It happened so fast, she only caught a glimpse of his head, bent into a hideous flat mask under a leg of pantyhose. But that was all she could make out before he struck. The man reached out, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and pulling her in, the other a black-gloved hand to clamp over her mouth. Kat’s senses burst to life and her instincts kicked in, faster than her brain. She smashed the ball of her flattened palm into his huge chest, but because of his height, the blow fell below his sternum. His muscle-thick torso absorbed the blow without injury, but the move surprised him, and it was enough of a distraction to give her a chance to pull out of his grip.

The tea kettle was shrieking out its steamy protest on Kat’s behalf, her silent struggle still muffled by his hard, leather hand. She managed to turn around, but he held tight; she was unable to ignore the panic she felt when her feet left the floor, as if she were being ripped away from her life, ungrounded, with no footing. She kicked hard, the empty space in front of her taking a terrible pummeling. He spun her while her feet kicked over a lamp, landing with a loud crash. She tried to pull his hand from her face, her nostrils becoming obstructed by his big gloved hand, but it was no use.

Behind her, he rasped, “Work it, baby, work it. You’ve got good form and a lot of style, but don’t waste all your strength. It’s gonna be a long, long day.” Kat’s heart was racing as she kept flailing, focusing her attention on pinching and poking at that hideous, stocking-covered face. “Okay, sweetheart, time to switch gears.”

The man swung Kat around again, throwing her face-first onto the couch. Her world was suddenly dark, her face smashed into the couch cushions to muffle her screams, his gloved hand behind her head, pinning it down. Breathing became even harder; she reached around to grab his wrist and pull that hand from the back of her hand.

But his other hand grabbed one wrist and, with one hard and swift jerk, pulled it around and behind her back. He cranked her arm up just a bit, forcing Kat to lean forward to compensate for the pain and pressure shooting up into her shoulder. Her kidnapper grabbed her other wrist and cranked it back to meet its partner. The nylon rope was thick, soft but strong, durable. He folded a long stretch over and seemed to have looped it through before winding it around and tying it off. It was tight, it as secure, but it wasn’t cutting into her skin. She gave her wrists a jerk to test the bonds, and she knew right away she’d never get free on her own. Her body was instantly shod with nervous energy: blood rushing, heart pounding in her chest. She’d thought about nothing else for days, but it was even more intense than she expected—a frenzied blur of motion and aggression. And with her arms suddenly locked behind her, truly unable to move, her body reacted with a full clench, all muscles tightening in anxious anticipation.

He put one gloved hand on her forehead and pulled Kat back, not with a jerk but with a steady pressure. She opened her mouth to scream, unsure that she truly wanted to do that. Instead she asked, “Who are you? What do you want?”

But a balled-up rag stuffed in her mouth was his only response. A long stretch of white scarf secured the rag as the man wedged it between her teeth, digging into her cheeks as he tied the gag tightly behind her head under her long hair. It pressed against the corners of her mouth and into her cheeks—restrictive and effective. Kat tried to scream—a pathetic muffled moan the only result.

The big, burly man went to the kitchen and turned off the burner, the tea kettle finally silenced. He grabbed one of the chairs from the little dinette set and put it into the center of the room. Kat let out a frightened, thrilled little gasp as he wrenched her up from the couch to sit her down at the chair, carefully pulling her arms back and draping them over the back of the chair. Kat’s posture went rigid again as he tied her bound wrists to the back of the chair, her shoulders forced back, breasts forward. When the man stepped away, she tried to yank her wrists free of the chair, but once again she was securely tied.

He knew what he was doing; she didn’t have any doubt about that. And it did worry her just a bit. But that twinge of worry, that tiny seed of doubt, was only feeding the thrill. She could already feel it in her body, her skin, her heart, her crotch—a sense of abandon she’d never known.

Once she was secured to the chair, he began moving a bit more slowly, and with her face free of that couch cushion, Kat could finally take in the full measure of what was going on around her, and the first aspect of all that was the kidnapper himself.

He was big, dressed in black, a cotton long-sleeve T-shirt and black slacks to match the hood. He reached into a duffle bag sitting on the floor near the couch and pulled out two more long stretches of rope. He knelt to the floor in front of her, and she knew what he intended to do next. She lifted her foot and kicked at him, ball of her foot hitting his chest, protected by a sheet of thick muscle. He grabbed her ankle and pinned it to the chair leg. A simple shift of his powerful build pinned her other leg to the other leg of the chair, and her lower body was already nearly immobile. She tried to pull free, but she could feel him tie off the rope and move to the other ankle. He was in no rush, wrapping that rope around her bare ankle and tying it off.

