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I mewled with need, and heat washed over me, pooling between my legs.
Braxton pulled up the shirt I’d been given, and his fingers found my bare breast. I quivered when he touched me, currents of need running from my erect nipple to my sex, and I cried out when he tweaked my nipple.
My stomach twisted in bouts of pleasure.
Braxton cupped my pussy through my leggings, his fingers running along my slit, and I exhaled sharply.
I ached for him, but I’d never had sex before.
Fear unfurled at my center. I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know if I was ready. I didn’t know anything, and this man didn’t have a reason to stop. He owned me, and he could do anything he wanted.
Braxton froze and broke the kiss. He looked me in the eye, and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking or feeling. His face had become stony.
He let go of me and tugged my shirt down again.
He stepped away.
“This is your home now,” he said in a smoky voice—the only sign that something had just happened. Otherwise, he seemed perfectly put together where I was still trembling and gasping, balanced between the need for pleasure and the fear that had started to grow inside of me. “If you want something or need something, ask one of the staff members.”
“Where will you be?” I asked in a small voice.
“Where I’m needed,” he said gruffly, and turned away from me.
He stepped away from me, took a deep breath through his nose, and turned toward the door. When he walked away from me, I had the strangest sensation that I was losing something. I didn’t want him to go.
He left the room, shutting my door behind him, and I was alone.
I sagged to the floor, my back against the wall where Braxton had left me, and covered my face with my hands.
What was going on with me? I shouldn’t have felt this way about him. Braxton was a total stranger who’dboughtbe. Nothing about this made sense, nothing about this was normal, and nothing about this should have been so damn attractive.
And yet, I was drawn to him like a magnet.
Was it something crazy? Something fucked up? I was gaga for my captor in no time at all—Stockholm Syndrome on steroids.
I’d never wanted someone more in my life. I’d never been this worked up.
And I’d never been this scared of what the future would hold.
One part of me was terrified of what he would do to me, what he would take from me.
Another part of me wanted to give it all.
What was happening?
The door opened, and I jumped up, heart beating in my throat.
A pale woman poked her head around the doorpost.
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am. I brought you some things until they can fetch your clothes for you.”
“Oh,” I said. “You… work here?”
She nodded. “I’ll be taking care of you. Whatever you need.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jane,” she said.
