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4
EMME
He freed my ankles and took me from the trunk, steadying me when I almost fell. That, and how he then checked my hands and wrists, as if worried about damage, swayed the needle toward me believing he was Charity’s friend.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know anymore.
The hard grip on my upper arm was unpleasant and didn’t leave room for argument. Damn, his hands were big—then again, my pussy was well aware of the size of his fingers.
The lights were on, and I gained vague impressions of the building as he half dragged me through a door, along a corridor, into a room where he did something, then out again. We went down some stairs. There was no noise that indicated other people lived here. Was it a large private home? He was rich enough to own a nice, new-model car. And why was I bothering profiling him?
A light came on in the room we’d ended up in. The door was shut. He stopped me a few steps in.
He bound my wrists in front of me with something that felt like rope, then undid the cloth bondage. The rope was a hell of a lot more comfortable. Suddenly my arms were hoisted above my head and secured there to something that swayed a little when I moved.
I should have fought while I’d had the chance, but I’d been so busy trying to be clever and figure out what he was doing that I sort of…forgot.
By then, I needed to pee. Damned coffee. And that café was a world away.
The grit under my feet said maybe concrete.Cold. But it wouldn’t kill me.
Unlike this guy?
The green shopping bag over my head was untied at the neck then abruptly removed, revealing a low-lit room with a stack of chairs and a few suitcases, and a man. He unwrapped the tape from my mouth.
As I worked my jaw and licked my sore lips, he stared down at me. He walked to the stacked chairs and perched his hip on them.
A black duffel bag with semicircular handles lay at his feet.
A toy bag?
Maybe he was the dominant I’d arranged, after all.
The thrill and adrenaline ebbed a bit. Which was ridiculous. Of course I didn’t want this to be some creepy stranger! Not for real…
“I need to pee.” I said it to gauge his reaction, to get a conversation going.
“Shut up.” Just pure assertion. No threats, just a deep assured voice and a glint of the devil in those brooding eyes. I already knew he liked hurting me and scaring me. The man was a sadist.
Good. I swallowed, wondering what he planned, felt my pussy clench.
Damn.I smiled to myself. A genuine abduction would’ve freaked me out.
This was Him. His real face. Black hair fell over his temples in mild waves, just enough to be a little wild, whereas the sides were shaven. The stubble I’d already noticed. He was tall, but didn’t seem like a huge, muscular guy, but as he stripped off his coat and dropped it to the floor, I knew why he’d easily pinned me down. His biceps swelled out those shirt sleeves.
He partially unbuttoned the front then hauled the shirt over his head.
Revealing a very nice body. I let my gaze wander down the muscle delineations until they disappeared below the waistband. The belt he’d probably used on my ankles was back in place at his waist but not buckled.
“Whatever your name was, you’re now Mr. Scott’s Toy. Say thank you, Mr. Scott.”
Ugh. Dom stuff. I wrinkled my nose. Orders like that made this feel like a normal scene. Every stereotypical Dom thing he did reduced my excitement by a notch.
He pulled the belt from the loops on his pants. Holding it by the buckle end, he let it swing free, loose to the floor, raising one eyebrow as he paced forward, approaching me.
“What did I say?”
I squinted, pressing my lips together, feeling the thrill of daring a man to do something to make me obey him. I swiveled, keeping him in sight. My throat was stuck between saying Beam me up, Scottie, or blowing a raspberry.
