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Amelia
My head’s feeling heavy, my brain filled with grogginess. I’m consumed with an abnormal amount of fatigue. What on earth happened? Did I pass out? The last thing I remember was my meeting at school with Jimmy’s parents. I’d finished discussing punishment options and walked back to my office. At least, I think I did. I don’t remember ever making it to my desk, though. Ugh, I feel like I’ve been sick for a week, and I’m finally beginning to make my way out of it.
Inhaling, I roll over onto my stomach, noticing multiple things all at once. First of all, my wrists are squished together, my hands balled up into fists under my chest. This doesn’t smell like my lavender vanilla detergent either, but rather, it’s distinctly male.
I haven’t had a man in my bed in God knows how long. That’s not true; it’s been two years since I’d invited anyone home with me. I blame it on a long day and too much wine, but even then, it was at a hotel and not my house. I was at a conference out of state...so a guy wasn’t in my bed at home. Why on earth do I randomly smell one now?
The scent is a mixture of musky male, deodorant or cologne, and soap all meshed together. Inhaling again, my stomach tightens, and I groan, wanting to keep smelling it. Whatever dream I’m in, I don’t want that part to end. I could cover myself in the scent and never get my fill. It’s been too long since I’ve had sex. I’ve been busy and especially haven’t wanted to deal with the potential of having a time-consuming relationship with anyone.
The air conditioner kicks on with a soft hum, and the sudden brisk breeze of cold air causes my nipples to stiffen. Now that isn’t right. I must be dreaming because I don’t ever sleep naked. I have a collection of comfortable satin nightgowns and flannel pajamas that I snuggle up in each night. I get a full chill, and my flesh covers in goosebumps. My body squirms, seeking warmth.
Where are all the blankets? Why’s it so cold in here?
A big, rough palm lands on my bicep, and my body jerks in surprise as the warmth moves up and down, chasing the goosebumps on my arm. “Shhh,” a deep, gruff voice coos quietly from behind, and my muscles tighten in response. My back’s as stiff as a board, my frame constricting further as my mind finally clears up enough to grasp that I can’t move my arms. I concentrate on the movement again but get nothing in return.
Don’t freak out. It must be a dream, I chant, attempting to silently placate myself.
Everything is confusing and jumbled in my mind at the moment. I want to ask who's there and why in the hell I can barely move my body. I attempt to talk, even to cry out, but only a whimper manages to break free. Why am I so damn groggy? What’s wrong with me?
“You’re all right, babe. Just try and relax. It’ll be easier coming out of the drugs if you don’t fight. Slowly wake up and pull yourself out. You were unconscious for a while. You have to give your head some time to catch up with everything.”
My eyes shoot open. There’s no mistaking it; that was definitely a man. I’m exposed, naked, and vulnerable. Was I in a wreck or something? I don’t remember driving. Do I have amnesia? Why in the hell am I not wearing clothes?
“Ugh,” I manage as his palm moves to rub my back. I want to scream at him not to touch me, but I have to get my bearings first.
“Shh, babe,” he soothes. I make myself refrain from jabbing my foot backward and telling him to shut up and not to call me babe. I’m not a pig. My name’s Amelia Stone.
Glancing around, I take in the space. I’m nowhere that I recognize in the slightest. The room’s pretty standard with off white walls and a charcoal, overstuffed chair. A five-drawer walnut finished dresser sits on the opposite wall; it’s bare with only a flat-screen TV resting on top. There are two closed doors off to the side. If I’d have to guess, maybe it’s a closet and a bathroom? The place is sparse, though—nothing to give away the location or who lives here. Something had to have happened; I’ve never been here before.
“W-where am I?” I ask after working my tongue around my mouth, and I clear my throat. I don’t even sound like myself, my ears feel like I’m in a tunnel or something.
“You’re in my room,” he replies, and the voice registers. I know who that rich, gravelly, annoyingly sexy sound belongs to.
My eyes drop to my wrists as panic blooms in my chest. This can’t be happening. I must be dreaming. I’m in denial; there’s no way this can be real. Releasing a breath, I shift to my side, attempting to look at him. Maybe if I see him, I’ll finally wake up—at least, I hope that’s the case.
“Let me help, babe.” He grabs onto my bicep again. I swallow my retort down as he pulls me to turn over, and I end up on my back.
The icy air hits my front, and I realize my mistake. I’ve presented my nakedness right out in the open. His determined, imperturbable cobalt gaze meets mine, and I gasp at finding him completely bare as well, lying beside me. His mouth turns up into his signature cocky smirk, and I scream bloody murder.
