Abduction (52 page)

He slid his hand into his fly, rubbing himself as he grinned down at Vaughn's desperate hate.

"We've all come so far together. It would be a shame if I was forced to punish you now"

Conrad dropped to his knees behind Devan, who almost managed to hide her shudder.

"And over such a little thing," Conrad went on, keeping his eyes locked on Vaughn, watching for any suspicious move as he curved his hand at the back of Devan's neck, making her bend forward and lay her cheek on Vaughn's thigh, "as a new position. I'm sure a man of your experience, Vaughn, wouldn't assume that being taken from behind means being fucked in the ass. But perhaps Devan needs a little reassurance."

Conrad bent, molding his body against Devan's.

"Don't be so frightened, Devan darling," Vaughn heard him say softly at Devan's ear. "Your virgin ass is safe with me. For tonight, at least."

Then Vaughn could see that Conrad was moving vaguely behind, beneath her, and Devan sort of whimpered, then sucked in her breath, then let out a little squeak of a 471

grunt. Vaughn couldn't see just what Conrad was doing to her, but the images were vivid in his mind. Conrad taking hold of his hard cock, rubbing the head against her. No matter how frightened she was, he knew she must be wet, that as Conrad rubbed his cock against her, his dick was getting slick with her warm lube, that his dick was smearing it back and forth over her pink folds. The whimper had been the sound of first contact. The sharp inhale was when Conrad's cock brushed over her clit the first time, startling her with forced pleasure. Her little grunt, not quite silenced, was him pushing himself into her.

It didn't take guessing, after that. Conrad was fucking her. His body pressed against hers, his slow thrusts jostling her, making her head slip an inch or two up and down against Vaughn's thigh each time. Then he stopped.

"Devan. Take this off," he said, tugging the frail little strap at her shoulder.

She lifted her cheek from Vaughn's thigh, straightening up enough to pull the article of lingerie she was wearing over her head. Then she was still, waiting. Vaughn wished, so hard it hurt, that he could pull up his pants and cover his obscene erection rising between them, like a divining rod between her just-bared breasts. As if he'd read his thoughts Conrad grinned up at him from behind her.

"Poor Vaughn. It must be awfully hard for you. Each time your fingers twitch I find myself wondering if you're about to try yanking your jeans up, or about to pull Devan to you, so you can get off at last. Of course, the first isn't allowed. But the second, I strongly encourage."

Vaughn actually felt himself blush. Fuck. Yes, He wanted her mouth again. Was in pain with his need to come. But the thought of Devan on her knees, between them, 472

both of them inside her made him sick at the same time it doubled the straining ache in his cock.

"Well," Conrad taunted, "I'm sure you know what to do, if you change your mind."

Then he slid his hands down her arms, caught her wrists, and placed her hands on Vaughn's bare thighs. Fuck, it was like being torn in two, the way that touch worked on him, driving on his need to protect her and his urge to have her. As he watched, Conrad grasped her hips, coaxing an advantageous tilt, then behind her he took hold of himself and entered her again, getting another little whimper from her.

Vaughn closed his eyes. But the sounds—Devan's little groans, Conrad's panting and grunting, the damp claps of their bodies meeting—were somehow even harder to bear on their own. So he opened his eyes again. Watched Conrad reach from behind to touch her breasts. Her nipples. Watched his hand descend down, between her legs, touching her, changing the notes of her little noises. Then he was really on her, pressed tight to her, his mouth at the curve between her neck and her shoulder, one arm wrapped around her, holding her to him, the other hand wandering, teasing her nipples, her clit, making her squirm as he fucked her. His thrusts harder. Violent. Her moans pitched up to cries and Vaughn's stomach clenched and his chest cramped as Devan's eyes watered and her fingers dug into the flesh of his thighs. But it wasn't pain. She was coming. Conrad holding her, touching her, fucking her through it all. Drawing out her climax with deep-driving, lingering thrusts, driven to the wall himself by her cries, her shudders. They collapsed, one on top of the other onto Vaughn's thighs, panting, sweating, trembling.

And as Devan caught her breath and her strength came back to her she lifted herself, lifted her head. Her face was suffused with startled ecstasy. Until she met Vaughn's eyes. Her ecstatic daze dissolved in fear and shame.

