Chapter Four

Parked directly in front of our place was one of those massive Mercedes SUVs that looked like an armored car. Hot.

I heard his voice in my ear. “Get in the back. Middle seat.”

My eyebrows twisted and I tried to turn around to face him. “The back? Like a criminal?”

He drew me in even closer so that I could feel his hot breath in my ear. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

His mouth so close to my skin made me shiver. I found myself opening the handle of the back door.

“That’s right,” he coaxed, and let go of me.

I settled into the back seat, and though it was immaculately clean, smelling like new car, I noticed some strange black ropes or pulleys in the back seat, lying in wait like snakes.

I ignored them, and buckled myself into the middle seat like he asked. His good girl. Oh my god, I couldn’t believe I was even thinking this.

He climbed in next to me, his god-like body taking up so much of the backseat that we were pressed together. He was sporting some stubble, a new look from the past times I’d seen him, and it was totally working for him.

I was so mesmerized by his sharp jawline that a jolt of pain on my wrist shocked me back to where I was. The backseat of a car. And...I looked down. He had TIED my wrist with one of the black ropes?

“Bradford, what the fuck? Do you know how furious Dad would be if he saw this?”

He completely ignored me, and grabbed my other wrist, much harder this time. I fought back, and then he fucking straddled me. I gasped, but continued my fight. My lean and toned muscles that I was always so proud of were no match for his brawn. It didn’t take much for him to get me into a position where he could tie down my other wrist. Shit. What was he going to do to me?

I screamed, “Dad! Dad help me! Save me!”

Still straddling me, Bradford shook his head, then flapped a purple cloth out of his pocket. Without a word, he shoved it into my mouth, causing me to scream even louder. But it was all muffled now. The cloth was dry and choking in my mouth, and I tried to spit it out.

“That’s just going to make it worse, honey,” Bradford said, not a single tinge of annoyance to his tone.

He whipped out another handkerchief, and tied it around my mouth, behind my head, which kept me from spitting out the cloth in my mouth. He made a quick knot that pulled some of my baby hairs. I gave a muffled shriek of pain.

Tied up, gagged, in the backseat of a car, still wearing my itty bitty PJs. You’d think this would be anyone’s worst goddamn nightmare. But every second of it, even when I was resisting, screaming, I was loving it. I shifted in my seat, feeling my wetness smear against my panties and thighs.

Bradford stared at me, like his greatest piece of artwork, a smile curving at the end of his lips. My whole face started flushing. He loved this too. Maybe he would get off on it later. God, I hoped he would. I had never in my life wanted someone to fuck me as badly as I wanted him to. I had never thought of my Dad’s best friend like this, but then again I’d never seen this firm, domineering side of him. Bradford Pena just tied me up in the backseat of his car. Fuck.

Still, I furrowed my brows and bellowed, and I hoped he thought I hated him right now. He hopped off me, slammed the door, and slid into the driver’s seat.

The engine roared, and he drove off, as if going for a Sunday joyride. At least he didn’t blindfold me. I could not believe I, queen of Soho High, was being dragged off like this, tied up like some s&m slut in the backseat of a car. I would die, literally die, if anyone found out. But they wouldn’t. Something told me Bradford kept his hobby, or whatever the hell this was, to himself.

We drove up Manhattan, watching as the streets shifted from curving, tight West Village streets, to trafficy, massive midtown, and then to the glitz and polish of the Upper East Side. I’d never been to Bradford’s house. A couple of blocks past 65th Street, there was a ton of construction. Bradford zoomed over a cement hole, bumping me violently in the backseat. To my horror, my spaghetti strap slipped down, exposing the tip of my pink nipple.

Without thinking, I exclaimed, it sounding like garbled dismay. Bradford’s eyes darted to the rearview mirror, looking at my contorted, gagged face, and then his eyes dropped down to my breasts. I couldn’t watch. I jerked my head away. Unfortunately, this movement caused my silk camisole to slide down even further. I tried to shimmy it up with my shoulders, but it promptly slid all the way down, exposing my entire left breast. I groaned through my napkin. Fuck. Had he seen?

At a red light, he turned all the way around, and stared at my face, then my breast. Indignantly, I shouted, “Fuck you, help me out here already,” but it came out all garbled. I wanted him to pull my strap back up, touch me. Help me. 

“You’re being punished accordingly,” was all he said, and he turned back around.

He was leaving me like this? Breast completely popped out. How fucking humiliating. And he had the gall to say I was being punished? I hadn’t even done anything, hadn’t even struggled. It was the stupid car.

I could have sworn he started driving slower. For the rest of the ride, I kept catching his eyes in the rearview mirror, not looking at my face, but lower down. He was ogling me, and there was nothing I could do about it. And of all things, I was getting so fucking horny knowing he was watching me. So he did like it. But I was his best friend’s daughter. He’d never touch me like that. Right?

Finally, he pulled up beside a white stone mansion, overlooking Central Park. This was where he lived? No way. I didn’t get much of a glimpse of it, since he drove into an underground garage attached to the home. It was dark in there. Dungeon-like.

He parked, then opened my door. My tit was still fully out.

Staring at it, he said, “Let’s put this back in, shall we?”

His fingers flitted against the camisole, which he lifted over my breast, just barely brushing my nipple. It hardened instantly. And he could definitely see that under the white cami.

Voice still calm, he said, “Now I am going to ungag and untie you, but you have to promise to be a good girl.”

I should be so fucking pissed at him for talking to me like this. But I liked it.

I nodded. He untied the gag first. I spit the wet, wadded napkin out of my mouth. He scolded me for it. “Not before I tell you to, Audrina.”

Since I was still restrained by the wrists, and I wanted to be untied, I didn’t say what I wanted to say: fuck you. Instead– “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry what?”

Uh, does he want me to call him Mr. Pena? Or, fuck, sir? The thought was getting me horny. That probably meant it was the correct choice.“I’m sorry, sir.”

Right answer. He smiled like he was proud of me, and I could have dissolved into a puddle right there. He untied my wrists and I immediately rubbed them, relieving them from where I had fought against the straps.

Bradford led me out of the car, through a doorway, and up a flight of stairs. We were in a huge entryway, with mosaic marble flooring and gilded details everywhere. This had to be one of the most beautiful and classically New York homes I’d ever seen. Who knew Bradford had so much taste? And so much money? He was maybe even richer than us, which was saying something.

“Your house is beautiful,” I said, meaning it.

The hint of a smile crept at his lips. “That’s very nice of you to say, Audrina. Keep up comments like that and you’ll go far this week.”

We were going to be alone together in this huge house for a whole week. Oh god.

“Let me show you your room.”

He carried my luggage as we walked up a winding staircase. Down a long hallway he pushed open a door. It was a bright, richly decorated room, reminiscent of some luxury hotels I’d stayed at. Bradford was growing on me more and more. But part of me want to keep being a brat just to see how he’d punish me. Being gagged, tied up, and exposed in the car fucking turned me on, and I wanted to see what else would.

I crossed my arms. “My room at home is bigger.”

Without moving a muscle, his voice cut me, sharp as a razor. “Young lady, do you want me to tie you up again?”

Yes, yes I do. But I was scared to say it out loud. “I’m sorry, sir.”

His brow still furrowed, he said, “Meet me for lunch in the dining room in half an hour. Freshen up.”