Abduction (42 page)

Meanwhile, I’d like you to read this.”

Conrad had tossed a thin stack of paper into Vaughn’s lap.

“It’s one of Devan’s delicious stories. Read it carefully, Vaughn. There is the manner in which you will take her virginity. On the back I've written a few additional…guidelines. You're to adhere to them exactly, or I'll consider our agreement broken. I’ll be back with her in a short while. When the time comes, Vaughn, you’d best cooperate, promptly and with appropriate enthusiasm, or I promise you I’ll tie you right back up and do it myself. And though it won’t be my first choice, I’ll be thrilled to do it.” Now Devan was standing before him, gazing up at him, questioning, frightened, and Vaughn was breathing hard and his hands were shaking as his long, strong fingers curved lightly around her upper arms, as he guided her slowly backward.

"Get on the bed, Devan."

His voice was low, quiet. But not exactly tender. There was something scary in the way he was acting, talking, in spite of that look of sadness, of fear.

Fighting to hide her panic she sat on the edge of the bed, and Vaughn loomed larger than ever over her. Without a word he bent, slid a forearm under her knees, and swung her legs up onto the bed. Then, with no smile or caress to reassure her, he put a knee on the mattress beside her, and a moment later he was straddling her thighs.

Fighting to stay still, calm, to quiet her ragged breath, Devan knew she was shaking, that her eyes must be pink with the tears she was fighting back. But she wanted him to know…

She attempted a serene smile.

"It's all right, Vaughn. I'm—"

"Sshhh."

His hand covered her mouth firmly and a look of panic flared over his features, then faded before he took it away. She turned to see Conrad watching them intently.

How like him to come up with that. No talking. All of it. How Vaughn was acting. She'd show him, though. He'd know, she was all right. Glad it would be him. She gazed at him, willing him to see how she trusted, how she cared for him, and reached up to caress his furrowed brow, his pale cheek.

Before she'd touched him his hand clamped down on her wrist. Her arm went limp with her sudden confusion and as if they were one that moment his huge hand became a soft cradle for her wrist. He reached past her, under the pillow behind her, and seconds later he slid a soft noose of sheer silk over her hand and pulled it taught.

No. No no. She pleaded with her eyes, forgetting it wasn't him. It was Conrad.

Watching it all. She wanted to beg. Not tied. She felt all the calm she'd mustered evaporate in one swift second, felt the smooth rhythmic quiet she'd forced over her lungs drop away as her breath went erratic with panic, felt the hot tears she'd fought back slip suddenly down her cheeks.

Why? What did it matter? She wouldn't fight, anyway. Couldn't stop anything even if she did. Why should it scare her so, being bound when she was powerless either way?

No talking. No touching. Completely mute. It would all be done to her. Nothing for her to do but feel. Let it happen to her. To struggle, to try to speak would only force Vaughn to fight her. The thought of Conrad's smug grin at Vaughn having to keep his hand brutally clamped over her mouth dissuaded her from thoughts of another attempt at consoling Vaughn.

For Vaughn's sake she struggled to regain her composure as he took in her tears and trembling, then turned to tie the other end of the silk to the iron bed post. She felt his hand, cold and unsteady, curve soft around her free arm, his soothing touch as his hand slid down to her wrist, then the faint tickle of delicate fabric slithering over her fingers, her palm, the back of her hand, then snug around her wrist. Vaughn's knees still planted on either side of her hips, the weight of him pinning her legs firmly to the mattress, his torso stretched toward the other corner of the bed, and she was bound, her arms spread wide like wings in flight.

God, she looked so scared. So small and pale and vulnerable. She'd seemed bigger to him, all those long days they'd been alone, when she'd been in his clothes. In these delicate garments of Conrad's, though, she seemed suddenly fragile, and he felt like a walking sledgehammer. Why couldn't he shrink and soften?

Or at least be able to whisper to her, promise he'd be gentle, tell her he was sorry. Put his arms around her, pull her against him, hold her. But if he spoke, if he held her too soon, Conrad would…he'd have to do as he'd been told. As gently as possible.