His grin drops, stricken by my sudden outburst, and then he’s grabbing me. He yanks me to him, and in the next second, his lips are on mine. His moves bold and demanding, and I don’t know how to react with everything hitting me all at once.
This isn’t a dream; it’s real. I’m naked and tied up in Blaze’s bed. The truth hits me like a ton of bricks as I try not to lose myself in his demanding mouth. I’ve been kidnapped by the very man I was avoiding. He’s trouble—a deceptively sexy criminal, and God help me, but I don’t think he’ll be letting me go anytime soon.
His scruff rubs my tender skin raw with the force he takes my lips with. It’s consuming and utterly overwhelming. I’ve kissed my fair share of guys in the past, but none of them came at me with so much fervor. He’s a man on a mission, and I’m normally in complete control. He’s made me helpless and vulnerable to his will. His tongue caresses mine, and I manage to move my face enough to break away.
Panting, my glare meets his amused gaze. “Don’t touch me!” I wail, taking in the feeling of his big, strong hands holding my biceps tightly in his clutches, his face in mine. Omg, is he going to rape me? Tears crest, and I plead, “Don’t rape me! I’ll press charges on you, you crude savage!”
His amusement drops, his features morphing to irritation. His coffee-scented breath coats my lips as he growls, “Shut up! I don’t have to rape you to get what I want. Pussy isn’t something I’m hurting for, so don’t flatter yourself. Take that stick out of your uptight ass and think before you piss me off, and I decide to dump you in a ditch. Nature will be far crueler on you than I’m being right now.”
“Whatever, just stay away from me, you heathen! Why are we naked?”
He shrugs, appearing not to have a care in the world. “Figured it was far past time to get your prissy ass out of those stuffy business clothes. As to why I’m naked? Simple. It’s my bed.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my clothes, and I’d like them back right this instant. Also, untie me! This is kidnapping, and I won’t hesitate to press charges. Men like you should be in jail.”
His smile gleams. “First of all, I’ve been to jail, and it has nothing to offer, so I don’t plan on returnin’. Second, I tossed your clothes in the trash the moment I got you out of them. I damn sure won’t be getting you any others like them, so you’re assed out. And third, you’re right, this is kidnapping, so I won’t be untying you. Whether you get free eventually or I kill you is entirely up to your behavior. We’re surrounded by people who think like me, so don’t even contemplate for a moment that anyone around here will help you outta this.”
My lip trembles. I can’t stop it no matter how hard I try, and it’s beyond frustrating. This bullheaded man can’t witness me being any more vulnerable than I already am at the moment. “I hate you,” I eventually whisper because if my calming down will lead to my freedom, well, I’ll do what I must. I’ve always been an intelligent person, and I won’t stop being one now.
His mocking smile says it all. He doesn’t have to tell me how my anger amuses him. I can see it written right in his expression. I’ve dealt with testy students and rude kids for years now; surely, I can deal with one cocky biker. This situation both terrifies and excites me. I’ve been drugged, taken, and held captive by a motorcycle-riding criminal. Yet, I’m here next to a naked man who has more muscles than the men’s fitness magazine I saw last week in the supermarket. I must stay focused; it could be worse; I could be in the dingy, rat-infested meth lab I saw on the news yesterday. So far, this seems nothing of the sort, and thankfully, my law-breaking kidnapper seems to at least keep his living space clean.
“Good thing your words mean nothing—that you mean nothing to me.” He sits up, propped on his elbow. He’s got blond hair, bright blue eyes, dimples, scruff, and muscles galore.
I must memorize his appearance for when I eventually get free and contact the police. He’s got a prominent nose and a scar under his left eye. It’s not too noticeable unless you’re looking for it. He’s got another matching scar on the side of his nose and down his chin. Something happened to him, maybe a wreck or something to scar up that rough, almost pretty face of his. Even his lips pout, the thin scar splitting between his upper lip. The guy’s so good-looking, no matter how much I want to pretend differently, that it makes me mad. Guys like him shouldn’t get to look so enticing, especially when you know they’re not up to any good.
“I’d let you take a picture,” he remarks cockily, “but it wouldn’t be good if you went to the cops with it.” He sits up farther, his abs flexing. His member rests on his leg, and if it wasn’t looking so comfortable, I’d swear he’s hard with how big and thick he is. He flexes his hips, making his length jump, and my eyes fly up to his. Of course, they sparkle with amusement; he’s thoroughly enjoying that he just caught me staring between his legs. My cheeks warm with embarrassment.
