Selena

 

I’ve never seen a body like that. Finnegan’s body is … oh my God. Yes, that’s the word—he’s a god. He must work out three hours a day. His ass. His huge cock. His defined abs and pectorals. I’m embarrassed at how my body reacted to his, especially when his whole act was designed to intimidate me. Tying me up? Looking at me like he wanted nothing more than to devour me? Pulling his dick out and stroking it like that?

 

The thing is, I didn’t feel the darkness from him that I felt from Sergei. When Sergei touched me, it was with power in mind. He wanted to show me who was boss, who owned me if I accepted his help. And the more I said no, the more he wanted to establish control, the more he wanted to hurt me.

 

With Finnegan, I felt something different. Yes, mind games, for sure. But there was real attraction there, almost a surprised attraction. He liked what he saw. He wanted to take ownership but he pushed that desire down, forced it away.

 

My core is aching just thinking of him, but I snap out of it, realizing that if I can get loose of these restraints, I can run. I can get away, maybe disappear like Matt did.

 

I have very slim wrists, very small hands, so I work against the plastic zip ties and the more I work at them, they stretch a little. I’m able to get one hand almost free but then I hear the door. He’s home. I don’t have enough time to get the other hand loose before he comes in here to check on me, so I push my nearly-free hand back through the loop. Just in time, too, as he walks in a moment after I’m back in my restraint.

 

He undresses in front of me again, his body slick with sweat, his scent masculine. Why does this man turn me on like this? He’s literally holding me hostage.

 

He stands at the side of the bed, completely nude. “I’ve got a plan,” he says. “We’re going to get that money from your boss.”

 

I try to respond but the gag is still in place. He pulls it away and I say, “That’s nuts, Finnegan. He’s powerful and dangerous. He’ll kill us both.”

 

“I don’t give a fuck if he’s the king of Egypt,” he says. “We’re going to extort that Russian piece of shit for all he’s worth. And it’s Finn. No one calls me Finnegan.”

 

“Oh,” I say.

 

Finn leans over me, his scent powerful and heady and making me kind of insane with desire suddenly. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’ve read about Stockholm Syndrome. Is that what this is?

 

He checks my wrists and tsks at me like an old lady. “Selena,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Your right hand is red and scratched. You tried to get out of your restraints, didn’t you?”

 

I shake my head furiously.

 

“Little liar,” he says. “I just said I had a plan. I’m trying to help you, so why are you trying to run? I think we need to have a conversation about consequences. See, when someone doesn’t pay his debts, I give him a warning. I might break his fingers, or kick him in the ribs. Then, if he misses the next deadline, the consequences might be a little more extreme, a little more permanent in nature. Third time? He’s dead. I’m not a man who fucks around. So when I put you in these restraints, it was for both of our protection.”

 

I laugh at this. “Both our protection?” I repeat. “More like your sick pleasure.”

 

“No,” he says. “Here’s the thing. I thought this through already. I could send you back with your tail between your legs. You could be all, ‘Poor me, I don’t even know that guy and he punched you and abducted me and oh, please, help me.’ Right? And you’d be away from me, back in your job, but also under his thumb. In his bed. And judging by how I found you earlier, that’s not a place you want to be. See, I don’t think of you as a whore, but he does. He thinks of you as something to own, something to fuck, something to control.”

 

“Bullshit,” I say, baring my teeth. “That’s all any of you want. You want to own things. You want pets that you can fuck when you want and throw away when you’re done. You’re no different than him.”

 

“Well, you’re wrong,” he says. “And there’s still this matter of you trying to get away and the consequences of that choice.”

 

He leans in close, his lips on my ear. “Until your debt is paid, you’re mine. We’re gonna work together to extort the fuck out of that fucking boss of yours and then you’ll be free to go off and live your life however you want. Until then, you’re mine and you play by my rules. It’s just business.”

 

He flips me over then, pulling my underwear down over my hips and legs. My ass is bared to him and I feel a blush that starts between my legs and spreads up to my chest and face.

 

“Yeah, you’re real different from him. Fucking animal. Fucking asshole.” I keep insulting him, even as he slams his palm onto my ass hard. I let out a few more insults until he cracks me again, his slap sharp against my bare butt cheek. After the third stinging blow, he rubs the sensitive skin lightly, raising gooseflesh all over my body.

 

And … what? My pussy is quivering and wet. What a traitor!

 

He rubs just the tip of his forefinger between my legs and chuckles. “That’s what I thought. Big talk out of you.”

 

I spew more obscenities at him and the slaps come three in quick succession. It stings but … but I like it. Goddamn it. I like what he’s doing to me.

 

He rolls me onto my back again, smirking as he takes in the blush that creeps across my chest and cheeks. “Consequences,” he says, raising his brows.