Had he done that? With some expression of his own?

God—was Conrad right? Giving her what she really wanted, but was ashamed of wanting? Was she looking at his own still-hard prick, resenting that he'd never done as Conrad had suggested, and pulled her to him, gotten her to take him in her mouth again, suck him to climax? Was all his effort to protect her in what small ways he could just undermining a real fulfillment of her fantasies?

After his wrists had been cuffed to the chair, as Conrad took Devan to the bathroom, as the sound of the shower spurting to life and the murmur of their voices echoed in that distant room, Vaughn cooled and shrank, troubled by a new fear.

He wasn't jealous. Not of Conrad, any more than he'd been jealous of anyone who'd loved the women he had loved. But he felt worried that his other fear was hurting what they had. That his fear—which was almost all for her—made her feel guilty about her stories. About her wants. He knew how that guilt—whether arising from judgments real or imagined—could destroy love.

"You're being terribly selfish, you know," Conrad admonished when he'd tucked Devan away in her room, and had returned to Vaughn, releasing his right wrist.

Vaughn actually almost laughed.

"Really. How much easier it would be for her if she weren't busy fretting over you.

As long as you insist on playing the role of the victim, she'll be tormented with fear for your sake. And guilt."

"She's got nothing to feel guilty about."

"Perhaps. But don't you see, she's bound to feel it's her fault that you're caught up in this thing between her and me. It's because of her that I'm here. As long as you're the reticent hostage, she'll blame herself for everything that happens to you."

In the main, Conrad was quite pleased. Everything was going well—beyond all reasonable expectation, really. But time was running out. Today there would be punishments.

The sun had been up for hours, but Devan and Vaughn, who both seemed to require more than his own customary five hours of sleep, were still waking well after noon and drifting into handcuffed slumber in the wee hours of the morning. When Conrad opened the door to Vaughn's bedroom and strolled up to the prisoner, double-cuffed to the headboard, he found Vaughn lying on his back, gazing up at the ceiling.

"Good. You're awake."

Conrad seated himself on the edge of the bed.

"Shit, Vaughn. Didn't you sleep at all last night? Your veneer's looking rather dull.

A bit thin."

Vaughn gave Conrad an unsettling look. Not hate. Not even anger. The man was working something out. Taking measure.

Bollocks. He really hoped Vaughn wasn't onto some plan of escape. Conrad wanted very badly to focus all his attention and all his energy on the fun part of the plan.

"Something on your mind, Vaughn?"

Vaughn just grinned enigmatically and shrugged. Ah, getting a little of his own back, was he?

Fine. Down to business, then. Conrad let Vaughn relieve himself and feed himself, then settled him on one of the dining chairs, binding his ankles to the legs of the chair and his wrists to the table in an ingenious fashion, so that Vaughn would be able to turn the pages of Devan's little manuscripts, and sip from the glass of water Conrad set there for him, but so he'd have no chance of getting his hands anywhere near his prick. Conrad wasn't about to let all the tormenting tension he'd ensured had been building up for days undone with a quick wank.

"Now, I'm going to take our sweet Devan out for a bit of a stroll. While we're gone, I'd like you to read these," Conrad instructed, indicating the stack of stapled stories. "There will be a little quiz of sorts, later, so be sure you're thorough. I promise, I'm not out of disciplinary tricks, and any little rebellion you might mount will just mean I'll be a bit harder on Devan."

Conrad took in Vaughn's still, watchful silence, then got Devan from her room, letting her don Vaughn's sweats for the duration of their walk in the chill October woods.

As he led her out, past Vaughn bound at the dining table with her stories in a neat stack before him, Conrad watched them look at one another, silent, unsmiling, with dewy eyes. Bloody hell, the two of them took themselves far too seriously. But then, of course, that's what made it all such great fun.

There was nothing to chat about. Conrad was quite sure that Devan's brain was doing everything his own words possibly could. And more. Encounter after encounter, hour after hour, day by day, he was exploring her, opening her, giving her the dreams 476

she'd kept secret, while Vaughn pulled back, left her wanting, his guilt and fear smirching the pristine joy of helpless submission.

