Abduction (49 page)

When they went back inside Vaughn was permitted to take a leak before Conrad cuffed him to his bed for the night.

"How do you sleep, Vaughn? On your side?"

"What?"

"Tonight I'm cuffing both your wrists, so choose your position carefully. We don't want you fatigued tomorrow for lack of sleep."

Vaughn didn't get it at first, why Conrad suddenly felt the need to cuff both his hands, instead of the usual one. But when Conrad left and Vaughn's mind went racing back to Devan's story, he knew instantly. The asshole didn't want him jerking off. And he could guess why.

In the middle of the night Devan woke, her body humming with an unfulfilled need stirred by Conrad, by the story he'd forced her to read, by the knowledge that 442

Vaughn had been aroused, hearing it. She started to touch herself, almost without thinking about it, but as her fingers slipped inside her panties and found the silky wetness between her lips, the images in her head frightened her so much, and were so persistent, resisting all alternate fantasies, that she snatched her hand away and waited for sleep to put an end to her tormenting thoughts.

In the morning Conrad rapped softly and opened Devan's door. As he entered she sat, strangely still, staring out the window into pale gray light. Conrad stepped inside and shut the door, noting as he turned back to her how Devan's jaw seemed to flex slightly, how her breathing seemed to speed.

"Sleep all right?"

"Fine."

Her voice lacked its familiar defiant ring. And she'd not met his eyes once since he'd entered. Odd. Even when he sat down on the bed beside her, her eyes remained stubbornly fixed on that window, when normally he'd be rewarded with one of her adorable accusing glares, or a deliciously fearful, questioning glance as she waited to see how he'd touch her. What he'd make her do.

He uncuffed her first. Then with two fingers he began to pull the covers down her body. He laughed at himself—silently of course—for having actually developed an utterly visceral association with these flimsy little white configurations he always had her wear because they evoked the costumes in which she always dressed her heroines.

Her breathing changed but she gave no protest as he ran his fingertip slowly up her leg, from the graceful arch of her foot, over the rigid little peak of her ankle, along the curved 443

muscle of her calf, her knee, her thigh, then lingered to wander along the edge of her knickers.

"Look at me, Devan."

She met his eyes, held his gaze. With an effort, it seemed. He stood, slowly pushed her feet apart, mounted the bed, knelt between her legs.

"Look at me, Devan."

She forced her eyes back to his. Like that first night, he touched her. Over her panties. Just lightly.

"Do you think I don't know, Devan, why you're avoiding my eyes?"

He was touching her so softly over her panties that he could hardly detect the soft contours beneath. But he knew very well how these delicate caresses tormented her. Whispering his fingers between her thighs, over the thin white fabric, he watched her brow tighten, heard her breathing change. Very slowly he leaned in until he knew she could feel his breath on her lips.

His hand went still, lifted off, hovering above but still in her moist, warm atmosphere. Her taut brow slowly, definitely furrowed.

"You don't want me to see your fear, hmmm?"

He teased her cunt through her panties again, teased her mouth with the briefest hint of his tongue. Watched her brow smooth.

"But it's no use, darling. I know you're afraid. And I know what it is you fear. You think I'm going to fuck you."

She gasped as he slipped a finger under the elastic and into her slick cunt, writhed as he slid it slowly out and in again.

"But you're afraid…" he put his lips to her ear. "…that I won't."

She flinched and glared at him with a flare of indignation. Maybe even hate. But then that pretty blush lit her cheeks and her eyes went bright. He'd guessed it.

Never had she hesitated to meet his eyes when she was angry, accusing, even afraid of him. Her evasive eyes, he'd decided, could only mean one thing. She wanted him. And no doubt she was ready to die of shame and confusion at her desire. Another pretty opportunity.

"Or, worse yet, you're afraid that you'll have to admit it's what you want before I'll fuck you."

She gasped and arched as he slid a second finger into the hot, slippery grip of her cunt, letting the pad of his thumb tease her clit over her knickers as he fucked her.

"But I won't be so hard on you, my sweet Devan."

He gazed at her a long while, reading her, letting her feel him, letting her hear how his arousal had changed his breathing.

