Seduced in the Dark (20 page)

“You don’t want to hear about the sex stuff.
I know that. I know how inappropriate it is to sit here and tell a
complete stranger about people getting tied up and whipped, even
fucked in front of me. But…I have to tell someone. Someone who
won’t make me feel like a freak. Someone who won’t analyze me like
Sloan does.

“She doesn’t mean to make me feel like a
freak, not on purpose. It’s when she says I’m drawn to you, because
you’re a strong man, like Caleb. When she says I kissed you because
sex is the way I’ve been conditioned to get my way, that it’s all
psychological, and it’s all because Caleb fucked with my head. I
can’t stand it. I can’t have everything I feel, reduced to a
textbook description that fits me, and millions of other broken
idiots. More than that, I can’t stand thinking that maybe…she’s
right.

“Maybe I don’t really love Caleb, maybe my
brain made it up so I wouldn’t kill myself or feel so scared and
alone. Maybe I’ll accept that one day and I won’t be able to stop
having nightmares. Maybe I’ll never trust another emotion I ever
have again. Who’s going to love a girl like that, Reed? Who’s ever
going to love a freak like me?” She collapsed onto her bed and
rolled into a ball, crying and rocking.

Matthew’s heart beat a frantic tattoo in his
chest. He didn’t know what to do to make her stop crying. He didn’t
want to touch her, that felt like the wrong thing. A hug? Not him
either. He wished Sloan were here. She was the social worker. It
was her job to deal with all the mushy shit. He remembered Olivia
didn’t care for mushy.

“Someone will love you, Miss Ruiz. Even if
you’re a jerk.”

“Fuck you, Reed,” she sobbed.

He laughed, “And you’re so charming,
too.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Yes,” he said as a matter of fact.

“God! Why are you so messed up?!?” She sat
up and glared.

“Everybody is fucked up and we’re all freaks
in our own ways.”

“How would you know?” she shot back,
sniffling and glaring at him. “You probably had a charmed life in
suburbia. No cares. No worries. A perfect life.”

He gave her a deadpan look. “I was abused as
a child. African militants forced me to snort gun powder and
cocaine and plow villages with my Uzi. Feel sorry for me and stop
whining about how no one will love you,” he suggested calmly. Her
shocked expression was priceless. He gave her a leveling look and
softened his voice. “You’re young, strong and you’re an asshole to
boot. With your smarts, you’re going to be just fine. Don’t let
anyone ever tell you different. Not even you.”

Olivia’s expression softened and after a
while she gave a little smile. “You’re okay, I guess, Reed. No
one’s ever going to love you, but you’re okay.”

He gave her a wry smile, “Thank you, Miss
Ruiz. I’ll remember that when you’re begging for sympathy.”

She sighed. “Can we be done for today? I’m
really tired. Talking to you takes a year off my life.”

“Want me to turn off the lights? Would the
dark help you confess?” he said, and he was only half joking.

“Funny.”

“I try,” he said. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
He paused, and leveled with her. “Look. We’re running out of time,
Miss Ruiz. We need to get to that auction and you’re our best hope
to rescue the others, like yourself, Nancy, Kid, Celia. All of
them. I don’t want you to lose sight of that. I’ll listen to you,
I’ll even try to see things from your perspective, but at the end
of the day…you’re safe. Others aren’t so lucky.”

She nodded, solemnly. “I know, Reed. Trust
me, I
know
.
I don’t want those evil bastards to get
away with it either. I really don’t.”

“I hope so, Miss Ruiz. Get some sleep.”
Matthew stood and gathered his things, remembering to shut off the
recorder and tuck it into his jacket where it couldn’t get
lost.

He left the hospital and decided to go back
to the office for a few hours. It was still relatively early and
the offices in Pakistan would be open. He had to make a few
calls.

Back at the office, he got on the phone with
the FIA and asked if they had any information about a slave auction
happening in the next few days. As predicted, the FIA agents
weren’t pleased to be getting a call from the FBI, but after
interweaving the standard threat-coax key words in his most polite
voice, they begrudgingly said they’d look into it and pass along
any information.

