7. CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

Leighton

P op.

My eyes fly open. It's as if I've had caffeine injected into my veins.

Another odd feeling on top of the fucked-up dream I've just had. The nightmare from hell.

I stood in Marcus and Rylan's garage when a sedative was shot into my neck. Then I woke up gagged, I think?

What is this? I'm drooling? Yes. My mouth is open. That's why I dreamed of being gagged.

Makes sense.

It doesn't gross me out. It didn't gross me out to drool because of my gag, either. I was afraid, yes, but also turned on.

I'm sick. I hope I haven't mumbled anything in my sleep. Rylan would think I'm fucked in the head .

Maybe I have. Maybe she's lying next to me right now and waiting for me to slip up again. If she's up and asks about it, I'll just tell her I can't help my dreams.

Because it was a dream, right? Had to have been.

I'm safe at the Kingstons' home. They have alarms in place. Neither Rylan nor Marcus would ever hurt me.

Did Rylan and I drink yesterday? Did I black out? I mean, maybe? My head pounds. This has to be the world's worst hangover ever.

Except…

When I'm hungover, I can still close my mouth. I can still move my arms and legs.

I open my eyes. Stare at the ceiling.

I'm not at the Kingstons'.

Another wave of nausea strikes.

My jaw aches as well. Kind of like that time I chewed on gum from morning to night during midterms.

And my wrists and ankles. They're sore. I try to shake it out. Can't.

I'm restricted.

My wrists are tied by a rope, judging by the rugged texture. They're pressed together and over my head, immovable. My ankles have the same rough feel of a rope around them. They're not pressed together, though. They're bound to a bar, positioned so my legs are spread apart.

A crazed laugh bubbles at my throat, followed by a sob. Another crazed laugh. Another sob.

Oh, please, no. No, no, no .

This has to be some big misunderstanding. A mind-fuck that has to do with alcohol and dehydration.

My dream was a dream. No way could it have been anything else.

Deep inhale. Deep exhale.

Oh, no. I have to stop. For some strange reason, deep breathing makes me sleepier.

Sleeping is a luxury I can't afford at the moment.

Fight, Leighton!

I blink away the drowsiness.

That helps so much better than the deep breaths.

Where the hell am I?

At Rylan's home. I have to be. Maybe this whole tying-up thing is a some sort of a sick joke. Maybe I'm in the basement? I don't remember ever looking at the ceiling there. It could be it.

When I look to the right, I'll see her there. I know I will.

We don't prank each other, but it could be a payback for flirting with her dad.

That's fine. I've earned it.

I'm still scared of her, though. Warily, I twist my head to the side.

She's not there. She's not fucking there.

But I'm not alone.

Her dad is here.

Marcus Kingston is lying next to me. The moonlight filtering through the large glass walls is enough for me to make out his face in the dark. Asleep and wearing nothing but boxer briefs. He's hard too. In his sleep .

Wait, what am I wearing?

It doesn't feel like I have anything on. I don't want to believe it though, so I check. My eyes slide down my body, and I get my confirmation. Other than my bikini bottoms, I am, indeed, naked.

I've wanted this for ages.

Being in bed with him. Waking up to his handsome face. Resting my head on his broad chest and snuggling into his strong body. He'd grip my wrist and force my hand to his cock and teach me how to jerk him off just the way he likes it.

That's what I had in mind when I dreamed about mornings with him.

I didn't dream of waking up in the middle of the night. Not this .

Definitely not this .

What makes matters worse is he's so calm. I'm seconds from launching into a panic attack, and he's sound asleep. Unbothered as if he didn't kidnap me.

This is insane. He's insane.

Calamity in its most horrifying form has become my reality.

Terrifying memories assault me as my stress rises.

Marcus pulled up to a house I didn't recognize. Grabbed me harshly by my arm and chin.

I screamed at him. He told me I was never getting away.

Right before he talked me into a state of conscious sleep.

Behind I heard him slamming the driver door. Heard him open the one at my side. I felt him unfastening my seat belt, then picking me up off the seat .