"You needn't say a word. I'll fuck you. Just so long as you don't tell me not to."

She looked stunned. Hurt. He slipped his fingers from her, took his hand from between her legs. Her lips parted. Then closed. He grinned, took hold of her hips, pulled her against him so suddenly her back hit the mattress.

He was on her. His chest pressed to hers, his eager erection pushing against her cunt through his clothes and her knickers. He found her wrists and pinned them down by her shoulders and brought his mouth to hers, hovering millimeters from a kiss. She panted, her sweet hot breath teasing his lips. But she didn't say a word.

"I want you to know, Devan, that I've never wanted anyone as I've wanted you.

And I've never wanted you as I want you now."

It was the truth. Sweet Devan. So lovely. Intoxicating, some romantic would say.

Frightened but aroused, trembling, but dying to yield. She wasn't struggling, only panting beneath him, her breath on his mouth, her chest and belly caving and rising under his. But he tightened his grip on her wrists until the slightest look of alarm came to her eyes.

He could do better.

"But not here."

He pulled her up, off the bed, spun her 'round and caught her against him. He'd gotten damned good at that little move since he'd taken her. With his free hand he flung the door open and in seconds had her where he wanted her. On the dining table, inches from where Vaughn was duct taped into his front row seat.

"Please, Conrad," she sobbed as he forced her down on the table. "I don't want this."

"Naughty girl. It's a bit late now. You had your chance to say no."

He'd watched. Very carefully. Not one line in Vaughn's brow, not a muscle in his face changed at those words.

Devan, though. Poor girl looked like she'd just been caught in the middle of a murder. No, like she'd just realized she was a murderer.

Conrad climbed on top of her, let her swipe and kick and writhe for a bit before pinning her down to immobility, relishing the way she panted with all that futile effort.

Then he waited. It would only take a moment, he knew, until she remembered. He'd do whatever he liked, and there was nothing she could do.

Conrad could hardly believe this moment was finally here. No more holding back.

No more games. Now he'd really kiss her. Really touch her. Not merely as a pleasant means to an even more promising end. Put his mouth on her. Taste her. Go into her.

Just the thought took more of his breath than their struggle had. Fuck, he wanted her.

He brushed his lips over hers. She let him. But she was all rigid, under his body, under his mouth. He drew back, looked at her, took in the new breed of fear in her eyes, smiled sweetly, sunk his nose in her fragrant hair, put his mouth by her ear, whispered.

"Devan."

His lips caressed her cheek on the way back to her mouth, kissed again. The faintest possible kiss, soft lips barely touching, lingering. He could do this forever, wait for her to soften, wait for her lips to part, for her to yield to him, to seek him.

With nothing but looks and whispers and the mildest of kisses he warmed her.

Coaxed her mouth to take his. And she was hotter, more needful than she'd been that night at his cabin, when she'd sought his kiss even before he'd thought to give it, when she'd wanted him to fuck her. Her urgency, however restrained, jarred his long-deprived body. His kiss went fierce with hunger, almost violent, and she only yielded more fully, every second hotter and softer.

But when he forced himself to stop, breathless and tormented with need to give her everything, take everything from her, to look at her, tears were streaming over her temples, into her hair, and she had a broken look that almost chilled his fire.

Poor Devan. Sweet girl. Broken in two over her love of this Vaughn person, and the undeniable force of her need—her need for him, Conrad, the one who'd forced her years of pent up sexual longing out of her mind and into her body. The one who could be with her in the way she needed it to be.

"Ah, Devan," he groaned softly by her ear, kissing away her tears. "If I'm not mistaken, you're terribly frightened just now. And terribly aroused. It's confusing, hmmm? But if you only let Vaughn see your tears, he's going to have an awfully rough time of it, the next hour or so."

Maybe he'd gone too far. She looked like she was about to have some kind of psychotic break. Of course, it couldn't be easy, deciding to spare one's lover from the pain of watching her being raped by letting him watch her make ardent love to another man. But as he watched, Devan calmed herself, and, as far as she was able, gave herself over to him.

With everything in him, Vaughn was willing her to want this. Begging some unseen force, please, please, don't let this be a rape. Hoping for the meaning behind what Conrad had said—that she'd wanted him in the bedroom, that the fear he'd seen as Conrad brought her out was only her fear of letting Vaughn see.