Did she know? Her eyes were wide and shimmery with fear, but they held his gaze. Her face was smooth, her body softening. Almost lax. He wanted so badly for her to know, to feel how he cared for her even as he bound her, did all Conrad had told him.

Vaughn was ready to cry with pity at the thought of stripping her bare. Sweet, shy Devan. And the two of them in the room with her, no way for her to know if it would be just him, or both.

It stung—that trust he thought he read in her eyes. Because all his pity, his fear, his tender concern didn't undo his violent, physical want. To be with her after all he'd come to feel for her. His urgent desire to possess her, pinned and bound helpless beneath him, her little garment doing more to reveal and display than cover her. Her pale arms drawn taught between the lengths of cloth, the subtle curves and lines of muscles and tendons exposed and emphasized. Her throat and chest bare to well below the first sweet swell of her breasts, their dark tips showing through the sheer fabric. Her legs bare beneath him, right up to the very top of her creamy thighs. And just three thin ribbons, and even this little scrap of protection would be gone. How could he be so fucking hard, so fucking hot with need for her, and feel so sad, so limp with remorse at the same time?

Without thinking he glanced at Conrad, with a half-conscious, half-hearted hope the man would suddenly smile, laugh, and tell them it was all a joke. But the bastard just raised a threatening eyebrow and stared until Vaughn looked away. Back to her.

Her big gray eyes followed his hands as he took the little beige ribbon between her breasts in his trembling fingers and pulled until the delicate bow holding the gown closed came undone. It seemed unreal, that path of bare skin between her breasts, along the center of her abdomen, only stopping at the edge of her sheer beige panties.

She was panting quick and shallow. He wanted to calm her, untie her, hold her.

Instead his hand lit on the second little ribbon, the strap at her left shoulder, and pulled it loose, and then it's mate at her right shoulder. The sound of his own nervous panting mingled with hers and he caught her gaze with his, tried to hold her that way. He could feel the shudder running through her as he slid his hand to the back of her waist and slowly slipped her garment from her body.

He wanted to hold her, wrap his arms around her, warm her, shield protect her.

He ached to kiss her, touch her, taste her, take her.

She was looking up at him, watching him look, watching to see what he would do. Without touching her he slipped from the bed. She seemed more vulnerable, more naked, now that he was not sitting over her, practically pressed to her. He knew how afraid she must be. How was she managing not to cry? Feeling like a criminal he perched on the edge of the mattress and, forcing himself to face her, carefully curled his fingertips at the edge of her panties. He saw the effort she exerted to keep her face calm and felt fresh guilt as she lifted her hips from the bed and let him slip her panties off. Her eyes locked on his she pulled her knees in close and they dropped a little toward the far side of the room in an instinctively modest pose.

He stood and, hating how it felt like a cruel threat, pulled off his t-shirt, unbuckled his belt, undid his fly, and pulled off his jeans. Then, hating his erection, hating himself, 382

slid down his underwear. She took in the sight of his naked body with the same intense, focused calm.

But when he mounted the bed, when he took hold of her ankles, forced her feel apart and moved between them, her forced calm fell apart. By the time he had forced his hips between her thighs, his own thighs under her ass, and driven her legs apart until the hard, aching shaft of his cock was pressed firmly against her, she was shaking and softly sobbing.

And only now that he'd worn her down by performing all the little duties Conrad had prescribed in such fucking detail was he allowed a little freedom. He wished he were allowed to talk, and wondered if his touch, if his kiss would comfort her, or frighten her more.

Slow, slow, he lifted his hands and soft, soft, stroked her silky hair. She watched him with questioning eyes as he let just his thumb lightly brush against her wet cheek.

Only when she seemed a little calmer did he risk slowly putting his arms around her, pulling her gently to him. He wanted her hands free, to know if she would return his embrace or try to beat him back. But when he let her go and looked at her again, she seemed soothed and he let himself hope there was still a chance he could somehow manage to make this less like a rape.

Tentatively he kissed her cheek, feeling her tears on his lips, tasting their salt. He tried to ask permission with his eyes, but how could she give it? He gave her the smallest, gentlest kiss he could, barely brushing her lips with his. Waited. Softly kissed again. Kissed with three kisses the length of her left brow, then her right, wanting to kiss every centimeter of her until she calmed, 'til she was soothed, comforted, felt loved.

