Temptation to Submit (11 page)

“What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?” she snapped as she struggled to escape him.

“Probably.”

He strong-armed her, and she heard the sound of a van door opening before he shoved her inside. The carpet under her knees was soft. She wondered if the bastard kept the vehicle for the specific purpose of kidnapping his victims.

She should stop him. They’d agreed on a safe word. Part of her wanted this, needed it. The excitement, the danger that wasn’t dangerous at all gave her the adrenaline rush and fear she craved.

Fighting him was part of the exhilaration. She opened her mouth to call him a fucking bastard and immediately found her voice stopped by a ball gag. It stretched her lips, and she hissed and spit, struggling to adapt to its discomfort.

He gripped her wrists and tied them with something plastic, binding them behind her back. When she kicked out at him, he grabbed her right ankle and tied it to her left. She was helpless.

The van door closed, and she heard him start the engine. She twisted and struggled, trying to wiggle her hands out of the restraints. She kicked her feet against the barriers around her, hoping one of them was the back of his seat.

She wasn’t sure how long they drove. It seemed like forever. She cursed him, her words muffled by the gag. She cursed her mother. She cursed her aunt.

Finally, she lay there, limp, numb. It felt like being dead.

The van stopped, and the door opened. He’d said nothing to her other than to acknowledge that he might be crazy. Not exactly reassuring.

But even as she had that thought, she remembered the contract she’d signed. The ball gag, the restraints, the van were all part of the scene, right? It was clear all she had to do was signal him that she didn’t want this and he would stop. Wouldn’t he? The doubt added to the thrill.

He hefted her onto his shoulder like she was a sack of grain. She smelled pine and damp soil. Finch unlocked a door, and the scent of wood oil, mothballs, and old books flooded her senses. He plopped her down on something springy but soft. She heard him shifting something around. Then, the distinct smell of burning wood coupled by instant warmth.

Where the hell had he taken her?

“Did you think you could get away from me?”

Finch couldn’t be serious. He was taking this straight out of the kidnap fantasy playbook. Worst of all, it worked. Her heart rate rose, and she started to feel alive again.

The gag made drool collect on her lips. She yanked on the restraints. Finch ripped the blindfold off, and she blinked in the dim light of the fire. They were in a cabin, complete with log furniture and solid bookcases. The floor was covered with a large square of woven material that looked like it might give her rug burns if she was on her knees. She had no doubt that Finch would demand it.

His face was grim, and in his dark eyes, she noted hurt, not anger. Determination set his jaw, and his lips were tight. “This isn’t a game, Victoria. I want answers. From you.”

She shook her head and struggled to free herself. There was no way she was going to talk about this. Especially tied up and helpless. But her body betrayed her. How had he known? How had he reached inside her dreams and plucked out this erotic scene for her?

But he wasn’t playing. He wanted answers. She grunted and tipped her chin, silently begging him to remove the ball gag. She turned her body and gave him the agreed-upon signal, the two pinkies out. She couldn’t do this in a scene. Yes, she needed to tell him, but honestly, as Tori, not a kidnapped victim. At the sight of her two pinkies, his nostrils flared, and he flicked the buckle to release the gag.

“My mother died three days ago.”

ATTICUS FROZE. FOR a moment, he thought he hadn’t heard right. “She didn’t die when you were a teenager?”

“No.” Victoria slumped on the couch.

“There was a death certificate. I saw it.” He’d been thorough, but apparently there was more to this.

“There was one night that my mother…” She closed her eyes, and Finch had to flex his hands to remain still. “It was one of those pointless confrontations with a drug addict, and I escaped to my Aunt Angela’s.” Her lips tightened. “When the police came to visit, they told me there was a dead woman in the apartment where my mother lived.” She raised her head and met his gaze; the misery in her green eyes made his heart clench. “My mother had stolen her identity, set the place on fire, and ran.” Her voice was hoarse. “For all I knew, my mother had killed the woman. I identified the dead woman as my mother. My aunt didn’t contradict me. I think she wanted my mother out of our lives too. I think my aunt might have taken it another step and forged documents and paid my mother off.” Victoria shook her head. “My aunt is a formidable person. I never knew what she did. All I knew was that my mom was out of my life, and I was free.”

