Chapter 11 - Clara

I shake my head, annoyed and not willing to back down and just accept that he left me here without an explanation of any kind.

I've been angry for two hours.

Well, it didn't start as anger—it started as panic. The panic soon turned into fear.

The fear stayed there, settled into my blood, coursing through me, right up until I saw his car arriving in the driveway and him ever so casually climbing out and walking up to the front door.

Then all of the panic and all of the fear had turned into rage.

Who the hell does that to someone?

He's already kidnapped me, so I know he's willing to harm me in some way. He's holding me against my will, and I have no idea what his limits are for what he is prepared to do to me.

It wasn't an unrealistic assumption to make when I thought he had decided to just leave me here if I was too annoying or too much to deal with.

He could just walk away and not ever think about me again, for all I know.

"Clara." He says my name again, and I want to slap him in the face.

Instead, I start pacing up and down the entrance foyer. I have to do something with all of this extra adrenaline.

"Clara, I'm sorry for the misunderstanding. I wouldn't just leave you here like that."

I shake my head again, I'm not just going to let this go. What he did—it wasn't fair at all.

I turn to walk away because I'm done talking. I am just over this.

But he grabs my arms and pulls me back towards him.

As I stare up at him with my body pressed against his chest, he looks down at me with his eyes narrowed.

His voice is low when he says, "You are going to have to forgive me. You can't stay mad at me over a misunderstanding."

"I'm pretty sure I can do whatever the hell I want," I sass back at him.

"Let me make you some lunch. Or some tea. Or pour you a glass of wine."

I pull my mouth to the side to hide the grin that begins to creep across my face.

"A glass of wine? And maybe some cheese and crackers," I say cautiously.

He nods.

He actually genuinely does feel bad, and now he is trying to make up for it—his way of saying sorry.

I glance down at the floor because now I am fully smiling, and I don't want him to see it. I think I know how to get a little revenge and make myself feel better.

"I've also been craving some chocolate."

"I am sure there is chocolate in the pantry. I'll find it for you. Can I do anything else for you?"

"I don't think so…" I say with hesitation.

"Well, let me know." He sounds so sincere I might feel a tinge of guilt for pushing him like this.

But I nod, satisfied for the time being. I just have to remind myself that he left me in a complete panic all morning, so now it's only fair that he has to make up for that.

Inside, I have a massive, secret smile glowing.

On the outside, I am managing to maintain my pout.

He brushes the backs of his fingers over my cheek.

His eyes look soft and warm—he smiles, and it's so gentle it makes my heart flutter.

Suddenly, I am curious how far I can push this, how much I can make him do for me, before he catches on.

I follow Alex as he goes through to the kitchen and starts looking through the cupboards, pulling out all the things he needs to make a lunch platter of cheese, crackers, cold cuts and olives with a few different jams and some figs.

I watch him, rather enjoying myself, surprised at how efficient he is in the kitchen.

While he is busy preparing everything, he pours me a glass of white wine and I sip it, swinging my legs off the edge of the kitchen counter where I am sitting.

Whenever he has to get something out of a cupboard or drawer near me, he goes out of his way to touch me, letting his hand remain on my thigh while he leans down to pull out a serving plate from the cabinet beneath my legs or keeping his hand on my waist while he reaches into the cupboard above me for the salt and pepper.

This little game that I am playing might backfire if he keeps doing that.

All afternoon, he is so sweet to me. We eat the very fancy platter outside on the patio, even though it is a little cold. Alex fetches me a blanket and wraps it around me while I enjoy my wine.

After lunch, he apologizes again. I've had two glasses of wine by now and I'm feeling even bolder.

"I hope you believe me, Clara—that I'm sorry about what happened."

"You know, I walked up and down those stairs, and all around the house for hours in a total panic."

He reaches over and pulls my feet into his lap, shifting my whole body to face him on the outside sofa.

He pulls my sneakers off my feet and tosses them onto the floor.

"I didn't mean for you to go through that," he says, rubbing his fingers into the soles of my feet, massaging away the stress. I close my eyes, lost in the bliss of his touch, and a soft grin escapes my shielded expression.

I quickly wipe it away, and my eyes move fast, glancing towards him to see if he noticed.

He did.

Shit.

The expression on his face tells me he is on to me. One brow raised, one corner of his lip curled into a grin. Everything in the way he is looking at me says oh, really, is that what you're up to?

But he doesn't say anything at all. He just presses his expert hands into the soles of my feet, sending delightful shivers through my body.

