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“You can't do that!” I finally protest. “This is kidnapping.”
He doesn't even blink. Of course, in his line of work, he's probably done so much worse that kidnapping is hardly a tick on the board.
“Massimo, this is wrong,” I try to appeal to him again.
He suddenly jumps up from his chair, the dishes clattering as he does so. I gasp at his sudden movement, but he's beside me in a flash, towering over me, his blue eyes blazing down into mine. “Wanting you is not wrong, tesoro.” He drops to his haunches in front of me and peers directly into my eyes as he adds slowly, “And you want me too, whether you'll admit it to yourself or not.”
His hand comes out to cup my cheek, and I can't stop the tremble that passes through me.
His heated eyes hold mine captive. He looks at me knowingly. “Your body betrays you every time,” he notes softly, his voice deep and husky. “Look at how you tremble when I touch you.”
I lick my lips nervously and then immediately regret it when his eyes home in on the motion. I hate him for being right, but I snap back irritably, “How do you know that's not fear?”
I see a flash of pain in his eyes as they slip back up to mime. I don't know why, but seeing that flash of sadness in this powerful man's eyes softens something inside me.
“Is it, tesoro?” he asked me quietly.
I find I can't lie to him. “No,” I finally whisper and shake my head.
His eyes burn with that blazing heat again. My heart is pounding a mile a minute in my chest as we just sit there suspended in time, staring into each other's eyes.
Our trance is broken by Massimo’s phone buzzing. A look of annoyance passes over his face before he pulls his phone out of his pocket and quickly shoots off a reply to whoever texted him. He straightens with a graceful unfurling of limbs, straightening his shirt sleeves when he's at his full height. I try not to stare at the way his muscles bunch and cord underneath the white button-up with every movement he makes. I may be outraged that Massimo kidnapped me like this, but I'm undeniably attracted to him.
That's why I have to keep my wits about me. Otherwise, it's going to be so easy for me to develop Stockholm Syndrome.
“I have business to attend to, tesoro,” Massimo tells me regretfully. “I’ll return to you as soon as I can. Nothing is off limits to you. This is your home now. Make use of anything you wish. And if you require anything else, let me know, and I'll make sure you have it.”
He stares down at me as if he's waiting for some acknowledgment of his words. I can't bring myself to say thank you to my captor, even though the words are on the tip of my tongue, so I settle for a brief nod instead.
It obviously suffices because Massimo takes my hand and pulls me up out of my chair before he pulls me close and does that thing where he puts his nose right against my hair and inhales deeply. He skims his lips over mine as he whispers, “Until tonight, tesoro. Be a good girl.”
I don't know why he doesn't just kiss me already. It's obvious he wants to.
I blink at the turn my thoughts have taken. Why am I even thinking about that? I don't want him to kiss me. He's my captor. An insanely dangerous man. I'm glad he hasn't kissed me.
That's why whenever I hear the front door snap closed, my shaky legs finally give out on me and I collapse back down into the chair. It's from relief—not disappointment. That's what I tell myself, anyway.
It's hard for me to hate Massimo when he makes sure I'm the most spoiled captive ever. Anything I ask him for he gets me, though of course he's too smart for any of my scheming. I asked him for a computer, and he brought one home that same night, but it's been specially programmed so that I can't communicate in or out of it.
I don't know the particulars about exactly what Massimo does for work every day, but after breakfast, he heads out every morning and often doesn't come back until I'm already asleep. Sometimes I wake up to find him sitting in a chair in the corner staring at me like a black panther stalking its prey. Sometimes he's standing over me, looking down at me, and a couple of times I woke up to feel his weight sitting on the side of the bed as he gazed down at me.
When I become aware of his presence, he always murmurs a soft greeting to me. He runs his fingers through my hair, stroking me like a little kitten until I fall back asleep.
It should definitely creep me out more than it does to wake up and find this man watching me sleep, but on some strange level, it's actually comforting. I've never had anyone care about me enough to watch over me while I sleep, and strangely enough, it makes me feel safe and cherished. I’m starting to believe that when Massimo calls me his little tesoro, he truly means it—that I am his treasure. He certainly treats me like something to be treasured. Even the fact that he has locked me up here, away from the world is kind of a testament to how much he treasures me and wants to hoard me all to himself—as wrong as it may be.
The days alone in his penthouse are long and lonely. At first, I spend all of my time obsessing and plotting my escape, but Massimo is always one step ahead of me. He shut down my idea of contacting someone through a computer, though in all fairness, I didn't really expect that to work. Any time I say I want something, no matter how difficult it seems to obtain, he always gets it for me. I even went so far as to tell him that it was time for my yearly checkup with my gynecologist just as an attempt to get him to let me out of the penthouse, but the man brought my gynecologist to me.
I finally give up on outsmarting Massimo—for the time being, anyway. I begin to relax, and when I'm not obsessively plotting ways to escape him, I find that it actually feels liberating to take my foot off the gas and coast for a while. I don't have to worry about work or how I'm going to pay my bills because I don't have any now. I don't worry about where my next meal comes from because they’re all provided for me.
In a strange way, my captivity is freeing. For the first time, I'm able to let someone else make the decisions while I don't worry about anything. When I finally submit to the idea that I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, I allow myself to watch some TV and read some books. I dabble in painting, even though I suck at it. Massimo even bought me a gaming system so that I can try my hand at video games. Anything I want for mental stimulation, he gets me.
And Stockholm Syndrome is truly setting in because Massimo is the only person I ever see. Even though he gets home late at night, as the days go by, I find myself waiting up for him because I want to see him. I want any sort of human contact. I find myself looking forward to seeing him.
We don't talk about his day. I don't ask him because I know he won't tell me the details of what he does during the day, but he wants to know every insignificant little detail of my day, and he's not just humoring me. Massimo truly wants to hear about my latest adventure in painting or the book or movie I watched and what I thought of it. I've never had someone take this much of an interest in me before.
Massimo still hasn't touched me other than to stroke his fingers through my hair or cup my cheek. Sometimes he grazes his lips softly over mine, but he still hasn't kissed me, and I haven't caught him masturbating while looking down at me again.
My cheeks still flame at the memory, and I feel moisture pool between my legs when I recall the way his hand flew over the rigid column of his flesh. I don't know what he's waiting for, and I'm certainly not going to ask because as much as my body might think it wants Massimo’s big cock inside it, I've always heard that a girl's first time hurts, so I'm nervous about it. Massimo is big all over, and down there is no exception. He’s more than well-endowed. He's so big that I'm sure it would split me in half if he stuck it inside me.
