I’d been watching Derek’s face for the past four and a half hours. It was a strange thing, terribly intimate to watch a person sleep. His features were smooth, relaxed as if the worries that plagued him had given him a brief reprieve. Every once in a while, his brow had furrowed and I wondered what was going on his mind. Had the stresses of our escape tried to seep back in and tarnish the few hours of rest he’d allotted himself?

I felt the fierce need to chase them off, though I could do nothing more than lie here and make evil faces at the invisible demons that disturbed his sleep. Derek needed this rest. Desperately. Aside from the occasional hour-long nap he’d given into, pulled off in the brush by the side of the road, he’d been awake for three days straight. His weariness had been evident in the rings that underscored his eyes, but he’d refused to relent. He’d driven through one city and town after another as if the hounds of hell were nipping at our heels.

I had to believe they weren’t. That we were safe. He’d killed the man who had posed the biggest threat and we were miles away before anyone could possibly have noticed we were missing. He was taking no chances though, and it was only after I’d worked up the nerve to start nagging him incessantly that he’d finally agreed to a brief stop at the motel we now occupied.

His brow furrowed again, and I reached out to smooth the lines as if I could infuse peace through my fingertips. But my fingers hovered a hair’s breadth away—just like each time before. It was ridiculous, of course, but I was having difficulty finding my place in this thing that we’d become.

It had all seemed so simple when he’d been inside me and I’d realized the depth of my feelings for him, but leaving behind the weeks spent in my prison had proven difficult. I had no idea what Derek expected from me now, and admittedly, I was more than a little afraid to ask.

I’d been so certain then—certain that he felt the same intense feelings for me—but with every mile, my doubts and uncertainties grew. Could I touch him? Without permission? Or did he still expect the obedient girl in her prison who did what she was told and didn’t make decisions for herself? I wanted to be more to him than a mindless slave, but if I pushed too hard, would he drop me off on the side of the road and drive away?

I couldn’t deny that it wasn’t only Derek I was having a difficult time figuring out. An equally difficult question—what was it I wanted? I liked the confidence, the dominant authority that seemed to seep from his veins. It made my heart beat harder and ignited a fire between my thighs. Did that mean I wanted him to treat me like a slave? That didn’t sit quite right, but nothing did.

His brow unfurrowed, and I laid on my back beside him. He would be awake soon. Five hours, he’d said, and then we needed to be on our way. I thought he could do with a full night’s sleep, but he’d been adamant. Five hours.

I closed my eyes, lulled by the quiet inhale and exhale of his breathing. I’d slept so much in the car, but after four and a half hours of lying in the dark, tiredness was beginning to creep up on me. Just a short nap. A few minutes to take the edge off.

But when I woke up, Derek was no longer lying next to me. I caught sight of the note he’d left on his pillow though, and knew he’d be back shortly. But now what? Alone in the motel room, I didn’t know what to do. For so long, I’d both dreaded and longed for the moment he’d walk into my room—my prison. But I wasn’t his captive anymore. I had no idea what he expected from me! Stay in bed? Kneel beside it? Tidy the room?

Finding no clear answer, I opted for a shower. It could be days before he stopped again, and I wanted to be clean in case…

My cheeks flamed at the thoughts that came to mind. I pushed them away, stepping beneath the showerhead and trying not to think about how my skin seemed ultra-sensitive, waiting, longing for his touch. Or the way my nipples pebbled beneath my own fingertips, and sent tiny shivers of arousal to the pulsing heat between my thighs.

When I stepped out of the shower, I dried briskly and wrapped the towel around me. I was just tucking it between my breasts, my thoughts lost in the memory of the feel of his hands on me when I stepped out of the bathroom and found Derek coming in the door to our room.

I dropped to my knees automatically and watched his shoes as he approached. He leaned down and took my hand without saying a word. He lifted me up onto my feet and then stroked my face. I leaned into the palm of his hand. His touch had the power to soothe and ignite at the same time.

“You don’t have to do that anymore, Scar. You’re not my slave. I should never have…”

I suppose I knew that, at least on a theoretical level. I knew he no longer wanted me to be his slave, didn’t I? But I also had no idea how else to act. It was the only thing I knew how to do when he walked in the room.

