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I shuddered, my teeth chattering as cold terror settled into my bones.
He dropped to his knees beside me, his face leveling with mine. Through my watery vision, I saw his brow furrow with concern.
"Samantha," he said my name almost hoarsely. "You're okay. You're safe with me."
"I'm not," I said, my voice hitching. "I'm scared. You're scaring me. And you like it."
"I don't. Not like this. Please. Don't be afraid."
Please. I'd never heard him utter the word.
"I don't want to be in here," I whispered.
"All right, cosita. It's all right. You're safe." He started murmuring to me in a stream of soothing Spanish, running his fingers along my chilled skin as he released me from the cuffs that trapped me against the spanking bench.
A relieved sob heaved from my chest when he lifted me in his arms and cuddled me close. My hand fisted in his shirt, and I turned my face against him as I wept and shook.
He carried me back into the bedroom and settled me on his lap when he sat on the edge of the bed. He held me while I cried, all the fear and pain that lingered inside me from the night he'd flogged me spilling out to soak his chest with my tears.
"Lo siento." I caught the words several times as he continued to speak to me in low, calming tones.
I'm sorry. I knew what it meant.
That helped bring me back to my senses more than anything. My big, scary captor was apologizing. Blinking up at him, I studied his taut features. He seemed truly distressed, and when my sobs finally quieted, he pressed a tender kiss against my forehead.
"I was worried about you," he rumbled, his arms tightening around me to pull me closer to his warmth. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"You did," I countered quietly. "You wanted to see me cry. You wanted to hear me scream."
His eyes flicked away from mine, and he tensed beneath me. "I do want those things from you, Samantha," he admitted, his voice strained. "But not like this. I won't break you. I won't." He still wasn't looking at me, and he seemed to be speaking to himself as much as he was reassuring me.
"I don't want this," I said, my voice small. "I don't want to be here. I don't want to be tamed. I don't want to work for your brother."
"You don't have a choice in that. Neither of us do."
"What do you mean?" I didn't understand. Of course Andrés had a choice. He could hurt me, he could beat me, he could savor my pain. He could choose to do anything he wanted with me.
But he chose to cuddle me close and run his hands over my cool skin, imbuing my body with his steady warmth.
He didn't answer my question. Instead, he suddenly crushed his lips to mine in a fierce, hungry kiss. Every stroke of his tongue dominated my own, his mouth caressing mine hard enough to leave my lips swollen and tingling. I finally softened against him as my body warmed, the last of the chill of terror leaving my system as I found comfort in my captor’s desperate kiss.
Chapter 15
Andrés stayed with me for the rest of the day, holding me until Lauren brought lunch. She seemed surprised to see us together, and she had to come back a second time with more food for him. I wondered what had happened with Cristian to drive Andrés back to me in such a black mood, but I didn’t dare press him on the subject. I didn’t want the scary, violent man to resurface. I much preferred the sweet, caring man who petted me and draped my body across his chest while he leaned back against the headboard and read Watchmen with me.
I went back to the beginning of the story since Andrés had never read it before, and I found a strange joy in sharing it with him, almost as though I were able to experience it again for the first time myself. Only better than that, because he wasn’t jaded by years of warring fandoms. There was a weird innocence in watching him begin to enjoy the story, his lips curving with satisfaction as he turned the pages faster and faster.
He glanced down and noticed me watching him.
“Am I more interesting than your superheroes?” he asked, ruffling my hair.
“Anti-heroes,” I corrected him. “Well, some of them, anyway. That’s what makes them interesting.”
“Then why are you looking at me?”
I shrugged. “I already read it. I know the story.”
He set the book aside. “Then I’ll get you a different one. I don’t want you to be bored.”