Under his constant, seething hatred of Conrad for doing this to her Vaughn was oscillating wildly between terror at Devan's every tear and look of fear, and strange but definite arousal with every quiver and groan he read as her excitement.

He heard Conrad whispering something to her, watched him kiss her temples, her eyes, and Vaughn remembered the taste of her tears.

She wouldn't look at him. He wished she would, so he could show her…But at least she seemed to calm, to soften. Her tears stopped.

Conrad kissed her again, then, like he wanted to devour her, and Vaughn felt his prick stiffen as Devan seemed to rise up against that other man, kissing him back with almost as much heat.

"That's my girl," Conrad crooned, then kissed her forehead. Following that tender gesture, his sweet smile went sinister, and a second later he'd torn the top of her gown open, baring her breasts. She panted, stiff and startled as he cupped her breasts in his hands, the pale swells rose up, lifting their deep pink tips toward the ceiling.

"I feel like I've waited an eternity, sweet Devan, to kiss your body."

So like him to deliver the threat—with his hands, with his words—then leave her in anticipation. Still holding her breasts, he kissed her again, then mouthed her ear, her jaw, her neck.

When Conrad did finally kiss the breasts he'd bared so ruthlessly, Vaughn was astonished at the tenderness with which his mouth caressed her. Delicate little touches of lips and tongue over her smooth white skin and, long after she was already softly moaning and quivering, over her taut, burgundy nipples.

Watching, Vaughn felt a twinge of aroused envy as his body remembered the feeling of having Devan in his arms, her body pressed to his as she sighed and trembled with pleasure. He buried it all under a landslide of guilt, but knew he wouldn't be able to keep it from resurfacing.

Now and then Conrad paused to look at her, forcing her to confess her pleasure, as if her little moans and trembling body weren't enough for him. Then he'd tease her 449

other nipple with his tongue, pause to admire the sheen of his spit on the deepening blush of the erect bud, then suck it between his lips. When he bit her and she whimpered Vaughn flexed helplessly against the tape wound round and round his wrists and ankles, but a moment later he saw the momentary torment had only aroused her more.

Suddenly Conrad was off her, standing over her. She seemed instantly selfconscious, like Conrad's kisses had erased the world around her—the cabin, Vaughn—

like his body had offered her protection, and now she was exposed, her body and her guilty pleasure bared to them both.

Conrad seemed to be shaking off a little of the intoxication of his desire. A moment later his game face was back.

"There's more of you I want to taste, Devan darling."

He could have just slid her panties off. She wouldn't have fought. But he grasped them and tore them off, the screech of ripping fabric, of snapping thread filled the room like a gunshot, it was so sudden and shocking. Conrad stepped calmly back and, staring at her, slowly, methodically began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Spread your legs, darling."

She just lay there, hyperventilating, staring as Conrad stripped off his shirt. He smiled at her, warm, teasing, and, his lean torso bare now, stood over her.

"Like this, Devan."

With one hand he lifted her knees, and with the other, slid her feet up, toward her body, so her legs bent, her knees aimed at the ceiling. Then, his own expression one of 450

aroused anticipation, he watched Devan's face as he slowly pressed her left knee down toward the table.

"This way Vaughn will be able to see everything."

She wouldn't look at him, just kept staring at Conrad. Frightened. Terribly aroused. Vaughn was almost sure.

"Look at that sweet little cunt, Vaughn. Can you believe how soft, how delicate?"

Vaughn glanced up. Conrad was staring at him, and smiled as their eyes met.

Vaughn waited to see if she'd look at him, but she wouldn't. He looked. Could hardly help it. Thought maybe, really, she wanted him to. Even after everything else, the way Conrad had mounted her, kissed her, stripped her, the sight of her cunt struck him hard with fresh, violent arousal. She looked so soft, so smooth, it was impossible to resist the image of putting his own mouth to her, feeling her with his lips, his tongue, tasting her, breathing in her stirring musk that swore to her arousal. The delicate skin was blushed a deep pink, with only a hint of her juicy inner folds peeking from between.