“Please keep an eye on the private airports
for any high-profile people entering the country: billionaires,
sheiks, anyone with a lot of money and power. Especially if they
have any ties you know of to organized crime, including guns,
drugs, and human labor.”

“You don’t have to tell us how to do our
job, Agent Reed.,” said the agent on the other end. His accent was
South African. “We’re quite capable of gathering intelligence
without the U.S. Government.”

“Then I’ll expect a call from you boys in a
couple of days?” Matthew baited.

“A pleasure, Agent Reed. We’ll keep an eye
out for Demitri Balk or anyone traveling under the name Vladek
Rostrovich.” The line went dead.

“Dickface,” Matthew grumbled. He pressed
down on his phone to make another call. He looked down a listing of
government agencies in Pakistan and also put a call in to the
office in charge of PACHTO. The Prevention and Control of Human
Trafficking Ordinance had only been in place since 2002, but it was
gaining steam. It was difficult to get a hold of someone who spoke
English, but after a few redials he finally got in touch with a
linguist who worked there.

It was a little after eight when Matthew
decided he’d done all he could for the night. He gathered his
belongings, including his recorder and headed for his hotel. He
couldn’t stop thinking about Olivia’s story. He couldn’t stop
thinking about Celia.

By the time he’d arrived at his room,
set his briefcase down on the table, emptied his
pockets, carefully stacked any loose change by denomination and
placed them in a row by size, placed his keys, wallet and watch on
the table and hung up his suit jacket, he’d made up his mind to
listen to the damn tape he couldn’t stop thinking about. He was
already so hard; he could barely sit down to remove his shoes and
socks. He rushed through his process, eager to get his clothes off
and touch himself.

Finally, he finished hanging his clothes and
all that remained was his underwear, tented with his shameful
arousal. Ordinarily, he had no problem with jerking off. However,
it was the circumstances surrounding his hard-on that left him
feeling guilty.

“You’re a sick motherfucker,” Matthew
whispered, but gave in and pushed his underwear down his legs and
put them in the laundry bag. He didn’t bother showering, he was too
needy. Instead, he pulled the bedspread down and flung himself onto
the crisp cold sheets of the bed. He reached for the recorder on
the nightstand and rewound it to Celia’s entrance. His cock leapt.
He shut his eyes and put his hand on his hot flesh as Livvie’s
voice filled the room.

Matthew wasn’t gentle with himself. He
didn’t like gentle. He grabbed his dick like it was some sort of
enemy and squeezed it until it hurt. Margaret and Richard were
great parents: kind, loving, and warm. They took a damaged kid
whose mother had been murdered and gave him a great life, but they
couldn’t wipe his memories. They couldn’t strip away the darkness
in him. They couldn’t make him stop liking this.

Matthew dragged his fingernails across his
chest, sure to scratch his nipple hard enough to make him wince and
buck his hips up into his fist.

“
She raised the flogger over her head and
brought it down hard across Kid’s chest. He cried out, doubling
over, and when those men held him up, there was an angry red stripe
across his chest. Kid sobbed…”

Matthew imagined himself in Kid’s place,
ashamed the image was so arousing, so crushingly right, but Matthew
had tears in his eyes because he knew it was wrong. It was wrong to
listen to Olivia’s voice. It was wrong to listen to Kid’s misery.
It was wrong. Wrong. Wrong!

Matthew came. Hard. His come spraying him
across his chest, burning against the scored skin, and even that,
was glorious. He panted loudly, alone in the dark, listening to
Olivia’s voice. His other hand, the one not covered in come,
reached for the recorder and switched it off.

In the end, it didn’t even matter. He was
getting hard again. It had been a while since he’d allowed himself
to come and his dick wasn’t going to be happy with a quick jerk-off
session. He refused to listen to the tape again though. He
refused.

He jolted out of bed and into the shower to
rinse off. There was a club. There was always a club. And no matter
how Matthew tried not to seek them out, he always did. He was
constantly aware of where he could go to find what his subconscious
demanded of him.