Rather than call me out on it, he moves, climbing out of bed. I’m left trying not to stare at him, yet wanting to so badly it’s driving me crazy. Will his butt flex as well? How can I think of that in a time like this? “I’ll lay it out right now, so I set your precious, scandalized mind at ease.”
My gaze leaves the ceiling to find his again, and he continues, grabbing jeans from the floor. He works them over his hips. It’s remarkable how something so simple as pulling on jeans can suddenly become so unbelievably sexy. Clearly, it’s been too long since I’ve been with a man if I can look at my captor as I am. I should despise him, not think anything he does is remotely sexy or alluring. It’s far too soon for me to be developing Stockholm Syndrome.
“Like I said earlier,” he begins, “I don’t need to take your pussy. In fact, I won’t touch your pussy with my cock. You’ll have to ask me for it to happen. Beg me even.” He shrugs.
I immediately scoff. That’ll never happen, no matter how much he may want it to. His brow rises, waiting. My lips slam closed, even though I have so many things I’d love to scream at him.
“You’ll be here for a while. Don’t try to escape because there are several people who will catch you and bring you right back. You eating, sleeping, showering—all of it—will be determined by your behavior. While you were knocked out, I had the doc remove that thing from your arm too.”
My attention flies to my shoulder, and the small sting still present. “My birth control? You had my birth control removed?”
He nods. “It’s gone. We did a sweep at your place, too, and disposed of all that hormonal shit you were taking to suppress your cycle. It may not happen overnight, but your estrogen and emotions will be given a chance to level back out.”
“You have absolutely no right, whatsoever!”
“The hell I don’t. I’m in control here, remember? That stuff, along with your skewed, irrational beliefs, has turned you into a snot nose bitch. I don’t know who did a number on you back in the day to make you hate men, but that shit ends now. I don’t care if you don’t like me, that’s your prerogative, but I’ll be damned if you have that shit pumping through you to make you not think clearly.”
“How does my birth control or my supplements have anything to do with that?” This man is delusional.
He taps the side of his head. “It messes with the chemicals up here.”
Swallowing, I stare at him, transfixed. How can he know anything about the chemical structure in your brain and especially a woman’s? Above all else, why’s he doing this to me?
“I got to thinking when you didn’t give in to my charm, not even a little, I had one of my brothers break into your spot when you were at work. He took pictures of everything, and I was able to see firsthand all the hormone suppressers and such you had. That’s not normal for a woman to take; you’re tricking your brain into thinking it doesn’t need a man. You’ve been telling your body you don’t need a man, but you’re wrong. You need us to protect you and give you babies. It’s been that way from the very beginning.”
“I can do those things. I definitely don’t need a man for any of them,” I argue. He’s ignorant to believe I need anyone for anything.
“No. A lab can give you a child, but that’s not the way it’s meant to be if you are able to have a child on your own. A gun could help protect you, but again, you’re assed out, ‘cause you’re anti-gun. What’s to protect you, say, if I broke in while you’re sleeping? There’s no way you can overpower me no matter what self-defense methods you may’ve Googled. You think a home alarm will protect you from me?”
He shakes his head, continuing and making me question everything I’ve believed. “It won’t for about six and a half to ten minutes while the signal is transmitted, they try calling you and finally dispatch the police—who, if you’re lucky, aren’t already busy helping with some catastrophe going on. You think you could fight someone like me off you for ten minutes? You wouldn’t last for thirty seconds with me, but if I was beside you, to protect you? I’d decapitate the motherfucker who attempted to touch my woman.”
I swallow, turned on and furious. “I could have a child without a man in a lab, as you’ve pointed out.”
“Right now, you may be able to, but what if the labs go away? Then what?”
“But they won’t,” I argue. “I don’t need a man; I never will.”
“You’re wrong. Regardless, this is the position you’re in. You’re at my mercy, and no matter how strong you may think you are, I’m in control. If you want this situation to be easier on you, then I suggest you get on board and learn to keep your rude remarks and names to yourself.”
“This subject isn’t over,” I say stubbornly, wanting to prove my point that I don’t—and won’t ever—need a man.
“On that, you’re right, but I’m done talking about it for the time being. Now that you know the score, I’ll give you some time to process.” He finishes pulling on his boots then leaves, closing the door behind him without another glance in my direction.
I don’t have any idea of what to think about everything we just talked about. The only thing I can come up with is that this man is completely crazy. Out of all the guys, I had to come across the delusional one. Not only that, but he has me bound and naked and completely at his mercy. I have to figure a way out of here. There’s no way I can let this crazy man have his way with me.
