The Runaway Bride - A Captive Flame Book One (14 page)

For a few minutes, I
struggled to try and suppress the bone-deep arousal I felt. If I
could just calm down, just cool off, I would be able to endure the
time alone, vulnerable as I was. My arms were numb, and my feet
ached, but I knew for a fact that after such a deep, penetrating
course of punishment and discipline, I would be rewarded so
thoroughly that I wouldn’t think anything of my previous
deprivation. If I could just wait. If I could just force myself to
be patient.

As the minutes
stretched out, however, my frustration mounted and I started to
struggle—unconsciously at first, my body pulling at the bindings
that held me in place without any real thought behind it, a
reptilian-brain reaction. But my heart was pounding, my pussy was
soaking wet and throbbing with need. If I could get free of the
chain, somehow manage to get to the lockers, maybe I could find
some way to get myself off, to take the edge off of the body-wide
hunger I felt. But that was ridiculous; even if I could get off of
the chain, my arms were trapped behind me. My desperation and
anticipation simmered into resentment; why was Krystopher doing
this to me? Why was I allowing it? My brain moved in tight
spirals—anger, arousal, fear. He might not come back. He might
leave me here for hours. I tingled, I burned; fire crackled through
me as my heightened arousal failed to flag. My pride rose up and I
was determined to wait it out—my determination asserting itself.
Krystopher wanted my complete obedience to him as his slave. I
would obey in action, but not deed.

It seemed as though
it had been an eternity, and I was writhing—twisting against the
bindings as well as struggling to get some kind of contact with my
throbbing, soaking pussy. I heard the sound of the door and my
heart leaped—Krystopher was back. He would give me my reward. I was
turned away from the door; I couldn’t see—but the only person who
had access to this room was Krystopher.

I heard footfalls
crossing the floor and I held myself completely still, pressing my
lips together to suppress the instinctive pleading that threatened
to rise up out of me, the insistence that I would be so good, so
obedient, if my Master would just give me relief.

Instead of
Krystopher, I was shocked by the sight of Johnny walking into my
line of sight. I let out an inarticulate sound of surprise and
dismay, feeling the blood rush to my face in humiliation as he
looked me over from head to toe. “What? What the hell—how are you
here? What are you doing?” Johnny shook his head slowly.

“There was a
secretary outside; she told me I would find you here.” I thought of
the rude woman I had encountered only the day before, and pulled
against the bindings, an instinct to find her and rip her skin open
with my fingernails possessing me with an animal fury.

“How did you even
know to look for me here?” It occurred to me in a flash that it
wasn’t as though Johnny would have had any way of knowing where I
had gone after I had ran out on him—on our wedding. Johnny shrugged
and reached into his back pocket. He took out his phone and I
squirmed with impatience as he brought something up on it. He held
the screen in front of my face, and I stared at it—my surprise at
his sudden appearance was nothing in the face of seeing myself
featured in a newspaper article proclaiming me to be Krystopher
Danes’ “new flame.” There was a picture of me leaving the opera
house on his arm, and the text I could read was full of speculation
about me.

I sagged against the
bindings, closing my eyes. I had no idea if Krystopher knew about
the article. I had no idea what was going on in my life, even. As
the shock ebbed away I started to feel a low, thudding dread deep
in my stomach. Here was Johnny, having tracked me down. And here I
was, naked and bound, utterly vulnerable. He could do anything at
all and I wouldn’t be able to fight him. At the very least, I
thought, he wouldn’t have come all this way if he didn’t intend to
abuse me verbally.

Instead, Johnny was
looking at me with a mixture of contempt and pity. “You know,” he
said quietly, looking at me from head to toe in a way that I
immediately hated, “I thought that I would want to kill you when I
saw you. But looking at you like this… I feel sorry for you.” The
difference between my expectations and reality sent another shock
through me.

“Sorry?” Johnny
nodded.

“You’re not the kind
of woman who will ever just let someone love you. You might think
you’re happy now, but even Krystopher Danes isn’t enough to satisfy
you. One day you’ll be just as unhappy with him, in spite of his
wealth and power, and you’ll regret the fact that you gave up your
one shot at happiness with a man who cared about you, instead of
one who just wanted to use you.” I started to protest, but before I
could, Johnny turned away from me, walking quickly from the room
and leaving me alone and vulnerable once more. I didn’t even listen
to see if he closed the door behind him.

