Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart (84 page)

VtheMan:
Please, Nila. Talk to
me. Put me out of my misery. I miss you. Love you so fucking much.

My teary gasp in the darkness
pricked a few hounds’ ears. I wanted so much to reply. But I didn’t dare. I
didn’t trust myself not to beg him to get me out of this. I was there of my own
free will to
protect
him. I wouldn’t be protecting him if I was weak.

Tomorrow. I wouldn’t put up with
any more flimsy talk of debts and centuries past. I wanted hard facts on why they
could do this. And I wouldn’t stop until I knew everything.

Closing my messages, I opened up a
picture of Vaughn and me that’d been taken right before the doors opened to the
show last night. The tiny bit of strength I had left deserted me and I let go of
my tight control.

I sobbed.

My heart expunged its grief through
my eyes, drenching my cheeks, blurring the last photo I had of my brother—happy,
nervous, dressed up in finery—with a waterfall of liquid. I cried until
dehydration throbbed my head and my neck was sticky with salt.

A low battery reminder beeped. It
was the hardest thing I’d done to shut down the picture of V and turn it off.

More tears trickled and a hound
raised his head, looking at me with wise understanding. He inched forward on
his belly, crossing the hay until his claws tugged at my blanket.

His canine concern produced another
torrent of liquid, but I opened my arms, and with a wagging tail, he fitted
himself around me like a living shield. His doggy heart thudded against mine as
I hugged his silky coat.

I went from the Darling of Milan
with needle pricks on her fingers to huddled on the floor with only hunting
dogs for company.

A soppy tongue had licked my cheek,
stealing the endless stream of tears. And that was when it happened. The change
I’d told Kite about.  The ending. The beginning. The freedom of just letting
go.

All my life, I’d been stressed with
making a name for myself, building my career, loving my brother, being a worthy
daughter. Bills. Deadlines. Reputations.
Expectations.
It all balanced
precariously on my shoulders, moulding me into a quiet workaholic.

But at four a.m., in the kennels of
the man who meant to kill me, I let it all go.

In every tear I shed, I said
goodbye to control. I waved farewell to everything that made me live, but had
also suffocated me, too. I didn’t have photo shoots to worry about anymore. I
didn’t have concerns on what to wear, where to be, how to act.

All of that had been stolen. And
there was no point crying or fighting against it.

The moment I embraced the freedom
of nothing, I stopped crying. My headache left, and I drifted to sleep wrapped
in the four legs of my new best friend.

Squirrel nudged my hand, bringing
me back to the present and the waiting message from Kite. The past struggled to
let me go, but I blinked, dispelling my forlornness.

"He wants to know where I am.
What should I tell him?" I asked my entourage of hounds.

Foxhounds to be exact. Their black,
tan, and white coats became visible as the sun rose, glinting off the glossy
health of their fur. Their silky ears slapped their pretty heads as they lopped
around the enclosure, waking up as the sun grew brighter.

They didn’t give me an answer.

Needle&Thread:
Where I am
right now doesn’t matter because I’m in a fantasy with you. I’m in your bed.
Naked. Wanting.

It was much better than the truth:
I’d slept on hay in a barn with eleven dogs secured by a giant padlock.

I focused on the huge roller door.
I’d checked last night to see if there was a way out, but of course, there
wasn’t.

Kite007:
You took a while to
reply. Did you pleasure yourself?

Throwing myself back into Kite’s
sexual world, I replied.

Needle&Thread:
I’m coming
now. Both hands are between my legs, twisting my clit, feeling how wet I am.
I’m crying out your name over and over. The neighbours might hear me I’m so
loud.

Rubbing the head of Squirrel, I
smiled. "Don’t tell him I released my tension by crying myself to sleep
with you in my arms." Lowering my voice, I added, "And don’t tell him
I’ve never had an orgasm."

The dog cocked his head, an
expression of confusion on his face.

Kite007:
I like it when you talk
dirty. Keep going. I have my cock in my hand and want you to make me come.

My heart sped up. Reclining against
the hay bale, I bit my lip. I’d never made anyone come. The drunken night of
losing my virginity didn’t count because we were both so intoxicated it was a
miracle he found the right place to stick it in. After a few half-hearted
thrusts, he’d rolled off me to throw up, and I’d pulled up my knickers. I’d
been silently horrified at the blood on the sheets.

The copious amounts of alcohol had
stolen any pain I might’ve felt when he penetrated me. It’d also stolen the
rush of entering womanhood, swapping it with age-old regret.

The night definitely hadn’t been a
success. Or the next day. Because no matter how hard V tried to hide my
hangover from Tex, he couldn’t prevent me from vomiting on my dad’s shoes when
he plucked me from my bed and took me to the doctor.

I groaned in remembered
embarrassment. "He found out, you know." I scratched Squirrel behind
his large ear. "The doctor told him I’d been taken advantage of. We’d used
protection but it didn’t stop the endless STI tests or pregnancy exams."
Another hound slinked closer, plopping next to me, looking for a scratch. "That
was the last time I was alone with a man other than my dad or brother. Sad
isn’t it?"

The new dog panted, looking as if
I’d told the world’s best joke.

Maybe Tex prevented you from
dating, so when they came for you it was only
his
heart you broke—not a husband or children.