The kidnapper lingered at her feet, that mashed, blackened face behind the stocking enjoying the sight of her bound legs, his black gloves finding her calves and caressing them with menacing gentility.

“You’re a very beautiful young woman,” he said, his voice gravelly, low. His hands slid up around the backs of her calves, cupping her tensing muscles and sliding forward to pass her knees and begin a bolder and more intimate approach.

Kat tensed up as his hand rested on her thighs, just above the knees. She pulled hard to close them, creating precious little obstruction to his increasing curiosity. She knew he was just an actor, and that she was too, both of them role-playing in an explosive fantasy come to life. The more she threw herself into the role, the more her body began to respond on its own. Her muscles strained in that chair, her wrists pulling, she panting into her gag. She yanked harder, the chair barely moving beneath her.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said in a low grumble, his hands finally sliding a few more inches up her thighs. It made her flinch again; her eyes were locked on him with confused passion, a sexy squeal leaking out of her throat.

He stood up and fished a smartphone out of his bag. After a few swipes of the screen, he raised it to his face, still covered with the black stocking. “Yeah, it’s me…” He glanced at her in the chair; she was glaring at him as he stood. “Yeah, I got her… Mmm-hhmm…yeah…yeah, okay.” He looked her over again, and even under that terrible stocking mask, she could see that he was smiling. “Yeah, sure I will; don’t worry about that.”

He swiped the screen and slipped the phone back into the duffle bag and sat down on the arm of the couch. “Okay, comfortable?” She sneered at him as she pulled at her bonds. As securely tied as she was, she had to admit to herself that she wasn’t that uncomfortable at all—just enough. Her body was more attuned to conflict than comfort at that moment anyway, and she sensed plenty of that coming.

She couldn’t wait.

The suspense is terrible… I hope it lasts!

The whole experience was so strange and surreal, she couldn’t be sure exactly what to think of it all. A strange cocktail of fear and excitement coursed through her every tissue, as if she were on a rollercoaster.

Only she was the rollercoaster.

But it was more than that. Kat knew the man was performing—he was a service provider after all, and this was the service he was providing. But beyond the service of merely providing her with this physical contact, he was giving her a chance to step outside of her own life, of her own self. She was no longer Kathleen Le Fleur, but Lena Flowers. And while able, capable, formidable Kat was being catered to as if she were a millionaire, poor, pretty Lena was being sacrificed to the imagined gods of dominance and indulgence.

The man pulled off his leather gloves and then his black stocking mask, and she was amazed at how handsome he was. By his manner and immense size, she’d have guessed he was some thug from the neck up. But this man’s high cheekbones and strong jawline had an almost regal baring, crystal blue eyes under a wide, furrowed brow. He wore his poker face well, but she couldn’t help but feel deep down, he was a gallant man with another side to him. Kat felt safe. Her intuition knew that she was in good hands. His hair was slick and tightly pulled back. He removed the hair tie and let his hair fall over his face—a long and wavy crown of dirty-blond hair, falling down to his shoulders.

My God, she thought, he’s…he’s gorgeous!

The man seemed to know what Kat was thinking, but he ignored it and she knew instantly that he was right. I’m supposed to be afraid, she reminded herself, or at the very least righteously indignant and stubbornly uncooperative. If I don’t struggle, he might not…do whatever he’s going to do.

He stepped toward her, slowly walking around to inspect her. She leaned away from him at every turn, a confused yelp squirming up out from behind her gag. He gently touched her hair, letting a few long, brown locks slip through his bare fingers as she pulled away, brows arching.

He crossed behind her slowly, lingering, ominous, fingers tracing the back of her neck, reaching around to illustrate how easy it would be to strangle the life out of her at his will. But his hand slid back quickly, a little squeeze more like the hint of a vigorous muscle massage and not a fatal assault.

Anything but. She sat there, heart beating hard in her chest, shocks of sexual electricity running through her body, tied to that chair with this incredible hulk of a man circling her like some kind of love shark, ready to move in for the kill. Kathleen Le Fleur had never felt more alive.