"Pretty little doll," he grunted, his voice pure sex and violence as he carried me into the glass house. "Listen to me carefully. You've been bad back in Santa Barbara. Told me we should break things up. It ends now. You're mine. You've been mine for years. You'll be mine for the ages. I don't care how long I'll have to lock you up to get my message across. I have the means to stay here for however long it takes."

Next thing I remembered is him laying me down on this bed. Using a rope to tie my wrists and ankles to metal bars. Releasing the gag by a fraction. But not enough.

Then he snapped his fingers, and I woke up, only to have him tell me to sleep. My exhausted body complied. I had no other choice. He woke me up again. I remember that too.

Just to tell me moon .

And now I'm up.

This is so messed up. So fucked up that I almost laugh again.

Kidnapped by my best friend's dad. The man I love—no, loved.

I can't keep loving him.

He kidnapped me.

Manipulated me.

He'll do it again. There's no doubt this sick man will keep playing with my head.

Unless I manage to free myself. I have to take advantage of what little time I have while he's sleeping.

My hands are a good place to start. If I free them, loosening the knots around my ankles will be child's play .

As quietly and as surreptitiously as humanly possible, I wiggle my arm, over and over. Curl my fingers into a fist and twist my wrist. Nothing happens. The rope burns my skin, not giving out. No matter how much I squirm and pull, I'm still trapped.

Okay, don't panic. Maybe he wasn't as thorough with my ankles. I'm flexible and I can pick pennies off the floor using my toes.

There's still hope for me.

After a few seconds of wiggling, I realize there's none. Moving my feet around has gotten me fucking nowhere.

I'm stuck.

Oh my God. What if I'm the doll he jerked off to the other night?

I must be. He called me that tonight. He's bound me to stay still for him. As if I am one.

That's what he's been after all along.

Turning me into his sex slave.

Bile rises in my throat as I remember that day in the bathroom. I wasn't making it up, that thing I saw on his face four years ago. He got off on seeing me naked. On me being perfectly still because of how overwhelmed I was from his presence.

I played right into his psychotic hands. Stood there, an obedient sex toy that allowed him to do as he pleased.

Shame floods me as wetness pools between my thighs. My body admits to what my mind can't.

The thought of him using me doesn't repulse me. I'm turned on and I fucking hate that .

No, that's another lie. This isn't me.

The person I'd been up until yesterday is turned on by it. The na?ve me. The girl Marcus fooled into believing he was a decent man.

Soon, I'll forget all the ways I was attracted to him. Soon, I won't get wet from this madman.

It'll take my body a while to catch up, that's all.

My heart too. I can't believe I'm admitting to this, but I don't hate him. The love and obsession I've had for him won't go away.

Fuckers.

This is crazy. Batshit motherfucking insane.

I need to forget everything I thought I knew about him, and fast. Forget the butterflies. The smoldering stern expressions I pined over. The small smirks. His hot body.

It's nothing but a lie. A fa?ade.

The monster at my side is the real him.

The monster at my side is unpredictable. Combustible.

I have to get out.

The only way to do it is to fight against my restraints. Time passes as I wrench and tug and pull my arms and legs against them. My skin chafes, breaks at the contact. My muscles reach the point of exhaustion.

"Was I unclear the first time, plaything?"

I shriek behind the gag, twisting to him. Marcus leans on his hand, glaring at me.

"You're not getting away from me." His black eyes are inky, liquid, wanting. His voice carries a threat that scares yet entices me. "Not in this lifetime. Not in the ones to follow. Never."

I get wet from how he violates me with his piercing stare. He's looking at my forcefully parted lips, my tits, my tiny bikini bottoms. I'm mortified when I feel my nipples react to his attention.

Traitorous body.

"Let me go!" I scream. Since he relaxed the mouth gag earlier, my words make sense. Even if I drool while I scream. "Let me go, you psycho."

"Psycho is not a word you want to throw around." Casually, he strokes me from my navel up between my breasts. Down again. I don't flinch. Don't let on that he scares me. "Especially when it's not true."

Liar. Only a psycho would lock a woman up and be this calm while explaining psychological terms to her.

I don't say that. He's clearly not in the mood to listen.

"Please," I beg. Maybe that'd work on him. He's always responded well to my manners. "Let me go. Please."