I nodded, though, in truth, I hoped it would be a long time before he left me alone again so I wouldn’t have to figure it out anytime soon. Maybe by then, this would seem normal.

“I brought back breakfast,” he said, though I could already see the paper bag he’d left on the table and smell something that must have bacon and eggs thrown into the mix. “Are you hungry?”

I was, at least I had been before he’d returned to our room. But with him here now, still touching my face, it was no longer food I wanted. I wanted to feel his hands move lower, to caress my neck, cup my breasts…

“Scar?” he queried, though I could tell by the heated look in his eyes his thoughts had run in a similar direction.

“It’s not food I want. I want you, M…” I caught myself at the last moment, but not quickly enough.

His eyes closed and he exhaled heavily as if he were trying to blow away his frustration, or agitation, or whatever it was he felt. It was still just as impossible to read his expression.

All at once, his hands reached for the towel where it was secured between my breasts and his lips came down on mine, hard. Three days of sitting next to him in the car. Three days of remembering the feel of his hands on my body, and finally I felt him.

His hands made a grand sweep down my body, but on his way back up, he slowed, squeezing my backside and pressing me hard against him as he backed me up against the wall. I could feel the massive size of his erection through his pants against my bare abdomen, and it made my thighs squeeze in response to the rush of arousal that shot through me.

Keeping as close to him as I could, I reached between us for the hem of his shirt and yanked it upward. He didn’t stop me; he pulled away just long enough for me to get his shirt off, but then he was back. See—progress. I didn’t even ask his permission.

His lips covered mine, but only briefly this time. Then he was kissing lower, along my jaw and down my neck.

It was innate; the thrust of my chest against his hands as he cupped my breasts and his mouth closed over one nipple. He sucked hard, making me squeal, but at the same time, a rush of heat heaped upon the fire burning low in my abdomen.

He didn’t stop there. He continued lower, leaving a hot trail of kisses and nips down my ribs and stomach. He did stop though when he reached the smooth mound above my sex, and I nearly shrieked in frustration. I could feel his breath, a warm breeze against my engorged flesh, but he stayed there, breathing me in.

“Please,” I whispered, already desperate to feel his mouth there.

“Please, what?” he prodded. His voice was thick with his own arousal.

“Please, Master,” the words fell from my lips, easy as breathing now.

“No, Scar. I’m not your master. Right now, I’m your lover, and I want you to tell me what you want me to do to this sexy, little pussy.”

His words added more fuel to the fire, and I was too aroused for the confusion I’d felt moments before. “I want you to lick me.”

“Mmmm. I like the sound of that. Is there anything else you want me to do?”

I didn’t know if he was trying to draw out my anticipation, or if he was enjoying making me say the words—probably both—but too many thoughts tumbled through my mind all at once.

“I want to feel your tongue inside me,” I said, picking the thought that seemed most relevant to his current position.

He smiled, but his eyes never left my sex. “Put your foot on my shoulder,” he instructed, and I complied—of course.

Still, he lingered there, a little closer now, but not close enough. I twined my fingers in the hair at the back of his head and though I’d just wanted to feel some part of him, I couldn’t resist exerting the tiniest amount of pressure, trying to draw him toward me.

“Hands over your head,” he said, and I obeyed.

Then his mouth was on my clit. He’d closed the distance and his tongue flicked back and forth across the sensitive nub, making my body jerk at the sudden contact. He grabbed hold of my hips. At first, I thought it was to help steady me, but the firm grip of his hands held me immobile. I couldn’t writhe, or even pull away—not that I wanted to. His teeth nipped at my clit, making me squeal, but then he soothed me with his tongue before sucking my clit into his mouth.

The fire burned hotter, brighter. Every second, it engulfed more of me until I’d swear I could feel it burning in my fingertips.

He looked up, his mouth still on me, and I knew what he wanted. He knew I was close, and he wanted to watch as he made my body come apart. I held his gaze, resisting the innate urge to close my eyes. And when my body shattered into a thousand shards of bliss, I could feel him groan against my wet flesh.

I’d only just begun to come back down from whatever heavenly plane the body seems to exist in after a mind-blowing orgasm when he stood up. I expected him to touch me, or to strip off his pants, or even to kiss me. I could see my own wetness glistening on his lips and run my tongue across the seam of his lips. I wanted to taste what he’d tasted.