I was so wrapped up
in my misery that I didn’t even notice the passage of time. I
couldn’t have said if it was an hour or only moments later before I
heard the door open again, and heard the familiar footfalls of my
Master. “Have you thought about what it means to be obedient?” he
asked me, his voice soft and tense all at once. I answered
something dully, unable to feel the spark of arousal even as his
hands moved over my body from behind, teasing my nipples, straying
down to my hips.

The chain went slack,
and I felt the tugging at my arms of the rope being released. “In
that case, my good little slave, you’ve earned a reward.”
Krystopher held me tightly, and I felt the hardness of his cock
pressing against the curve of my ass as he embraced me. I started
to shake—not from arousal, but sheer, complete misery.

“Please let me free,”
I said, trying to hold back my tears. I felt Krystopher hesitate,
sensed his confusion, but he unlocked the shackles on my ankles. I
gathered up my clothes, feeling my cheeks burn, feeling my eyes
sting with tears. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry but I can’t do this right
now.” I rushed out of the room, not even caring if there was
someone in the office. I stumbled into the bathroom and pulled my
clothes on as quickly as I could, paying little to no attention to
whether they were even on properly before I lurched out and ran to
the elevator.

***

I had no idea where I
was going; I only knew that I had to get away. I left the office
and walked in no particular direction, barely looking around me. In
spite of how completely aroused I had been at one point—so tortured
by my intense need for sex that I would have thought that I
couldn’t possibly ever lose that sense of desire—I was trembling
not from lust, but from a kind of bone-deep chill. It wasn’t even
particularly cold but as the breeze rifled up underneath my skirt,
I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, dodging people on the
street as I made my way down the sidewalk. My thoughts alternated
between anger at Johnny, frustration at my own precarious position,
sadness—and fear. What if he was right? I was completely and
utterly dependent on Krystopher Danes; in abandoning my life, I had
lost my job—that much was a clear and an obvious consequence. I
didn’t know if I even had any friends left after the spectacularly
awful way I had left Johnny behind at the altar. If they had caught
the newspaper that Johnny had seen my picture on, then they would
know where I was—and who I was with.

As I got more and
more lost, I thought about the two men I had been involved with.
Was Johnny right? I had left other men in the past—good enough men,
I had to admit. It wasn’t as though I’d made a habit of dating men
who were abusive or controlling, or men who didn’t love me. I had
been with several men who had been absolutely thrilled with my
affections. But I always ran away; even with Johnny, I had run
away. So what was to stop me from growing bored, impatient, and
frustrated with Krystopher? I turned at the entrance of a park and
decided to spend some time there by myself—I had a lot to think
about. What did I want to do? Krystopher had told me that I could
leave him at any time that I wanted. He had said that either of us
could break it off; there would be no hard feelings.

I had to believe he
meant it—but even if he did, what did that even mean? I was in a
strange city—I realized with a rush of fear that I didn’t even know
where I was within that city at the moment, just that I was in a
park. I had left all of my possessions, my clothes behind. I had
some money, I had a cell phone, and that was about it. I didn’t
even know if I had enough money in my bank account to be able to
get back home, if I wanted to. I couldn’t count on any of my
friends to help me, the way I’d embarrassed them by abandoning my
own wedding. I obviously couldn’t ask Johnny for help.
Maybe—possibly—Krystopher could be persuaded to help me get back
home if I told him that I really and truly just didn’t want to be
his slave anymore, that it wasn’t for me.

But was that even
what I wanted, or was it just the doubt that had been sown in my
mind by Johnny? I gritted my teeth. I wasn’t sure what was worse;
the fact that Johnny had looked at me with so much contempt and
pity, or the fact that he had deliberately tried to play on my own
insecurities. I could understand; he was hurt—I would be too, in
his position. But I didn’t know how to feel about myself. Should I
feel shamed to my core, or should I just feel a small amount of
guilt for the fact that I had done something that hurt someone? I
found myself wishing that Krystopher was with me—but I knew that
there were some things that I was facing that I would have to find
some way of deciding on my own.

To be continued…

Ashley Spector