Soft. Wanting. He didn't dare hope, but he wanted, wanted so badly for her to want him when the time came.

He gave her lips another soft kiss and almost whimpered when she kissed him back. Her mouth soft. Yielding. Then open. Seeking. Still soft and slow and careful he made his kiss deeper. Tasting her full lips, tasting her tongue. Breathing in her quavering breath.

When he drew his hands slowly from her hair, lightly down her neck and back to hold her bare waist he felt her trembling and hoped arousal and anticipation were displacing her fear. When he sighed by her ear, kissed and licked and gently bit the tender lobe he heard her sigh, husky and low, and blood surged in his stiff prick. She made a different little noise then, and went stiff for a moment in his arms at the feel of his erection twitching against her. Maybe to assure him, she kissed his neck, a wet, rousing kiss that flooded his eager cock again.

He kissed her mouth again, tenderly, but letting her feel his urgent excitement.

She met it, answered it, and second by second he wanted her more, almost forgetting that he was Conrad's instrument, following Conrad's explicit, minute, mad orders.

Pausing their kiss, leaning a little back, he gazed at her, trying to read her, caressing her face, hoping to reassure her. Then his fingers trailed slowly down, tracing her jaw, the contours of her throat, the architecture of her collar bones, along her smooth, soft skin, down, between her breasts. Like mirror images of one another his hands moved, his fingers so light on her skin as to just maintain contact as he traced the gentle curves of her breasts.

Her already excited breath sped as she felt his touch, as she watched his eyes following the motion of his hands. Taking in the sight of her. Gently curving his huge hands over her breasts, warming them, taking in their softness, their shape, so firm and full, her nipples hardening enticingly against his palms. Wanting to know what it would do to her, he brought his gaze back to her eyes as he gently pressed her nipples against the sides of his index fingers with his thumbs. Her cheeks pinked beautifully, her eyes fluttered half-closed and she gave a sharp little gasp. Wave after wave of anxious pleasure rippled through her features as he subtly pulsed against her swelling nipples, then gently rolled, then just lightly pulled them, every movement small and delicate since the tiniest touch had such impact. Her lips were alluringly parted, her excited breath panting rapidly in and out, her pale brow furrowed, her expression one of mingled surprise and need.

He hesitated. Bowed his brow to hers. Snuck a glance at the psycho. He'd have to.

His touch, his body pressed to hers, so large, so hard, but so warm, so graceful—everything about him and what he was doing had her soft, throbbing everywhere. Especially her sex, pressed against his; that thought amplified every sensation swallowing her body. Now and then she felt it stir against her—the hard, thick length of him—driving a thrill of arousal and fear into her.

He'd bowed his head to hers. He'd kiss her. Or give her a look. Or…

He leaned back and his hands slipped from her breasts, leaving them bare. To his gaze. To Conrad's. Her nipples full and hard with obvious arousal.

Warm and gentle his hands girdled her waist, pulling her hips forward, pressing her harder against him. Stretched between the silk ties spreading her arms wide, and Vaughn's firm hold, her torso felt taut and long, and her modesty was utterly violated—

her breasts thrust forward as she was forced to arch her back, her thighs splayed around Vaughn's hips, her naked sex sliding warm and wet against his each time either of them made the smallest movement.

Keeping her immobile with a single arm crooked behind her waist he brought a hand to her nipple, and pressed it between thumb and forefinger. A bolt of jarring current surged from Vaughn's touch, electrifying her nipple, radiating through her body, settling with rippling aftershocks in her sex. Her face went hot and she gasped and helplessly writhed under Vaughn's touch, painfully aware how her squirming made her slick cunt grind over Vaughn's erection, how Vaughn must have felt it, how it must have looked to Conrad watching them from his corner. Vaughn pinched her other nipple, and she was hardly any better able to control herself as another unbearable, delicious jolt shot through her.

He'd stopped. Just looking at her, at her face, flushed with arousal and embarrassment, his gaze driving down, to her bare breasts rising and falling with her heaving breath, her nipples so vivid and erect.