Page 39 of Ricochet

Nick.

I hadn’t expected him to give me his name. I’d expected him to storm out of my room, telling me to fuck off, like he had a couple times before. Perhaps I’d caught him in a vulnerable moment, because kidnappers didn’t often get personal like that.

Could’ve been a fake name, Aubree.

Probably was, but at least I didn’t have ‘my kidnapper’ running through my head every time I’d thought about him. I had no idea what the man had planned for me, but just as he’d said before, if he’d wanted me dead, he’d have already killed me.

After shortening a good six inches from my dress and tossing the extra fabric into the trash, I slid my panties off and threw them in the sink I’d filled with water and hand soap. Decorum be damned.

What the hell kind of OCD kidnapper set out hand soap, anyway? Like he couldn’t stand the thought of me not washing my hands after peeing.

Scrubbing the small bit of fabric, I felt strangely exposed, not wearing panties. I’d spent most of my time living with Michael not wearing any—a very specific request of his, which often resulted in humiliation.

In Michael’s home library, I’m sitting across from the stranger, who can’t seem to stop staring at my legs, and when I look away, I catch a glimpse of Michael’s gaze, flitting between the man and my thighs.

My stomach sinks.

“Tell me something, Patrick.” Michael shifts in his chair beside me, crossing his legs. “Do you prefer bare pussy, or do you like hair?”

The stranger clears his throat, and my muscles tense. “Excuse me?”

“Pussy. Bare or hair?” Michael chuckles.

The stranger’s stare falls on me then back to Michael. “Bare, I guess.”

Michael’s arm clutches me at the same time he begins yanking my dress up.

I place a hand over his, snapping my head in his direction.“What are you doing?”

“Move your hands, darling, or I’ll remove them all together.” The glint in his eyes is as evil as his words.

Embarrassment has my cheeks burning while my dress rests across my stomach, revealing that I’m not wearing panties. I want to crawl out of my skin.

“What do you think of her pussy, Pat?”

The stranger’s Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow and he licks his lips. “It’s lovely. Perfect. You’re a lucky man.”

“I am.” He squeezes me and kisses my temple. “Lick her.”

“Pardon?” The stranger’s voice cracks at the question.

“I want you to lick her pussy. Right here. Right now.”

Panic slams into my chest, closing off my airways, the waves of heat pulsing beneath my skin as embarrassment twists my stomach into tight coils. “Michael, please. Don’t do this.” My begging is worthless. Michael does as he pleases, and somewhere in this, a dangerous outcome waits to unfold.

“The man just called your pussy perfect, darling. Don’t be rude.” He waves Patrick over. “C’mon. She tastes as divine as she looks.”

“I … I’d rather not.”

“Oh, don’t be a pussy yourself! I’m offering you my beautiful wife and her delicious pussy.” Michael lowers his voice to a whisper. “It’s just the three of us. It’ll be fun.”

Patrick’s gaze slides back to mine, as if to question if I’m okay with it. I keep my expression as stoic as I can muster, knowing something bad is about to happen. I can feel the electricity in Michael’s grip, can sense the tension in his voice, in spite of the feigned pleasantry.

Without making eye contact, the man rises up from his chair and crosses the small space separating us before lowering to his knees in front of me. My thighs tremble, muscles taut. I’ve never had another man’s tongue there. Michael licked me once, when we dated, and hasn’t touched me since.

“Michael, you—” I give one more effort to halt this embarrassment, the flush of heat burning my cheeks, as I remain splayed in front of the man below me.

“Hush, Kitten.” Michael’s nails dig into my arm. “Patrick has been dying to see your pussy all night. Haven’t you, Patrick?”