“And if you revealed the truth—”

“My aunt might have gotten in trouble. I don’t think they would have blamed me for lying, but my aunt was a different story.” She shook her head. “I wanted my mother to be dead. For years.”

“And then she showed back up.”

Victoria nodded. “When I was twenty. She’d appear for a few days, always under a different name, and then disappear again. I tried a bunch of times to get her help. Rehab. Anything. But she’d reject it every time.”

There was a bleak, resigned look on Victoria’s face that made Atticus clench his fists. He’d thought the worst thing had been when she shut him out, disappearing without a word, refusing to answer her phone. But he would have done anything at that moment to stop her pain.

“She didn’t ask for much, but I knew she had me over a barrel. The only thing I wouldn’t do is let her move in with me.” Her lips trembled. “I wasn’t going to let her have my whole life.” She inhaled a deep, shuddering breath. “When she was diagnosed with brain cancer, the doctor found out about me. I guess one of her boyfriends passed on the information that Betty always could get money from me.” She sighed. “I found out about her diagnosis just as ConFed took over Sunsoon. I put her in rehab, but she got too sick. So I put her in a medical facility. Vegas was the first break I had from all the insanity. The minute I was gone, she escaped. I don’t know how she found out where I lived, but she went there first.”

“She trashed your place.”

“Yes.”

Jesus. Victoria’s own mother had shredded her life, her memories, her happiness. No wonder Victoria held back. Atticus had never seen her cry. Considering what he’d put her through, that was incredible.

He sat down beside her and turned her face toward his. “It must have eaten you alive to keep this from Nell and Gina.”

She swallowed. “And from you. It was worse keeping it from you. I wanted to tell you.”

“But you couldn’t.”

“It wasn’t my secret.” She bit her lip. “I felt so alone, Master,” she whispered.

He brushed her forehead with his lips. “And you can’t cry.”

“I could. A long time ago. But not anymore.” I know how much you hate lies.”

“Do you?” He tipped her chin up to make her meet his gaze.

“I know,” she said, sounding so defeated he wanted to beat her until she snarled at him like she had every morning he spanked her. “I can see how you might be angry with me.” She turned her stare to the floor.

“Victoria, look at me,” he demanded. When she finally raised her head, he cupped her face in his hands. “I wanted you to trust me, to surrender to me as your Dominant. You protected those who took care of you. I would never be angry at you for that.”

“Then you forgive me?” she asked.

He smiled and narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t say that.” He loved the way her breath caught, and he felt the pulse in her throat skitter beneath his fingers. “Before I punish you, I want to ask you a very important question.” He stroked her cheek and was a little stunned when she leaned into him, letting her head rest in his hand.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“We agreed to full intercourse for this scene. Do you still want that? I can still do the scene without it.” He could do it. He could give her pleasure no matter what she decided. But he wanted to give it all to her. He wanted to touch her skin, turn it red, make her eyes glaze over with pleasure as he rubbed his fingers over her clit.

He wanted to make her cry so she could let it go and let him comfort her.

She lifted her head from his hand and stared at him. “I have to know something before I answer that.”

He threaded his hand through her hair. “Go ahead.”

“I’m so afraid of what will happen if I…let go,” she said, and her voice cracked. “Will you promise me that you won’t hold it against me?”

“Hold it against you?” He bent down and wrapped his arm around her waist, lifting her to him. She was forced to lean on him since he still had her hands and feet tied. “The most beautiful thing a submissive can give a Dominant is trust, Victoria. I would never hold your surrender against you. On the contrary, I would be honored and humbled.” He brushed her lips with his. “I will keep you safe. I promise.”

“I’m so scared,” she whispered.

“I know, soniye.” He stroked her back.

“What does that mean? You called me that once before.” She was relaxed in his arms and nuzzled her face against his shoulder.

“It means ‘lovely’ or ‘beautiful.’” He tipped her head back. “And you are.” He took possession of her lips and reveled in the way she sagged against him.

When he broke the kiss and stared into her face, he was pleased to see her eyes closed, her face flushed, and her mouth soft from his touch.