I lean back on the sofa, getting more comfortable, not taking my eyes off him because now I want to know what he is going to do after catching me out.

He pulls at one of my feet, dragging me a little closer to him.

Pressing his fingers beneath the seam of my oversized sweatpants, his hand travels up the inside of the fabric, along my calf.

I gasp a little. I wasn't expecting that.

A low, rumbling chuckle rolls from his lips and his eyes are suddenly filled with mischief.

"Take these off. I'll give you a proper massage. I am sure you were very stressed all morning and your muscles must be tense."

My eyes shoot wide with shock and I grab the top elastic of the sweat pants as he tugs them down beneath the blanket still wrapped around me.

"Relax, Clara, no one can see anything. And the blanket will keep you warm."

My heart is racing wildly as I let him take my pants off, wondering what the hell I am doing.

His hands move beneath the blanket, pressing into the muscles of my calves, up the outsides of my thighs, doing an incredible job of massaging my legs but also sending my thoughts in too many different directions while I try to convince my body to calm down.

But there is no use.

Everywhere he touches feels electric. My body is alive and buzzing. Alert. Excited. Heated.

The blanket is even starting to feel too hot over me, but I wouldn't dare take it off.

He is watching me closely. He knows exactly what he's doing.

I wish I could control my reaction.

I bite my lower lip and his eyes burn into me.

It's no good.

I can't stop myself.

His hand travels up the inside of my thigh and my pussy begins to throb as heat pools between my legs.

He pulls me a little closer to him and I accidentally moan as his hand slides right up my thigh and brushes over my panties.

The sound that escapes my lips makes him grin—a naughty, teasing grin that grabs my attention.

My lips part and my breathing becomes heavier as he very gently, very slowly brushes his fingers over my panties, right across my clit.

I can't look away from him.

He shifts himself so that he is practically lying over me on the couch, then starts very purposefully rubbing his fingers in small circles over my panties. I can feel how wet I am.

With his other hand, he starts slowly pulling the blanket off me, watching, his eyes on me constantly. I don't tell him to stop. I don't even try and hold on to the blanket. It's too late for that.

I am entirely putty in his hands. He could literally do whatever he wants to me at this moment, and I would be begging him not to stop.

The blanket is on the floor next to us. My fingers are digging into the fabric of the sofa as he moves his fingers faster.

Now, he is tugging at his belt. Pulling his pants open.

Oh.

My.

Word.

He is massive.

His cock bounces free, the veins running along the shaft thick and throbbing.

He pulls my panties to the side and dips his fingers inside me.

I cry out, rocking my hips up towards his hand.

He chuckles, knowing he is fully in control of me now.

Using his hips to push my legs wider apart he lowers himself over me, his hand pressing into the sofa above my head. He grabs his cock and starts rubbing it over my pussy.

I can't take this anymore.

I am so desperate to feel him thrust into me.

"Please," I whisper.

"Please what, baby girl?"

"Please, don't tease me." I gasp as he dips just the tip of his cock inside me.

My pussy shudders with delight and he pulls out again.

Oh my fuck. He's going to give me a heart attack.

But then he leans down and presses his lips against mine, and as he does his cock slides over my clit, and I know he is going to finally—

The doorbell chimes loudly and Alex freezes for a second.

So do I, my heart beating so loudly that I am sure both of us can hear it.

We wait, both wishing we had imagined it. Staring at each other.

It chimes again.

"Fuck," Alex says, loud and frustrated.

He moves himself off me, climbing off the sofa and pulling his pants closed, trying to lock away that monster cock of his.

I stare at the bulge for a moment, biting my lip, making wishes.

"I'll go and see who it is. Um—you might want to put your pants on," he laughs.

I nod, sitting up, grabbing the blanket to cover myself as reality kicks in and I realize I was just about to have sex with the man who kidnapped me.

Dammit, what is wrong with me?

What was I thinking?

I stare after him as he disappears through the patio doors into the house.

He is so gorgeous.

No wonder I lost control.

I grab my pants off the floor and tug them over my legs, which are now feeling the cold again. Cold that only a moment ago didn't even exist to me.

I fold the blanket up and place it on the corner of the couch, then stand awkwardly alone, wondering if I should go inside and see who it is or wait out here.

It's odd, because what I should want to do is run, screaming, begging them to help me get away from the person who is keeping me prisoner. I guess that's not realistic, because someone visiting Alex is obviously friends with Alex.

I roll my eyes at myself.

There is definitely something wrong with me.

I am starting to get a crush on the asshole who kidnapped me.