In the woods he took her, though he hadn't planned on that. He stopped, and she stopped beside him, perhaps knowing before he did that he would fuck her. She looked at him, calm and sad, as if she knew that she belonged to him, the way he belonged to her.

Conrad pushed her up against the thick trunk of some sort of tree, and Devan was soft and quiet. No struggle. No noise.

Conrad wanted to kiss her. Feel her plump lips with his. Taste her sweet mouth.

Sink into her, sigh into her, breathe her. But that sort of tenderness wouldn't do now, without Vaughn there to witness it.

Instead he locked eyes with her and slowly lifted the layers and layers of cotton, sweatshirts and tshirts, and bared her breasts to the cold winter sunlight. Her nipples cast sharp shadows over the burgundy mounds of her aureole, crinkled with cold, their texture in stark relief in that bright crisp light.

"Remember, Devan, how frightened you were, how you cried, the first time I bared your breasts?"

"Yes."

She didn't sound afraid. Vaughn was needed for that, now.

Conrad bent and licked one nipple, then watched the cold conducted by his spit tighten the taut flesh even more. Then he pulled the layers and layers of cotton back down, so she wouldn't get chilled, and caressed her in the tent of warm air beneath her clothes before stripping her half out of her sweatpants and fucking her against the tree, 477

careful never to kiss her. And even if her eyes were melancholy, all her trembling was for want and pleasure and none of it was for fear.

How different she was a few hours later, back at the cabin, after food and showers, when Conrad started in on Vaughn.

"I trust you were a good boy, while we were gone, and did you homework?"

Devan had seen the stacks of paper on the dining table in front of Vaughn as Conrad had led her out, and she'd struggled not to dwell on the thought of him poring over her lurid stories. Even after what he'd read already, even after all Conrad had made her do in front of Vaughn, or with him, Devan clung to a desperate, futile wish that Vaughn could still see her that way he'd seemed to before Conrad had come.

"Ready for your reading comprehension quiz, then?"

Vaughn didn't look at her, and she was almost glad he kept his gaze leveled on Conrad. She was weary of blushing. Of feeling ashamed.

"How many stories did you read today, Vaughn?"

"Nine."

"Very good. You didn't even have to think about it, did you? Now, of those nine, how many portrayed a woman fucking—or, more accurately, getting fucked by—more than one man?"

"All of them," Vaughn answered simply and quietly.

Conrad grinned for some reason.

"And of all the stories, how many portrayed the woman getting fucked in the ass?"

"All of them," Vaughn answered again, his voice low and even.

"Now, knowing our Devan as you do, and now, having read these stories, tell me what you think. On some level, does the idea of being fucked in the ass turn our girl on?"

Now Vaughn looked at her. He looked different to her all of a sudden, like they hadn't looked at each other in days and he'd…changed. He didn't look afraid. The blood flushing her cheeks drained away and her whole core went cold.

"On some level, yes," he answered, still steadily holding her gaze.

"Hmmm," Conrad laughed softly, scrutinizing Vaughn. "And?"

"And she's afraid."

"Of the pain?"

"Partly." He sounded, looked, so tender. Like he'd hold her if he could. But still no sign of the old fear.

"You've had anal sex. Fucked women in the ass. Haven't you Vaughn?"

"Yes."

"Tell us. If I make you fuck Devan like that, do you think you could do it without hurting her, physically?"

"Yes."

His eyes and his voice was still calm and tender. Her heart hammered in her lighter-than-air ice cold body.

"And now, Vaughn, can you recall how many of those nine stories I had you read have one man fucking another?"

Devan was falling apart.

"Seven, I think."

Not a muscle in Vaughn's face had twitched. He held her still with his gaze, like a buoying embrace.

"Devan? Would you say that ratio, seven out of nine, is representative for your body of erotic fiction?"

She was silent. The molecules making up her body were definitely losing their hold on each other, spreading and scattering. In another minute she'd be gone.

"Answer me, Devan."

"Yes."

"Good girl. No point in lying, is there, when you know I know the answer."

Fuck. She was disintegrating. Dying. And he was having such a good time.

Amazing that it could still surprise her.