 

***

 

Finn

 

I’ve never wanted to spank a woman’s ass so much in my life. And Selena gave me a reason by trying to get loose.

 

She’s not wrong. Men always want ownership, power, and control. I’m not different than Kovolov, other than the fact that I know she wants me, where she wanted nothing to do with him. She might be cussing a blue streak at me, but the wetness between her legs and the color all over her body tells a whole different story. She did not want him, period. She does not want to want me. There’s a difference.

 

Her whole body is flushed, a high pink spreading across her chest, those nipples hard as stone, nearly ready to push through her flimsy bra.

 

It’s that swollen flesh between her legs I’m most interested in, though. I push her legs apart to find her pussy lips slick and wet and engorged. Her musk is sweet and thick as I put my face there, breathing it in.

 

“Fucking perfect,” I say as I bury my face between those thighs, my tongue exploring, dipping, receding, teasing.

 

I put my hands on her inner thighs to push them as far apart as I can. She pumps that pussy right into my face, all insults forgotten as I eat her like dessert. I add my fingers to the mix, her clit so swollen as I work her toward orgasm.

 

I shove my tongue deep inside of her, adding my fingers, pumping in and out as she moves her hips with each thrust. I feel her quicken, her moans driving me insane. But I don’t want her to come yet. Not yet. She’s right about one thing. I am in control. And she needs to learn to listen or suffer the consequences.

 

So I pull out, move away, leaving her teetering on the edge, not quite able to fall over the cliff. Her eyes snap open and she whines.

 

“Selena,” I say. “You want me to make you come?”

 

She moans an affirmative sound, pushing her hips up, spreading her legs.

 

“Say please,” I say.

 

“No,” she says, shaking her head furiously. “No, no, no, no, no …”

 

“Selena,” I say again firmly. “I am in control here. I am going to help you but you have to trust me. You have to listen to me. You have to do what I tell you to do. Those are the rules. If you follow them, then you’ll walk away from all of this. If you don’t, then there will be consequences. So, say please. If you say please, then I’ll let you come. If you don’t, then you’ll lie here in pain, wishing you’d just done what I said.”

 

“Fuck you,” she snarls.

 

I put a finger on her clit and she nearly flies off the bed, a moan of desire escaping her perfect lips.

 

“Say. Please.”

 

“Please,” she whispers.

 

“Louder,” I say, moving closer, my breath hot on her pussy.

 

“Please, Finn,” she says. “Please. I’ll listen. I will. Please.”

 

“That’s a good girl,” I say, my tongue and fingers back to work, feeling her clench and clench until she finally loses her breath, her hips flexed off the bed, her juices flowing as she finally goes over the edge.

 

Once she’s finally still, her eyes heavy-lidded, I cut the zip ties from her wrists and her arms fall limply to the bed. She turns to her side and I lie on my back next to her.

 

“That was …” she says softly.

 

“You’re welcome?”

 

“Rude. Manipulative,” she says.

 

“You liked it. If I had to guess, I’d say you needed it.”

 

“It’s been a while,” she admits. “My husband wasn’t really, he didn’t … he was more self-focused usually, you know?”

 

“Big shocker,” I say.

 

“Look, I …” she starts. “Sergei is dangerous. I’m afraid of him. I’ve seen him rage over the smallest things, screaming at people on the phone, making threats. He’s got family all over the world. He kills people. I didn’t … I was new and I needed the job, but I … I saw things. Heard things.”

 

“And he was ready to hurt you,” I say.

 

“Yes,” she says. “He doesn’t take no for an answer.”

 

“I get that, but neither do I. And we can make this work. I need details about the business, beyond the stuff that’s above-board. I need to know about murders and money-laundering. I need you to go back to work, beg his forgiveness. Tell him you don’t know me; that I came after you because your piece-of-shit husband left you with a shit-ton of debt. He’ll take you back, I know it, but he’ll make you work for his trust.”

 

“I don’t think I can,” she says. “It’s too dangerous. He’ll know. I’m not a good liar.”

 

“You want to be free of all of this?” I ask.

 

“I do, but …”

 

“But nothing,” I say. “You’ll go to work. You’ll tell him you got away from me, that you’re scared. That way, any time you seem scared or off, he’ll think it’s because of me.”

 

“There’s something else,” she says. “I think I’m pregnant.”

 

Time stops. I literally have no idea what to say to this. “You’re … with Kovolov’s …”

 

“No,” she says. “No. It’s Matt’s. I haven’t slept with … my boss.”

 

“Oh,” I say, trying to process what she’s telling me. “Oh. So, how far along …”

 

“He left a month ago. We last had sex maybe two or three weeks before that. I guess maybe six or seven weeks?”

 

This changes things a bit. Putting a pregnant woman into a very dangerous situation … it’s bad. Even for me.