Kidnapped

Chapter Eleven - Duct Tape.

The moment I hear the squeak of the shower turning on, my eyes dart around the room in a panicked frenzy. I yank against the cuffs, knowing it’s pointless, but desperation pushes me to try anyway. My gaze sweeps the room, searching for anything—a way out, a way to signal. Maybe I could bang my wrist against the wall? But he’d hear it instantly, and even if someone did hear… would they understand it was a cry for help?

A muffled, defeated sound escapes me, the gag in my mouth only adding to my sense of isolation. I try to hold back the tears, but they slip free, streaming down my cheeks, hot and relentless. The ache between my legs throbs, a deep, stinging pain that radiates inward, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s left bruises I’ll feel long after this is over. My heart pounds faster with each passing minute, and a thought claws its way to the surface—a longing to turn back time, just far enough to make a different choice. If I’d only stayed out with the neighbor and his friend… if I’d only taken that easy, innocent escape, I’d be safe right now. Not trapped. Not violated. Not humiliated.

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Eventually, though he clearly took his time, I hear the water shut off, and a surge of adrenaline twists sharply in my stomach. My entire body is trembling, an uncontrollable shake fueled by a potent mix of fear and anticipation. I feel raw, exposed in more ways than one, unable to stop the shiver that courses through me as I brace for his return.

The bathroom door swings open, and he steps into the room. Dark hair drips down his face, beads of water tracing paths along the chiseled planes of his bare chest, glistening as they soak into the towel wrapped low around his hips. It's the first time I've seen him like this—shirtless, powerful, almost mesmerizing—and for a brief, breathless moment, I forget everything else.

Ink snakes across his skin, tattooed designs stretching from his neck and arms, flowing over the hard contours of his chest, each line and curve accentuating his strength. My gaze catches on something lower, words inked into his skin right above the towel, etched at that undeniably alluring part of his lower stomach, where those lines dip down. That place.

My heart pounds so hard it feels like it might burst, the blood rushing in my ears. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and the slow, cocky smile that spreads across his face tells me he’s well aware of the effect he has on me. Confidence radiates from him as he lets me take him in, savoring my reaction like he’s savoring every second of my helpless awe.

"Did you miss me?" he asks in a low, velvety voice. To my utter frustration, the first thought that crosses my mind is yes… I did. I scold myself inwardly, trying to bury the feeling as a muffled sound escapes me through the gag.

He strides across the room, his gaze steady, and stops beside the bed, reaching down to flick at the hem of my shirt. The fabric lifts just enough to reveal a glimpse of my stomach and the edge of my panties. I shift uncomfortably, trying to control the visible trembling that gives away more than I want him to see.

"You're crying?" he asks, his eyes narrowing as he studies my face. Heat floods my cheeks, and I furrow my brows in silent frustration, giving a subtle jerk of my cuffed wrist—a wordless protest.

He tilts his head, a slight, almost condescending smile playing at his lips. "Why are you crying? Something I said?" He leans closer, one strong arm supporting his weight as his other hand trails gently down my cheek, his touch soft but laced with control.

I don’t even attempt to respond; instead, I fix my gaze on his, trying—and failing—not to let my eyes wander. But I can’t help noticing the tattoos creeping up his neck, the defined collarbone just inches from my face, the way his bicep flexes as he leans in, each detail weaving a spell over me. His dark eyes flick down to my mouth, lingering on the duct tape, his pupils dilating as if drawn by some magnetic pull. The way he watches me sends a flutter through my chest, a jittery thrill I can’t quite control.

"I’d love to ungag you, I really would," he says as his gaze narrows on me, "but I have a feeling that if you start screaming, it might alarm the other guests." He pauses, taking a slow, theatrical breath, letting the tension build. "So, I think it's best if we keep it in. Just for now." His lips quirk up into an innocent smile, and my heart sinks as my eyes widen, adrenaline racing through my veins. I jerk my cuffed wrist in protest, a silent plea that he ignores.

He straightens, lingering just long enough for his intentions to settle in, before reaching down and letting his towel drop to the floor. Instinctively, I snap my eyes shut, too overwhelmed to look. He chuckles softly, the sound rich with amusement, and I can practically hear the grin in his voice.

"Aren't you even curious?" he teases. "It's been so dark the other times… I thought you might like to see." His confidence is unshakable, his tone inviting.

Despite the curiosity now nudging insistently at the edges of my mind, I can’t bring myself to look.

Well, maybe just a tiny peek, I think, a flicker of defiance mingling with my nerves. Cautiously, I crack one eye open just enough to see him, and my breath catches in my throat. My gaze drifts lower, and though I can’t quite make out the words tattooed just above his hips, they’re tantalizingly close to… well, his undeniably impressive manhood. Just the sight of him standing there, completely exposed and hard with desire, sends a wave of heat spiraling from my core, mingling with a surge of self-frustration. I clench my legs together instinctively, fighting the unsettling pull he has over me.

“There she is!” he exclaims with a sly smile, catching me in the act, his laughter unexpectedly genuine, almost playful—as if this were just a game.

My cheeks burn, but I open both eyes, unable to resist, letting my gaze wander over him. The full sight of his figure is… overwhelming, to say the least. His hand drifts down, and in one slow, deliberate motion, he begins to stroke himself, his gaze never leaving mine. The intensity in his eyes is unmistakable, a dark satisfaction as he watches me lying here, pathetically helpless beneath him.

He moves to the edge of the bed, placing one knee on the mattress as his hand continues its steady, almost mesmerizing rhythm over himself. Then, he climbs onto the bed, shifting closer until he’s right beside me. Every movement is deliberately slow, calculated, as his fingers slip beneath the lace of my thong. Despite my desperate attempt to press my legs together, he tugs the fabric down with ease, tossing it carelessly to the floor.

A muffled whimper escapes me through the gag, and I instinctively try to close my legs again, but his hand is there, firm and unyielding, pressing my thighs apart. He crawls between my legs, positioning himself so that I’m entirely exposed, with one leg on either side of him. A fresh wave of tears spill over, streaking down my cheeks as the shame courses through me, raw and unforgiving. I've never been more mortified in my entire life. But, I force myself to look down at him, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.

His breathing grows heavier, chest rising and falling as he takes in every inch of my most vulnerable, intimate parts, his gaze intense and unapologetic. One hand moves to my inner thigh, fingers grazing my skin before he nudges my leg open just a little wider, a low groan slipping from his lips as he drinks in the sight before him.

He pushes my shirt up to my neck, baring my chest to his gaze. His eyes darken, his jaw tensing as he takes a slow, deep breath, his restraint evident in every line of his body. Beneath his intense scrutiny, I can’t stop myself from writhing slightly, my heart racing so fast that I almost wish I could just pass out, escape this overwhelming moment. His hands trail down, warm and possessive, pausing on my hips, anchoring me in place.

With a deliberate, graceful motion, he shifts lower, positioning himself until his mouth is just a whisper above my skin. I can feel the faintest brush of his breath against me, each exhale sending a shiver rippling up my spine. "It’s okay. I want you to relax," he murmurs, his voice low and almost tender as he glances up, his gaze meeting mine for a fleeting, dizzying moment.

A nervous sob bubbles up, quickly muffled by the gag, as I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the undeniable pull growing low in my stomach, a heat I can’t ignore no matter how hard I try. And then, before I can overthink, his mouth is on me—warm, wet, and entirely overwhelming. The sensation is electric, jolting through me as my body arches instinctively, a muffled moan slipping out despite my shame. I’m caught off guard, utterly unprepared for this unfamiliar sensation, and I'm left feeling helplessly caught between fear and desire.