart to tell him I’m not his real granddaughter. I play along, giving him his final happy memory when she was alive. That’s when phantom hands brush my cheek, a cool wind on an otherwise windless day, sending chills straight to my bones.

We have everything we need to live here, much like the bunker did. Nick created a place where they can survive for months off the grid. Not once do I even try to leave. Though I do stare off down the dirt road. The only other marker is a dusty blue Dodge truck.

When Nick returns home, he vanishes into a dark shed hidden deep behind the trees, refusing to speak to me. I don’t dare go near that shed. It gives me the creeps. Once he emerges, we swim in the lake and eat dinner from whatever I picked out of the garden that day. At night, when the lights go out, he slips beside me and pulls me against him. Our lips and bodies always find each other, and I fall asleep to his heartbeat. I don’t fight it anymore—my body craves him. Both sides of him.

Despite the circumstances, I can’t deny how peaceful it is out here. The air is fresh, and my mind is clearing. My nervous system is calm…I’m calm. Aside from the first night, I’ve never tried to leave, which is a serious issue. I should want to leave. I should flee the second I have a chance.

The morning sun finally crests through the window, creating a dim hue in the room. Nick’s hand moves to my belly, and he stirs awake even though I’ve been awake for hours, staring out at the trees beyond.

I need to get away from this place. Everything here is an illusion of safety. I’m not safe. My rational mind knows this, even if my body is reluctant to accept it. A knot tightens my stomach at the thought of both.

I turn to face him and stare at him for longer than I should. His eyes are lazy, his dark hair is mussed, his biceps flexed as he holds me. He’s only wearing boxers, and I run my hand over all his scars. He’s dozing.

His eyes draw open at my touch. “What are you looking at, wildling?”

I ponder for a moment. “Are you going to tell me how you got these scars?”

His head tilts, his muscles twitch as I continue tracing one down his abdomen. “No.”

He grabs my hands and moves them down to his pulsing cock, which pulsed before he was even awake.

“When will you trust me enough to tell me what happened to you?” I ask, curling my fingers around the length of him.

His golden eyes soften. “You’re not ready to see that side of me. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready to talk about it.”

I arch my brows. “I’ve already seen all sides of you, remember?”

He pulls his tongue between his teeth as I grip and tug and his cock grows harder. “No, baby, you haven’t. And you don’t want to. I’ve already warned you, you won’t survive it.”

I don’t believe him anymore. He’s too sweet and nurturing.

My cheeks light on fire, and I press my lips to his scars on his abdomen, kissing each one. Guilt swirls through me as I give in to yet another day of letting myself go with this man. Giving in to my desires.

My heart beats wildly as I move my mouth down and slip it over his cock as I smirk up at him. “If you killed me, then who would do this to you?”

He rests his palm on my ass, slapping it as I take him deep into my throat.

“Good point.”

The way he chews on his bottom lip makes me ravenous.

I suck him raw, while he plays with my ass, slapping it hard. I moan into his cock, the pain pushing me to suck him harder as he digs his fingers.

A hint—that’s where he wants to go.

He grabs my hair and pulls my head up, tilting his head as his pupils flare. His eyes flicker as they always do right before he fucks me.

Regret. Hatred. Self-loathing.

The same feelings I have, since neither of us should want this. I keep steady eye contact as I breathe in and out, and my heart rate increases.

Frank calls from the kitchen. “Natalie, where’s my breakfast?”