He didn’t do any of the things I’d expected. With what seemed like no effort, he picked me up and flung me over his shoulder and strode across the room to the bed. He didn’t lay me down though like I’d been expecting.

He lowered me to the ground and spun me around to face the bed. His hand against the middle of my back, he pressed me down until I was bent right over.

A shiver of fear ran through me. Had I done something to anger him? Was he going to punish me? Tears sprung to my eyes, but I fought hard to hold them there. I wouldn’t cry. I even resisted the urge to beg, to plead with him not to punish me.

I could hear him moving behind me, but I didn’t dare turn around. I’d lose my resolve if I saw what he was about to do and start sobbing like a child. I couldn’t do that.

I felt his hand on my back, but he wasn’t holding me down. He was stroking me gently. More confusion. Heat and fear in equal measures.

“Scar, calm down,” he whispered.

Apparently, I was not doing a very good job hiding my discomfiture.

“I’m not going to hurt you, not like that, not ever again.”

There was relief in response to his words—he wasn’t angry with me. But there was also something else. Disappointment? I imagined him never spanking me again, and I felt a loss. It made no sense. Hadn’t I just been afraid of what he was going to do a moment ago?

“I don’t know how I feel about that,” I confessed, needing him to explain it to me. He’d been the one to do those things to me, so he had to know why I was disappointed to learn he never intended to do them again.

“Oh fuck, Scar, don’t say that,” he groaned while his hand stroked more firmly from my neck to midway down my back.

“Why not?” I whispered.

“Because you don’t want me to do those things. You just think you do because of what I did to you.”

He was leaning back, pulling away. I knew I didn’t want that. “Fuck me,” I begged before he could pull away completely.

He groaned, but then he was coming back, moving closer until I heard the zip of his fly and felt the thick head of his cock press against my sex. Yes, I wanted this. Plenty of other things were confusing, but this wasn’t. I wanted Derek inside me.

He pressed forward, entering me one slow inch at a time. I tried to press back against him, but he just went with me, making my efforts to draw him deeper futile. When he was finally inside, filling me, I experienced the same odd sensation I had the last time. Complete. Whole. Nothing had ever felt so right.

Then he started to move, and I was cognizant of nothing but the thousands of nerves firing in a symphony of pleasure. He cupped my breasts and teased my nipples while he rammed into me from behind. His balls slapped against me with every thrust, and when I threw my head back, I understood why he’d done it—why he’d carried me here and bent me over the bed like this.

We were at the foot of the bed, and looking forward, I could see the reflection of us in the headboard mirror. I barely recognized the girl in the mirror—her eyes were darkened with arousal, her lips were parted, her skin flushed, and her breasts bounced with every thrust of the man behind her.

Him, I recognized. His vivid blue gaze alternated between the view in front of him and our reflection in the mirror. It was the most erotic sight I’d ever seen. I watched, mesmerized, as he drove me higher.

And higher.

And at the top of the climb, when his hand slipped beneath me and his fingers found my clit, I knew I was done for. I watched the girl in the mirror being fucked from behind while an earth-shattering orgasm tore through her body.

I’d seen Derek’s face in the throes of pleasure before, but it was different to watch him like this—feeling him from behind but seeing him far in front of me.

His pace was already frantic. He gripped my hips and slammed into me one last time, as my aftershocks contracted my flesh around him. He swelled even bigger inside me and his liquid heat filled my body.

I remained there even after he’d withdrawn, the confused and tumultuous way this had started making it difficult to accept that I could just stand up if I wanted to. Seeing that I wasn’t moving on my own though, he returned once he’d zipped up his pants and leaned down to stand me up.

He didn’t say anything. He just gathered me against his chest and I closed my eyes to focus on the hardness of his flesh and the warmth that radiated from him. Capable of coherent thought once again, I debated bringing up the question. It seemed though, that while I’d regained the ability to think, I’d also gained back my ability to be embarrassed.

Did I want to tell him that I wanted him to spank me? To hurt me? Was it even true? Or perhaps what he’d said offered a better explanation—I’d only come to think I wanted it because of what he’d done to me? Still undecided, the question slipped from my lips nevertheless.