Out of the shower, he quickly dressed in a
pair of jeans and button-up shirt. Nothing black, nothing that
would suggest he was dominant. He hated when eager subs sat down
next to him, thinking he’d love nothing better than to put them
over his knee. He always sent them away in tears, ashamed he
couldn’t give them what they wanted. He’d tried. He’d tried to be
that guy. It always ended badly.

Chapter Eleven

Day 10:

Matthew woke up sore. Everything hurt.
Slowly, he bent his head forward and grunted when pain shot down
the back of his neck and settled in between his shoulders. He went
limp and fell onto the mattress again. This was going to be more
difficult than he thought.

With each passing second, more of his
consciousness was regained and soon his heart picked up a frantic
rhythm. He’d gone out last night.

“
Matthew? Is that you?”

Matthew groaned.
No. No, no, no,
nooooo.
He pressed his face hard into the bed beneath him. He
noticed his dick was hard. It wasn’t just morning wood, either. He
was remembering.

He was startled to hear a familiar voice.
Her voice. “Fuck!” he grumbled under his breath. How could he
handle this? How could he explain?

Anyone else! Anyone else would have been
fine. No, it’d been
her
sitting next to him when he finally
had the courage to turn on his barstool.

Her red hair was worn loose; soft waves
cascaded down her back. She wore a white shirt wrapped around her
waist and tied at the back. Her cleavage peeked out a little, just
enough to make a man curious, but not enough to expose what she was
hiding beneath her tight shirt. A black leather skirt at mid thigh
and metal studded heels completed the ensemble.

Matthew’s face was hot all over again, his
cheeks colored with his embarrassment. Especially when he recalled
the way he’d tried to explain his presence.

“
I needed a drink.”

“
Oh, I understand that, believe me. I
don’t drink when I play, though,” she said casually.

Matthew had wondered how the fuck she could
be so casual. He’d wondered all night actually. He knew most people
thought he was cold, efficient and detached, but he had nothing on
her. She’d wrecked all of his carefully constructed control and
she’d done it without losing any of her cool.

“
I’m not here to play. I just needed a
drink,” he said. His ears felt hot and he knew it would be
spreading to his face and neck any minute. He wanted to leave, but
she blocked his exit and stayed there, eyeing him with
suspicion.

“
And you just ended up here? Forgive me,
Matthew, but that’s doubtful.” She arched a red brow.

“
I’m…. I’m…,” he started to say.

“
No need to be shy, Matthew. I mean, I’m
here too, right? The only real question is: Who are you looking
for?”

Matthew’s hips rolled and he felt the burn
of his muscles protesting against the action. He’d be surprised if
he could sit today.

“
I’m not looking for anyone. I just
–”

“
Lying? Really? Of all the things I
thought you might be, a liar didn’t really cross my mind,” she
said.

“
Fuck what you thought,” he countered and
slammed his whiskey neat. He stood to leave, but Sloan blocked his
path, trapping him between her body and the stool. She smelled
sweet, like green apples. It certainly wasn’t the kind of thing one
expected. Not in a fetish club.

Knowing it would hurt, he braced himself and
reached back to touch his ass with his fingers. Yes: there were
raised welts all over his butt. He traced them with the tip of his
finger, marveling at the fact there was a perfect handprint where
her slender, whip-like fingers had landed. He’d always wondered if
the brilliant Dr. Janice Sloan would psycho analyze during sex. Now
he knew the answer.

“
That’s rude, Matthew. You’re trying to
hurt my feelings. But I forgive you because I know you’re
embarrassed.” She stepped closer, a hand on his chest urging him
back onto his seat. Her hand felt hot, really hot, like it could
burn a hole in his chest. Matthew relented and allowed himself to
be pushed back onto the barstool.

Sloan rose up on her tip-toes and leaned
over Matthew to whisper in his ear, “You’re cheeks are red and your
heart is beating really fast.”

Matthew moaned and rubbed his ass cheek
again. Yes, he’d been embarrassed. He’d never expected to see
Sloan, dressed like a cross between the Madonna and the whore,
smelling like apples and at the same time rubbing her tits against
his chest. She’d known what she was doing, that much was even more
obvious now.