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He laid the cuffs and the keys back into the drawer and closed it, then he straightened and pinned me to the bed with his eyes alone.
“Tell me.”
“I don’t know?”
He raised a single eyebrow—a silent request to stop the bullshit.
“Because you were the only one who looked at me as if I was a human being.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why would anyone look at you any other way?”
I shrugged. I didn’t know anymore, but I could remember the distinct feeling of being less than. Being defined as a slave and reduced to a body and nothing else.
He leaned forward, his hands framing my head. “You’re the most beautiful human being I’ve ever laid my eyes on, Sophie. I will forever be indebted to you. Whatever you need, just say the word, and I will make it happen.”
“Does that mean if I want to go home right now, you will let me go?”
His eyes dulled, and he nodded solemnly. “Of course, but I will get you home anyway; you’re free to go whenever you want; I’ll do whatever you want.”
My breath hitched. I took all my courage and bundled it into the next sentence. Did I dare give voice to my desire? To admit how much I wanted this man who’d been holding me against my will and who’d turned my world upside down?
“Great, then I want you to have sex with me.”
He blinked twice, then shot up into a straight position again. “Come again?”
“You told me you’d do whatever I want. And I want you to have sex with me.”
He looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.
And maybe I had, but leaving didn’t seem like such a desirable thing anymore. Not when I could have him instead.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why what?” I said, holding his gaze.
“Why would you want to have sex with me?”
I took a beat before answering his question with a counterquestion. “Why did you kiss me earlier?”
He leaned closer and lowered his voice to a growl. “Because you’re robbing me of my fucking mind.”
“Well, ditto.”
He shook his head slowly from side to side. “But I kidnapped you. Am holding you hostage.”
“Yes, you did. Ever heard of Stockholm syndrome?”
He narrowed his brows. “So that’s the reason you want to have sex with me?”
“Maybe?”
He stared at me for three seconds flat. “That is not a good enough reason.”
Wait, what? I’d offered myself to this gangster and he’d refused me? What the fuck? I was teetering on mortified before my inner rebel reared her head again.
I looked at him.
The way he stared at me was that of a starving man looking at a plate of steaming, delicious pasta. He wanted me as much as I wanted him.