"Never." Darkness clouds Marcus's expression. His cruel intentions are written all over his face. "Never." Slower this time. Scarier.

Watching him is like observing a predator in the wild. The slightest movement on my part and he'll pounce.

"You." He straightens his arm and rises off the bed. The muscles of his bicep flex menacingly. "Are not." Marcus moves on top of me, straddling the legs I've closed before. "Leaving me. "

His desire chokes me. Binds me to Marcus tighter than the actual ropes do.

It's a desire I recognize well because it matches mine. Or at least what I used to feel for him. A need so deep for a man who didn't kidnap me or hold me hostage.

He brackets my face with his arms. His features twist in a way that makes it look like he's about to violate me.

"Why are you doing this?" My voice cracks, my tongue tasting the plastic of the gag. "Please, untie me. This isn't you, Marcus. Think about Ry."

I'm not crying. I'm not panicking.

I'm being rational, appealing to his good side.

Reminding him who I am. A young, innocent woman. A girl who did nothing to deserve this. His daughter's best friend.

"You started talking about taking back the moment we had in the pool." Like a furious beast, he lowers his cock to my core. Pressing himself to me. "Then you called me a psycho."

That first touch of his hard cock to my clit through our clothes shocks me. An electrifying bolt shoots up my spine and my back arches in response.

I don't want this. Don't want a man who fucking drugged me. My stupid body does. My body remembers how I've burned for the kind man I've known for years. Even when he treats me like I'm his to abuse. It wants him, and my God, I hate myself for it.

"Eyes on me, plaything," he grunts, and I open them just when he starts grinding into me.

My moan is pathetic. My moan is uncontrollable.

"I don't want to leave," I breathe out the lie .

"You wanted to leave me"—his eyes are stormy when he grabs a fistful of my breast—"back home."

"I didn't—"

" We can't do this ," he echoes my words. "Isn't that what you said?"

"It is."

That's all I say. He'll never hear the rest.

He only had to tell me he was willing to help me smooth things over with Rylan, and I would've been his.

I would've agreed to everything .

When he's like this, though? Fuck no.

While he's every bit the hot man I masturbated over, he's also a monster. When I heard him call the woman in his fantasy his doll, green, ugly jealousy poisoned my veins. I should've been the subject of his desire. Of his obsession. The woman he beat off to.

Apparently, I am.

Except, in a far more horrifying way than I've ever imagined possible.

What else is he capable of?

Is this where I die?

"You see, Leighton, that's exactly why I took you." Marcus leans into me, his chest pressing into mine while he runs his nose along my neck. "So you won't be able to leave until you realize we belong together. I'm not letting you go. Better get used to me. I'll convince you to get used to me."

With each stroke of his cock, he grows harder. I grow wetter and more humiliated by the second .

"I won't go easy on you. My methods aren't exactly what you'd call conventional." Deft fingers toy with the knot on the side of my bikini bottoms. "They're effective. That's why it has to be done this way. I'll hypnotize you. Invade your subconscious, tear down your inhibitions. By the time we're through, you'll give in to me."

I gasp when his teeth close around my neck. When his words sink in.

"Marcus, I'm begging you." More spit dribbles from the corner of my mouth. "We can try this without hypnosis." Just not that. "I'll be good."

"Lying again." He glares at me. "I see right through you, Leighton. I hear the lilt in your voice. Don't lie to me. That's rule number one."

He's not rocking his hips anymore. But the thick crown of his cock is pinned to my clit, putting me in a state of constant need.

"O-okay," I breathe through the forced arousal, clenching my thighs. "I won't lie. I swear."

"Good girl." His finger traces a slow circle around my taut nipple, flicking it at the end. "Break this rule, and you'll be punished."

I blink once in agreement and his cock jerks.

"Oh, fuck yes. You're so good, little doll," Marcus hisses, bending to remove the gag from my mouth and below my chin. Then he's back to watching me. His psycho side blends with that of the curious psychiatrist. "I can tell you're worried. Don't be. "

Hope blooms within me. Maybe my pleas have made an impact.

