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“Why did you have to do it under my dress?”
He doesn’t answer and opens the front door, leading me outside by my leash. The sunshine is blinding now that I’m not looking at it through grimy window screens, and I squint, glancing back and forth, hoping to see a sign of something. Anything. Some symbol of civilization beyond the house.
The shack. All there is besides trees is a shack, and it’s the shack I’ve been in for two days now. Based on the ramshackle exterior, nobody would ever guess how nice it is inside.
“You must’ve put a lot of money into renovating this place,” I murmur, taking in the dingy boards covering the walls and the weed-choked ground around them.
“It was worth it.”
“How do you get TV and cell service all the way out here?” I’m not even trying to scheme a way of escape. I’m genuinely curious.
“I have my ways. Don’t worry about it.” He nudges me forward. “Keep walking.”
Okay then. I keep walking.
After picking my way through dense brush that could hide just about anything, he mutters, “I had money when I came out here. My family saw to it I’d be taken care of.”
“Why’d you come out here?” The more I can learn about him, the better.
“You don’t want to know.”
I growl a little with frustration. “Yes, I want to know. There’s nothing better to do but hope I don’t come across a snake or something.” He wasn’t kidding about no one around for miles. I can’t see anything hinting at other people anywhere out here. Any other shacks that might’ve existed are gone now.
“I had to leave the country for a while. Legal trouble.”
“So, what? You got caught trafficking in the US? Then you came down here to do it instead, since the police don’t care about the tourists?”
He yanks on the rope a little, bringing me up short. “Let’s get something straight. I do what I have to do down here. Authorities are aware of every offshore account my family possesses, and they’d leap on me the second I tried to access any funds. I only had what I could carry when I came down here, plus a few connections I could use if I needed to order anything for my house online. Anything I’ve done since then has been a matter of survival. Got it?”
“Got it.”
He gives me a little shove to get me moving again. Am I supposed to feel sorry for him or something? Poor little baby has to make money off the misery of others. Cry me a river.
It’s a good thing we break through the trees when we do, or I might’ve ended up saying something he’d make me regret. The sight of the cove he promised is enough to take my breath away and for a moment, I forget I’m under the thumb of a human trafficker.
But I pull myself together and scope out the terrain. There are cliffs on two sides—not too tall but covered in dense trees and God knows what else. It’d be too dangerous to try hiking to higher ground, especially wearing nothing but flip-flops on my feet.
Ahead of us is crystal clear water as far as the eye can see. Past the cliffs, which sort of curve inward on both sides, the water spreads out and stretches to… where? I don’t know, but I’m willing to find out. First, I need to get away from Sebastian.
Sebastian, who is now stripping.
“Whoa, hang on a second.” I look away, even though I really want to stare at him. It’s the sickest, most bizarre thing. I hate him with every cell of my being, but I long to see that body of his with no barriers. I’ve already seen his dick, which if I’m being objective is beautiful. Like top of the list of the best I’ve ever seen.
It feels gross to admit that, but it’s true. I barely know who I am right now.
“What? Did you think we were wearing clothes?” He smirks before dropping his jeans. He’s going commando, so instantly I get the treat of staring at his peach of an ass. I swallow hard and will myself to breathe normally. His shirt comes next, meaning he drops the rope for a second.
Not long enough for me to get away, though. His reflexes are too quick. Not that the thought occurs to me until it’s too late. I was busy ogling his eight-pack abs, leading down to the delicious, sharply chiseled V stretching from hip to hip and pointing toward his rod. It swings back and forth as he approaches me. “Come on. Take it off.”
“No.” When he scowls, I add, “My clothes at least need to rinse out in water. I’ve been wearing them for two days.”
“So, take them off and rinse them out.”
“I want to keep them on.”
“Take them off.”
It’s no use objecting to his demand. He’s too strong, and it’s like he grows an extra pair of arms or something when I’m trying to fight him off. There’s no hope of winning. He pulls the dress up over my head and yanks down my underwear. He’s good at humiliating me. I wish it didn’t feel as if he enjoys doing it.
