Page 128 of Captive Ruin

“Any time you can,” he says, amusement in his tone.

That would be never, then.

I wouldn’t want to anyway.

He lifts me up by my shoulders, turning me to face the bed. “I can’t resist you anymore. Not when you’re so damn wet and naked, and with your gorgeous ass so red.”

I try to ignore that, but it’s impossible. As usual, I deflect instead. “You just like me restrained.”

“Yes, I do.” He pushes me forward, and I stumble in my heels. He’s there in an instant, catching me, supporting me. Waiting until I’m stable, then shoving me forward again. And that’s Van Wyk in a nutshell, at least in how he treats me: care and dominance, thoughtfulness and possession.

He stops me at the foot of the bed, unfastening one of my cuffs. “On your back, please.”

Oh yeah, and his irritating civility that comes out at the best and worst of times. Who else would say please while ordering a naked woman around? Or while he kills people?

I crawl onto the bed, and as I do, I hear him take a sharp breath then let it out slowly. He’s watching me, I know he is. Do I really affect him that much?

I pause, looking at him over my shoulder, curious. He stares back, taking all of me in, unconsciously moistening his lips. I’m the one naked and submissive, but the way he can’t take his eyes off me makes me feel sexy and desirable.

A wicked little urge takes hold. I want to play.

Arching more than necessary, I lift my ass, working my shoulders as I crawl slowly forward, the cuffs dangling from one wrist. He groans behind me like a man in pain, and I can’t help but smile. I roll to my back, extending my hands up to the headboard and gripping the bars. I know he’ll want me to. I know he’ll cuff me to them. And then I spread my legs, because that’s the next thing he’ll ask. My knees lift, my hips tilt toward him, and I close my eyes and press my head into the pillow, baring my throat to him. I’m exposed in every way I can be, and yet I feel… powerful.

“My Little Stray,” he breathes. “My wife. Do you know what you do to me?”

I didn’t, but I’m beginning to. Watching Van Wyk come undone without even a touch is exhilarating. Maybe this is how I get him to lose control.

He walks around the side of the bed, threading the loose cuff through the bars and securing me again. I used to protest, to feel like he was stealing my agency and freedom. Now, it’s simply a precursor to pleasure for both of us.

“I warned you what would happen if you weren’t a good girl,” he says, voice husky with arousal. He checks both my cuffs are tight, then opens the nightstand drawer and pulls out a blindfold. “I’m going to punish you for pretending you didn’t want to marry me, and embarrassing me in front of Bastien.”

“I wasn’t pretending and you weren’t embarrassed,” I retort as he covers my eyes with silk, cutting out all the light and eliminating one of my senses. Immediately, the sheets feel cooler, my ass warmer, and my body tingles.

And along with my vision, the fleeting sense of power I had is gone. I’m restrained, helpless, and Van Wyk is feeling sadistic. I know he is.

There’s a long pause before he speaks again, giving my mind plenty of time to imagine all the things he’s going to do to me. My nipples tighten almost painfully, my legs spread wider without any conscious thought, and I have to bite back a moan of need so that he doesn’t make some snarky comment.

Instead, the comment he does make comes as a complete surprise.

“Did you really not want to marry me?”

My breath catches. Is he serious?

His tone suggests he is.

All of this—the kidnapping, blackmailing me with my sister, keeping me as a prisoner—and he asks now?

No, of course I fucking didn’t is on the tip of my tongue.

But then I remember all the things he said to me in the town hall. The way he’s looked at me in this room. The promises to protect me, never to hurt me.

Care and dominance, thoughtfulness and possession.

And I can’t give him an answer.

Thirty

Lukas