The sudden thought stole my vision
with horror.

Was the overprotectiveness to
shield
others
? Had he kept me locked up like some princess in a tower,
all to stop me being my mother?

He’d fallen in love with my mother.

They’d had children young.

They’d come for her.

I rubbed my chest, unable to stop
the epiphany shedding my father in a new light. Was it selfish of him to
protect me from living, knowing I was destined an early grave? Or merely a
tragedy that he prevented others enduring heartbreak by loving me.

Vaughn.

He would sense the moment my life
was snuffed out. We were linked more than spiritually—but soul-glued and
breath-bound. I’d known when he broke his collarbone from kayaking. He’d known
when I’d dropped my heavy Singer sewing machine onto my foot.

Linked.

Don’t think about it.
It hurt too damn much. Tears pricked my eyes but I blinked them
back, trying to remain in my false little bubble of sexting. This was all I
had. I could flirt with Kite with complete safety, knowing I would never be
able to break his heart when the time came.

In a way, his fastidious request
for distance protected him. And for that, I was oddly grateful.

Running a hand through my long
hair, I sighed, re-grouping myself. I smiled softly at Squirrel. "If a
drunken whoopsy daisy was my only attempt at making a man come, how the hell am
I supposed to do it via a faceless message?"

Be someone you’re not. Act.
Pretend.

"Fine."

Swiping at the dirty mixture of
hay, dog hair, and dust from the blanket Jethro had given me, I prepared to
embrace my inner sex-kitten.

Needle&Thread:
Imagine your
hand is my hand. I’m holding you firm, tight. I’m kneeling at your feet while
you sit on a large chair. A throne. Your hand wraps in my hair, pulling me
forward. I obey because I know what you’re asking me to do. Your eyes don’t
ask, they tell, and I lower my head into your lap. My mouth waters to taste
you. You’re big. Smooth. Begging for my mouth.

My breath came faster; my mind
playing out the fantasy in crystal detail. The warmth I’d been looking for
spread from my core like a tentative sunrise.

Kite007:
Fuck me, woman. Why
haven’t you been talking to me like that all along? What was with the shy
bullshit? Fuck, keep going. I’m so damn hard. I want your mouth so fucking
much. Give it to me
.

My skin broke out in goosebumps.
The power. The
approval.
Kite was a wanker, an arsehole, and a complete
shallow prick, but he approved of me. He
wanted
me.

Needle&Thread:
You’re
holding your cock while I lick you once at the very tip. You want me to swallow
you, but you don’t force me. Because you know I’m going to swallow every drop.

Kite007:
Did you taste it?

I frowned.

Needle&Thread:
Taste what?

Kite007:
My precum. Fuck, I’m so
close. I’m in your mouth. I’m fucking your lips. I’m holding your hair as I
drive so deep down your throat. What do I taste like to you?

Needle&Thread:
You taste…

"Hell, I don’t know."
Looking at the cluster of muscular dogs, all watching me as if they knew what I
was up to, I swiped a hand over my face. "What the hell does a man taste
like?"

Needle&Thread:
You taste of
expensive liquor, making me drunk as you come. Spilling over my lips, dripping
down my chin. You don’t want me wasting a drop, so you capture the liquid on
your thumb and push it back into my mouth.

The instant I sent it, a chill
darted in my blood.

Thumb. Mouths. Sucking.

Him.

My taste buds brought back the
crisp taste of Jethro. His unyielding hold on my chin as I licked his finger.
He hadn’t really had a taste. Just the cold precision of stone. But having him
dominate had given me the permission to feel a flutter in my core, to not be
embarrassed of wanting more. Of becoming wet.

Kite007:
Fuck me. I haven’t come
like that in a while. It’s all over me—splashed up my chest, sticking to me
like fucking glue. I like you like this, naughty nun. You’re more…relaxed.

My voice was soft. "That’s
what happens when your life is no longer your own and there’s nothing you can
do to control your future."

Squirrel yipped in agreement.

"That’s also what you do to
survive. You become different. You change."

As much as I hated the Hawks,
they’d given me something I’d been searching for all my life.

My little kitten claws were
growing, prickling. Still too new to scratch with—but there.

My battery flashed again and I knew
this would be the last time I’d have the luxury of using it until Jethro let me
charge.

Ignoring the emptiness inside and
the sharp twinge of letting Kite use me, I sent my last message.

Needle&Thread:
I’m glad. I’m
licking you clean. I’m drunk on everything you’ve given me. I’ll be here for you
when you next need a release, but please…don’t call me naughty nun anymore.
Call me Needle.

Jethro came for me at eleven a.m.

The horses across the yard were
gone—to do what, I had no clue. I’d spent an hour or so listening to the grooms
prepare them and the comforting
clack
of their metal shoes disappearing
into the distance on cobblestones.

I pictured myself commandeering one
and galloping away. Not that I knew how to ride. I’d never had time. Sewing had
been my one obsession.

Squirrel and his gang of hounds had
left not long after I finished messaging Kite. A piercing whistle summoned and
they’d charged from the kennel through a small dog-size exit down the back. I’d
tried to follow—to get free—but it only opened if a coded collar was in range.
A password programmed to every dog allowing them access.

So, I’d spent the remainder of my
morning alone. Alone with thoughts I flatly ignored.