She’s still shaking from her orgasm when I rise and scoop her into my arms, hooking my mask as I do so.
She makes a slight sound of protest and begins to wriggle, trying to get free.
“Second wish is to accept me carrying you back to the house, so don’t even start,” I growl.
A bloodywish. I’m a shadowy mafia boss and vigilante killer, and I’m talking about wishes. What was I thinking?
But Tess relaxes. Even puts her arm around me, and my heart does something stupid. A painful throb that echoes the tension in my groin.
It’s at least a mile, but I cover the distance with Tess in my arms and snuggled in less time than I’d like. Her cheek lays against the base of my throat, and I almost have myself thinking that when she turns her face into me and her lips brush my skin, that it’s a kiss.
One question keeps repeating in my head—how am I going to let her go?
11
TESS
Kirill. My kidnapper’s name is Kirill. It suits him.
He gave me the best orgasm of my life, after a chase through the woods that was straight out of a horror movie crossed with a very spicy romance novel. I’m so conflicted. I shouldn’t enjoy being in his arms, but honestly, a part of me is relieved he caught me. And being carried back to the house, feeling the solid beat of his heart against my cheek, was far nicer than I can admit to myself.
He gently lowers me to the floor in the same bedroom as before, and I get the full effect of just how big his erection is as he slides me down his body. He pauses, looking down at me and frowning, as though he’s displeased by this whole thing. Then steps back and nods abruptly.
“I’ll be downstairs. Come and find me when you’re ready.”
Then he leaves me gaping after him as he walks out. I guess I’m not contained to this bedroom anymore.
I clean myself up in the bathroom, and when I return, there’s a new pile of items waiting for me on the sofa, and the remnants of breakfast have been cleared away.
Is that…?
I approach the items warily. More clothes—to wear instead of the ones I just rolled around in the forest in, I assume—including pyjamas and a fluffy sweater that’s exactly the same shade of blue to one I have saved on a social media site a few months ago after I saw a customer in the pub wearing it, and asked where she got it.
This is beyond a coincidence. My heart races.
It’s a designer item, in my size. No one bought this on sale, or had it in the cupboard just in case. This was purchased especially for me.
That sounds conceited, but there’s no other explanation. And this was a while ago that I was looking at the sweater and saved it. Yes, I’ve peeked at it since, but another concern bubbles up.
Was my kidnap a coincidence, or something more sinister?
I shiver.
Kirill did this. All of it.
What I don’t know is how he knew about the sweater or why he would want me in particular. Certainly, I don’t know anyone who thinks I’m special. Maybe that’s the point. No one will miss me.
This is unhinged. I cannot be seduced by considerate provision of pastries and coffee, orgasms, and the fact my captor is so gorgeous he probably has to wear that mask to prevent being mobbed by women begging him to give them babies. I have to be smarter than that.
Whatever we agreed, I need to escape.
Conscience pricks me as I pick up my phone and try to dial the emergency services. We made a deal, but surely, I have to try?
It won’t connect, just as Kirill said.
Clutching my phone, I venture into the corridor. It’s bright and airy from skylights high above. Most of the doors are open,and the vibe is the same everywhere. White, black, grey. Glass, steel, ceramic. Minimal. Not a hint of personality to be seen.
Or maybe this is my kidnapper’s personality.