"When I fuck you the first time, I won't hypnotize you," he says, effectively killing the sliver of hope I might've had. "We'll have time to play later."

"No." Yes. Why does my head scream yes? "My parents will call the cops. They'll look for me. Rylan will come looking for me."

He growls. His chest vibrates, his jaw grinds. "Rylan will never find you."

His sudden anger doesn't make sense. About Rylan?

"Your parents," he adds, his cold, calculating mask slipping back into place. "You texted them. Informed them you and Rylan had a falling out. You needed space, so you joined a couple of your classmates. You'll be in Cancún for the rest of the week. Maybe longer."

My bottom lip drops, and Marcus's heated gaze zooms in on it. "You hypnotized me to do that?"

"No, plaything. I sent the message from your phone the moment I decided I'm taking you." He's nonchalant as if it's the most normal thing in the world. "Then I destroyed the damn thing. When they start noticing you're gone, I'll text them from my laptop. No one will know where you are."

"You're a psycho." Even tied, even supposedly helpless, I can fight him. I will fight. "You can't do this."

Marcus doesn't give me an answer. He reaches behind my head, removes my hairband. Brushes my hair so the messy strands are on either side of my shoulders.

"Tell me, Leighton." He returns to the knot in my bottoms, untying it effortlessly. "Will I be your first?"

A tear leaks from my eye. My nose scrunches as I sniff.

I didn't cry when I found out I was kidnapped or bound. Didn't shed a tear when Marcus announced I was his prisoner.

At the mention of my virginity, I do. Not because he's about to take it.

Because it humiliates me to admit I've been saving myself for him. No other boy ever interested me. Every time I visited or slept over at Rylan's, I got my fill of orgasms and butterflies from Marcus.

I haven't needed anyone else.

Staring into his probing eyes, the humiliation becomes physically painful. I'm fucking mortified. How pathetic am I, waiting for a man who should've never been mine. For a psycho that turns me on.

"I am, aren't I?" He lowers his finger to my entrance, dragging my wetness up to where I— don't —want him. "No need to be shy. I know. You've been waiting for me."

"No." I'm clinging on to whatever dignity I have left, slamming my mouth shut.

"I can get the answer without your consent, Leighton."

"You promised," I growl, ashamed and indignant.

His eyes narrow. "I also remember saying lying will get you punished."

"Fine, yes. You'll be my first." The confession scorches my throat. "I haven't been with anyone else. Happy now, huh?"

Before he even answers, I can already tell he isn't. He isn't happy at all .

"Why haven't you?" he probes. Demands. Coerces another truth out of me.

The second and third tears are a dead giveaway as any. And yet they aren't enough for him.

Marcus continues to goad me with his commanding glare and his finger on my clit, and the way he's moving it in circles. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck .

"You!" I yell, my cheeks flaming. "I didn't want anyone because I wanted you. Are. You. Happy?"

"Yes." Marcus releases the pressure on my clit, allowing air into my lungs and brain alike.

"No one compares to you. No, has compared ," I spit out, as he moves down my body. "You—you're not him. You're the worst man—no, worst person —I've ever met. The absolute worst."

"You're embarrassed. I told you, you shouldn't be." He stands up at the foot of the bed, placing both hands on my ankles to part my legs. A soft sliding sound follows as the ropes glide along the metal bar. He's spreading me for him. "You've been the only one for me too."

My foggy brain must be hearing him wrong. "What?"

His lips twitch a satisfied smirk that disappears in a millisecond.

"We'll have time." He climbs back up on the bed and between my legs. "I'll tell you all about how long I've fucking wanted you."

With his face on my pussy, he lowers himself until the tip of his tongue teases my clit. My hips buck at the pleasure. The rope tears my skin at the movement .

Marcus doesn't care. He flicks his tongue until I'm screaming for him to stop. He doesn't. Just licks me, sucks me, bites me. He's staring at me as I'm losing my mind bit by bit. As I'm being taken against my will.

He only stops to say, "It's been years that I haven't so much as looked at another woman."

The confessions paired with the skillful way he's eating me out throw me into a spin.

But it's his next words that punch the air out of me.

"You've been the only one for me, Leighton. There's been no one else simply because you exist."