Daddy. Is that what he meant? Did he want to be called Daddy, or was he speaking generally about what I needed?
This is probably more of a cookie-induced hallucination, but my pussy thrums and my panties soak all the same. How could they not, with thoughts of a giant, muscular, inked-up man bending me over to spank my ass red and kiss it all better again?
This… is exactly how I know now that something is wrong with me. I can’t be here. I need to call my mom, Nikki, and Nathan. I need to explain everything immediately. I have to—
“I thought you were taking that thing off?” Rhett groans as he leans his massive frame against the open doorway. The wood creaks under his weight, and his shoulders fill the space, blocking out most of the light behind him. Good Lord, the man is hot. “I gave you some clothes. Put them on.”
“So bossy,” I say, pretending to be annoyed by his demands, though I rather like the way he commands me to do the things I want to do anyway. “I need help. There are buttons all the way up the back.”
He nods once and steps behind me, his giant frame shrinking me down as the rough pads of his fingers brush my bare back, warm, slow, and deliberate, catching my breath.
His hand moves with certainty as his fingers slip toward the buttons. I can’t see what he’s doing, and I know I shouldn’tlove the way his heat feels behind me, shouldn’t let it calm me, but I do. He’s steady, warm, and the way my body reacts to his is impossible to ignore.
It’s confusing. I’m here against my will. I shouldn’t like any of this. I should be desperate to get back to Nathan. I should be desperate to get back to the inn so I can walk down the peony-covered aisle toward the man of my dreams, but I’m not.
I’m not desperate to leave, and Nathan isnotthe man of my dreams. Not even close.
God, what’s wrong with me?
Instead of any of that, my sick, twisted body is aching for Rhett’s finger to slip and brush against my skin again. My messed-up brain is running fantasy after fantasy of his massive frame bending me over and filling me up.
It’s unsettling, but it’s real.
It’s real, and I need to talk to someone outside of this situation. I need to be reminded why all of this is stupid. I need someone to point out that I’ve lost my mind, and though this big, rugged, bad boy will be a good time, the smart choice for long-term stability is Nathan. He can change, I know he wants to. I bet once the wedding is over, he’ll go back to the person he was when we met.
“I need to use your phone,” I say as Rhett fumbles his big hands around each tiny, pearled enclosure.
He pauses for a long moment as though he’s thinking over the implications of my request. “If you use my phone, everyone will know where you are. Are you ready for that?”
“Umm… I mean, I should want them to know. You carried me kicking and screaming out of my own wedding! That’s messed up!”
“And you enjoyed every second of it,” he groans, handing me his cell. “Call your mom. I know she’ll get sicker if you leave her stressed.”
Why does he care that my mom will be stressed? I barely know the guy. Sure, we had one really intimate conversation the night I dropped off the paint, but that’s it.
I barely know him, yet I want to be held here against my will, void of all decision-making powers forever and ever while he fucks me like an animal.
Yeah, this is all totally normal.
“Whose dog is this?” I say, staring down at the screensaver of a golden bull mastiff the size of a small horse.
“Oh,” he reaches around me, his massive bicep flexing an inch from my cheek as he presses his index finger against the screen to unlock his phone, “that’s Charlie. He’s my old buddy. Probably out lying in the yard somewhere. He’ll be in to slobber all over you sooner or later. You should download a third-party app, so it’s harder to track the call. Here,” he slides his thick fingers around on the screen, his forearms brushing my skin as he searches for an app to download, “I used this one to call home when I was overseas. Should be downloaded in a minute.” He leans back, the heat of his body immediately missed, my clit throbbing like a desperate, little ho.
Talk, Pepper! Say something!
Why am I trying to keep the conversation going with my kidnapper?
Who cares? Just talk!
About what? Gas prices? His favorite color?
God, I need help!
“Your mom has MS, right?” he says, his voice resonating deeply behind me.
“Yeah,” I swallow hard, my heart full with the fact that he remembered the details of what we talked about last week, “she was diagnosed three years ago. I thought it would progress a lot slower, but it’s taken over her life. This year has been the worst yet. Vision problems, weakness, insane fatigue, and memoryissues. It’s part of why I couldn’t go through with the wedding today. Nathan is… oblivious to it all. I don’t know if he’s got so much money now that he’s out of touch or if he’s really just this cold. They have the same outcome, so it’s hard to tell.”
“Yeah,” he groans. “That’s… sick. I’d have done whatever I could’ve to make sure your mom was there, even if it meant getting married in her living room.” His words are slow and the edges are softened, like he really means what he says, and truthfully, I believe him. Even though there’s a clear age gap between Rhett and I, we were raised the same way. A mountain-morals, family-first, kind of upbringing.