“I don’t understand why I want you to…”

“Scar, stop talking,” he cut me off. “You can’t talk like that. It isn’t real. It will fade. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to like…”

“But you do,” I finished his thought when it didn’t seem like he was going to. “I know that. All the times when you’d…you know…well, I could feel the way it made you respond.”

He breathed a heavy sigh, but then released me. “Eat your breakfast. I’m going to grab a quick shower before we leave.”

He left the room, and I resisted the urge to follow him into the bathroom. Given that I was the one who’d been spanked and whipped with his belt, you’d think it would make sense that I’d be the one in need of a shower to collect my thoughts. But Derek seemed almost plagued by the things he’d done to me, and even more so by the way they might have shaped some of the things I wanted now.

I couldn’t quite bring myself to empathize with him. After all, I was the one who’d been spanked, whipped and forced to do a whole lot of things against my will. Where did he get off being plagued by what he’d done?

I gasped aloud at my own thoughts. I’d been so caught up in keeping him that I hadn’t taken the time to acknowledge how angry I still was with him. I’d known it was there, deep down somewhere. No one could go through what I’d been through and feel no anger or hurt over it, but I hadn’t realized the depth of that feeling. Aware of it now, I deliberately forced it back down—not forever, just for now. Once Derek and I were somewhere safe and I felt more certain he wouldn’t be so easily driven away when confronted with some of the things I was feeling, then I would let it back out again to find some way to deal with it in a calm, rational manner.

Right now, all that mattered was he was still here. Everything else could wait. I was angry, yes, but I loved him, too. I wasn’t a delusional victim of Stockholm syndrome. It’s why I could admit that what he did was wrong and that I had very real and vivid feelings about it. And I was even able to admit that perhaps the things he’d done had influenced me in some ways, but they held no sway over my heart. My body maybe, but not my heart. Derek the man, not the captor, had my heart.

I retrieved the clothes he’d gotten for me the day before and put them on. Clothing still felt odd, uncomfortable even, after being naked for so long, but I had no intention of walking out of the motel in my birthday suit.

Then I turned to the paper bag on the table. Food was another issue I was still dealing with. It seemed ridiculous. I’d fed myself for most of my life, but after five weeks of not being allowed to, it felt strange. I even missed it a little—kneeling between Derek’s legs while he fed me from his fingers and stroked my face. Yes, I was well aware how messed up that was.

It was easier now, with Derek out of the room, so I took advantage of the time I’d been given and forced myself to dig in before he was finished with the shower.

And I was just finishing off the last bite of the bacon and egg biscuit he’d brought back when the shower shut off—I don’t think I’d ever scarfed food down so quickly! I was done, nevertheless, when he emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a towel that was slung low around the sexy taper of his hips. I wanted to tear the damn towel off.

I didn’t move, I just watched as he crossed to the bed and retrieved fresh clothes from his bag. I don’t think I even breathed. Not until he dropped the towel and my breath came out with a whoosh. Derek seemed to have none of the modesty issues that I had once thought were common amongst the human race. Then again, just look at him. With a body like that, it was no wonder he was comfortable in his skin.

“If you keep looking at me like that, Scar, we’re not going to be leaving anytime soon,” he said while he zipped up his fly.

I hadn’t even realized he’d noticed me staring, but I didn’t stop. I knew we needed to leave. He’d stressed the importance of staying on the move, but it had been days and there’d been no sign of any trouble. Another hour couldn’t hurt, could it?

I stood up without looking away. It felt strange to be so bold. I could feel my knees trying to bend, trying to make me kneel like I was used to doing, but I stiffened them and walked straight to him.

He was reaching for his shirt, but I put my hand over his to stop him, resisting the urge to pull back and cower away. When I looked up, he cocked an eyebrow questioningly. He was amused, not angry—at least that was my best assessment.

“I want to…” I couldn’t quite get the words out. I was aroused, but not so far gone that it overwhelmed all my inhibitions. I wanted to tell him that the moment he’d dropped the towel, my mouth had begun to water in anticipation. That I wanted to feel the hard length of him between my lips.

