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Instead of saying anything, he steps back, allowing Blais to grab my arm to lead me inside. They definitely don’t trust me enough not to make a break for it. The thought crosses my mind, but I wouldn’t make it far with my arms bound, before one of them caught me. I’m fast, but I don’t think I’m fast enough to outrun them like this.
Walking inside, I take in the empty, cold house. It’s not actually empty, but with the void of all personality or charm, it might as well be. This place is plain, only with the essentials to make it look normal, but there aren’t any personal items to make it feel like a home.
Instead of going to the dining room, Blais leads me to the stairs.
“Where are we going?” I ask nervously. I figured they’d want to get as much information from my laptop as they can.
“Kidnapping you.” He chuckles, only making me growl back.
“You’ve already done that.”Real funny joke.
“Have we?” He wiggles his eyebrows, causing my jaw to clench even tighter. My teeth will be dust by the time we get up the stairs. His mood swings can be so confusing sometimes. He’s joking when not twenty minutes ago, he wanted to rip Ace’s head off for hurting me.
Instead of answering, I keep my mouth shut. His hidden meaning is as clear as day. Of course they kidnapped me, but do people usually have hot, dirty sex with their captors? Do they want to keep having hot, dirty sex with their captors?
No, you horny dumbass. They don’t.
A pang hits my chest thinking about all of this ending. None of this has been normal; they’ve tortured me and tore me down. But at the same time, they confuse the hell out of me, making me see things in myself that are freeing and exhilarating.
Obviously, it has to end. I’m an FBI agent, and they’re... they’re... well, I don’t fully know what they are. Clearly, they’re fucking criminals. You don’t just kidnap a federal agent, kill a former bouncer, and have a weird-ass torture dungeon without being some kind of a criminal. I just need to figure out exactly the extent of their criminality.
We make it to the top of the stairs and he leads me toward the bedrooms. Stopping by a hall closet, he reaches in to pull out a first-aid kit, before taking me to my room.I mean, the guest room.
They try to make this place look normal, but what’s normal about a bedroom having locks on the inside and the outside? Nothing.
Locking the door behind us, Blais continues to hold onto my arm, before cutting the binds off my hands, making me sigh in relief. His body presses further into my back while I bring my arms up, rubbing at my wrists.
The hard length of his cock digs into my back just as his arm comes around me. He grabs my wrists rubbing the red marks from the ties. I press my ass further into him, drawing out a groan, before I step forward out of his hold.
Spinning around, I meet his eyes. They're hungry and crazed. He continues to glance between my eyes and my forehead, probably seeing the dried, crusted blood on my skin. The way he’s looking at me is like he wants to either tear my limbs off or fuck me hard against the door.
Blais steps closer, forcing me to move back. Each step he takes forward, I take one away from him until the back of my knees are pressed against the edge of the bed.
Stumbling, I plop down ungracefully onto the firm mattress as he squats down in front of me and cups my cheek. The soft look in his eyes makes me suddenly aware of how intimate this feels. The fucked-up part of me loves it. Loves the way his hands feel on my body, and the way I can feel the heat of his touch linger every time he lets go of me. Clearing my throat, I try to get my head and body under control.
“Can I ask you something?” I angle my head away from his touch, trying to put a little distance for my own sake before I pounce on him. His hand drops naturally as he stands up.
“You just did, darling.” His shoulders are rigid, but he still gives me his playful quip, his body language betraying his cool facade.
I roll my eyes. “You know what I meant.”
“Go for it. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” He gives a teasing shrug.
“What’s your deal with the blood?” My head tilts to the side, taking in his body. He tenses, meeting my stare as his brows furrow.
He shifts uncomfortably on his feet, all humor lining his face gone. “It helps me.” Three simple words that oddly have more of an impact than I anticipated.
“Helps you?” My voice is filled with curiosity.
“Yeah, it...makes me feel better. Calmer.” His voice is not as confident as it usually is, slightly breaking between each word.
I have this urge to know everything there is to know about Blais Monroe. “When did it start?”
“When I was a kid.” His voice is short and I can tell he doesn’t want to expand on why he does it.
“Does it have anything to do with why you don’t like me touching you?” I have no idea if they’re correlated, but there’s a chance it could be.
His eyes harden, before he steps away, pacing across the room. He stops and looks at the first-aid kit he dropped to the floor when I plopped on the bed. Grabbing the kit, he drops to his knees in front of me, pushing between my thighs, and then he slowly begins to pull out what he needs.