She opened her eyes and stared at him. “I don’t know anything about your family.”

He laughed and tightened his hold on her. “We have time. I promise. Right now, I want you to focus on this. You’ve been kidnapped by a man who is very bad, but you’re attracted to him anyway.” For over a month he’d been thinking about this scene, planning it, gauging how she might react to it. “He thinks you know a secret, but you don’t. You’re stoic, trying to be strong and not break.” Atticus buried one hand in her hair and pulled her head back. “But you will break. You can curse me, Victoria, scream at me, spit at me, but I will break you.”

She swallowed, and her eyes were wide. “Fuck you, Finch. I won’t break.”

He smiled and brushed her lips with his. “Safe word, Victoria. What is it?”

“Peanut butter.” Her gaze softened, and she reached up to kiss his cheek. “I won’t forget.”

“You’d better use it, Victoria. I plan to push you right to the edge.” He wanted her to feel she could trust him to stop, to allow her the space she needed. But he also needed to smash through the barriers she’d erected to hide herself away.

She leaned back and glared at him. “Bring it, Finch. I can take more than you can imagine.”

He tugged on her hair. “Brat.”

“Asshole,” she said with a smile.

“Are you ready for me, Victoria?” he asked in a low voice meant to drive her as crazy as he felt.

“Whenever you are.” She held his gaze. “Sir.”

For a moment, he thought he was going to lose the hold on his tenuous control. But he wanted to give her the fantasy he knew would help her find release. “You’re sure? I’ll get rough.”

“I have my safe word.” She lifted her trembling lips. “I trust you.”

Like lightning, those three words electrified him, shocked him into frozen silence for a full minute. Then he gripped her hair and plundered her mouth. He wasn’t gentle or sweet but wanted to overwhelm her, devour her.

When he broke the kiss, she gasped for air, and he dragged her across the floor. She stumbled since her hands and feet were still tied, but he held her up as he moved her into the chair he’d placed in the center of the next room.

A harsh light shone on her face as he planted her roughly in the seat. Above her chair was a long, thick metal bar. Atticus strode to the end of the bar bolted into the wall and retrieved one of the items that hung there. They were handcuffs attached to an adjustable cable. With them, he could hang her from the bar, restrain her to the chair, or dangle her from the ceiling.

The cabin belonged to a friend at the BDSM club where he and the other ConFed officers had played for the last six months. It was remote, quiet, and outfitted with the latest toys and gadgets. Perfect for his plan to drive Victoria crazy.

“You look positively evil,” Victoria said with a laugh.

Time to teach his little brat a lesson. “You think this is funny? You’ll change your mind.”

From one of the drawers of the dresser in the corner, he retrieved a knife and approached her. The smile on her face died. With swift movements, he sliced through the plastic zip ties he’d used to bind her hands. He tossed the knife onto the top of the dresser and yanked her to her shackled feet.

She squirmed to get away from him and managed to get one arm free. When she swung it toward him, he caught it and jerked it behind her back. He was rough, controlled, and squeezed her arm hard. She squeaked, and her eyes widened.

He dragged the cuffs across the bar above them and cuffed her wrists above her head. She was tall enough that her feet were still flat on the floor. He circled her, and she pulled at the metal restraints.

“Let me go.”

She tried to keep him in her line of sight, but he stood at her back, and she couldn’t twist her head to see him. He retrieved a thick stick, clearly hand carved, and hefted it in his hand. “Are you going to tell me why you lied to me?”

She froze, and he gripped her hair with his free hand. Her gaze was filled with fear, and he wondered if she was really afraid of him. He released her head and slid his hand inside her loose-fitting yoga pants. No amount of squirming and shifting was going to deny him the evidence he sought.

When he touched her pussy, she groaned. She was soaked. Triumph filled him. This was the right way to go, the right actions to take. She enjoyed the fear; at least, she enjoyed being afraid of him.

“For months you’ve teased me,” he said in a guttural tone. “You’ve lied to me and to your friends. You’re going to tell me what I want to know.”

“Or what?” she snapped.

God, he loved her. She was perfect, strong, and courageous in the scene or out of it. He was going to make her his in every way possible.