Instead, I did what seemed to come too naturally. I dropped to my knees, but I didn’t wait there patiently. I reached for the fly of his pants and unzipped it. He was already hard, already so much more than I could fit in my mouth, but it didn’t stop me from trying. I circled the tip of him with my tongue first, and then ran down the underside of him and then back. His cock jerked against me, sending a corresponding jolt of arousal through my body.

His hand gripped the back of my head, but he didn’t try to rush me. He was letting me set the pace, but I was in a hurry, too. I wanted to feel him in my mouth and watch him respond. I parted my lips and took him in, inch after inch until I could go no further, and then worked my way back to the tip of him while he groaned and his hands made fists in my hair.

Again and again, I took him in. I wrapped my hand around the base of him as best I could, and worked it in tandem with my mouth. His groans grew louder and despite the restraint, I could feel he was using, his hips started to thrust, forcing his cock deeper for brief seconds at a time.

All of a sudden, his hands left my hair and gripped me in my arms. He yanked me to my feet and before I’d even righted myself, he grabbed hold of my shirt and tore it right down the middle. I probably should have worried that I only had one other shirt, but I didn’t care. My pants went next—I had no idea they could tear so easily. I was naked, and heady with desire, and I pressed my body against him, feeling the slick glide of his cock against my abdomen.

Then I was on my back on the bed, and Derek was hovering on top of me. I reached for him, but he grabbed my wrists fast, slamming them down against the mattress over my head.

“Just stay still, Scar,” he ground out between gritted teeth, and then he leaned in and sucked my nipple into his mouth hard. Pain, pleasure—it was such a heady mix.

His breathing came hard and I could feel every exhale against my breast like a gentle caress. The double sensation sent waves of arousal through me, settling between my thighs and making my aching flesh throb with need.

I didn’t remember moving, but my legs were around his waist, trying to draw him closer, to direct his massive erection to where I needed him to be. Little more than half an hour had passed since he was last inside me, but it felt like it had been days. Days of longing, waiting for him to fill me again.

He was right there, so close, but he hovered there. Why wouldn’t he just fuck me already? “Please,” I moaned as he rocked against me, making his cock slide against my clit.

“You’re new at this, and you’re going to be sore if we keep this up.”

“I don’t care,” I told him, and I writhed against him, trying to sway him.

He groaned as he leaned down and rested his forehead against mine. He was so close. Every breath I took was filtered by his lungs, and every movement rubbed my body against his.

Then his hand was between us. I felt him lining himself up against my sex. He was right there, the engorged head of his cock penetrated me, stretching my opening to accommodate his girth. “Oh god, yes. Please. More,” I whispered breathlessly.

He didn’t pull away when I tilted my hips to drive more of him inside me. Thousands of nerve endings fired. I tightened my legs around his waist to draw more of him inside. I was shameless, trying to work him into my sex, writhing, rocking.

“You seem to have developed quite an appetite, Pet,” he smirked, but his teeth were clenched so tight and his expression so intense, there was no way he wasn’t just as hungry for this as I was. “Tell me what you want. Be explicit.”

“I want you to fuck my pussy. I want you to ram every inch of your incredible cock deep inside me.” Absolutely shameless.

I must have said the magic words because he did just that. Over and over again.

When his lips came down on mine, he took what he wanted, his teeth, lips, and tongue feeding on my mouth. I licked and nipped back, trying to get my fill.

Higher and higher. Frantic. By the time I reached the top, I was consumed. Nothing existed but the man between my thighs. He took me with him as he rocketed over the edge, and for one glorious moment, our bodies froze, joined as one, as our release pulsed like shockwaves through our bodies.

Minutes passed before we began to untangle our limbs, and I bit back the whine that threatened to slip out when he withdrew from my body. It was some comfort though to see the reluctance in his movements as he slid off the bed.

“Go take a shower, Scar. We’ve stayed here too long and I don’t know when we’ll be able to stop again.” Already the look of idyllic satisfaction was being replaced by the tension that had lived inside him since we ran.

I nodded and forced myself off the bed. My limbs felt almost fluid, certainly not solid enough to hold me up, but they managed. I crossed the room to the bathroom, but I didn’t close the door. I just turned on the faucet and stepped beneath the spray. I’d attributed most of his tension to me this morning, but I was beginning to see he was more on edge than I’d thought, increasingly so every day.