ONE
My scalp’s tickling. God, what is that? Is . . . is someone tugging on my hair?
I just want to sleep. Why won’t they let me?
A hand caresses my face, smoothing my hair back. Light fluttering touches that draw me from that restful place I wish to return to.
I scrunch up my nose and try to turn away. My body feels heavy. Drugged. My mouth is cotton dry. Awareness slowly trickles in and I realize that my bed feels softer than usual.
The sheets beneath me do, too.
That hand’s back. I feel a thumb ghost down my cheek and I shiver. In the back of my mind, I process that there’s a dull throb building in my head.
A pounding; tiny stabs of pain followed by the slight burn at the back of my scalp. A throb that I fear is going to turn into a full-fledged migraine if I wake up.
I don’t want to wake up. Something’s warning me that I’m better off staying in the dark.
The dark is safer. The dark is comforting. In the dark, I can hide from reality. I can hide from him.
Hide things that while awake make no sense.
Almost as if my thoughts conjured him, I hear his voice calling to me. It sounds like he’s so far, far away.
“Ivy. Open your eyes, doll.”
It’s him. My best friend. A man I love almost like a brother. Noah. Awake, I love to be with him. Love to spend time with him. It’s so much simpler and innocent when I’m awake. His role in my life is defined. Clear.
But in my dreams . . . I don’t understand why I feel different toward him in my dreams. It doesn’t make sense.
It’s why I run from him when I’m dreaming. Evade and hide. Why I turn away from the sound of his voice now.
“Don’t be stubborn, love. We’re in some deep shite.”
I’m grabbed. Lifted. Forced to sit up as if I’m a mere doll. In his arms, I’m weightless.
My head starts to pound.
I groan, squeezing my eyes closed as nausea beats its way up my throat. I’m going to fucking throw up—
“Breathe for me.” That large, warm hand slips beneath my hair and cups my nape. “Open your eyes. The feeling will pass. It happened to me too.” He massages the base of my neck, fingers digging in slightly and I let out an involuntary whimper.
Holy crap. Is Noah really here with me? Why is he in my room?
I crack one eye open, hissing as bright light invades.
Black. Purple. Silk. Leather. Velvet.
What.
The.
Fuck?
The shock of my surroundings makes me forget all about my headache and my eyes fly open. A gasp catches itself in my throat as I take in every square inch of this room.
I’m in a room.
Not mine. Not his.
A sumptuous, elegant room with chaise lounges, a fireplace, a chandelier overhead—
And a huge bed.
A huge bed I’m lying on.
A huge bed I’m lying on while Noah is sitting next to me.
Chest on display—rock hard abs greet my line of sight before I look lower. Almost naked. Every solid inch of him accessible to my eyes.
I fly back away from him, bumping into the padded, black, leather headboard behind me. I see my breasts out of the corner of my eye, all lifted up and on display, framed by my long, strawberry blond hair.
My head flies down. I’m wearing gorgeous, jewel-studded, silk lingerie. The push up bra is purple, the same purple as the room.
My confused mind spins. The tips of my fingers turn cold as I slowly look down the rest of my body.
There’s a matching thong. A nonexistent piece of fabric that can barely cover my lips and I close my legs.
What is this? What’s happening?
I don’t feel right. My teeth are grinding, my vision sharper. I’m trapped in a mental rush, one I can’t make sense of.
My best friend is sitting in front of me in tight, black boxer briefs while I’m sitting in front of him in risqué lingerie. And he’s hard. Jesus, Lord in Heaven, there’s no mistaking that large ridge trapped beneath the fabric.
Thick and long.
Wait . . . is that a . . . is that the outline of a Prince Albert piercing? My mouth waters and I swallow hard.
It is. My best friend’s cock is pierced and I hadn’t known about it. He never told me.
“Noah,” I croak, heart racing and cold palms sweating. When I can pull my eyes away from his erection, I see his own light blue eyes narrowed with worry. His short black hair is a mess. “What’s going on?” My voice is small. Frail.
“Ivy, we’ve been given something. And . . . apparently we’ve been kidnapped.”
“WHAT?”
He cringes at my screech. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
I rake my aching brain. “I was . . . at home. I sat down to watch TV and was having a glass of wine—” My eyes widen and my heart beats faster.
In my home. Whoever took us slipped into my fucking home and drugged me.
“I was home with Anne. She came in to visit me.”
His lover. A woman I can barely stand. Okay, I’ll be honest. I fucking despise her. Why? I don’t know. There’s just something about her I passionately loathe. “And what then?”
“We were drinking.” Yeah. Probably after they finished having sex. “I started feeling off and went to the bathroom,” Noah finishes, running a hand through his hair roughly.
“Where is Anne?” Just saying her name leaves a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.
“That’s all I can remember, love.”
They got to him at his apartment too. Not only that, but he must have passed out and somehow they transported him out. How does that happen and no one witnesses it?
We might die here. The thought leaves me trembling. Then again, why put us in a room like this if the intent is to kill us? Why dress us like this?
Reminded, I yank the covers out from under me and wiggle beneath them. God. I need my wits around me to figure this out, but I’m so out of it that all I feel is the fear.
Noah’s eyes narrow but he doesn’t say anything. Just watches.
I tell myself not to look again; I can’t help it. Sick curiosity drags my eyes back down to his crotch.
He’s harder than ever before. His dick is perfectly large, perfectly shaped. Those boxers do nothing but hug his erection lovingly. I can almost see the outline of the veins on his cock. It throbs slowly, calling my attention back to that piercing.
A bitter, odd sensation stirs deep within my bones. He might have slept with Anne last night. A hollow feeling settles low in my womb.
It has to be whatever drug they gave us. That’s why my reactions are so out of whack.
I run a hand down my face. “What are we going to do, Noah?”
He slides his fingers through his thick, glossy black hair and turns away from me to look around. Instead of his front, I’m now left with a view of his muscular, defined back.
The thin, leather strap he wears as a necklace only makes his neck look wider. At the end of that strap is a small, round glass ball. Inside it is a single piece of rice with a name inscribed on it.
His ex-fiancé gave that to him back when they were teenagers. He always wears it, never takes it off. Not even six years after her death.
Noah stands, craning his head to look around. “There’s no way out that I can find. I looked everywhere while you were out.”
Throat tight, I sit up straighter, holding the blanket to my chest. “Why the fuck did they dress us up like this?”
“Love, that’s not hard to guess.”
“What do you mean?”
He walks away from me, still looking around. His back is facing me, but there’s no way I miss it when he reaches down to adjust his dick.
Fuck. He’s so hard. Almost looks painful.
My hand clenches around the sheet and I breathe in through my nose. Again, his woodsy scent hits me and I bite my lip to hold in the whimper that threatens to escape.
I want him to be hard because of me.
Of course he is. Who else would it be for?
My pussy trembles and I have to swallow back a gasp.
No. This can’t be happening. I can’t look at him like that.
“Why did they dress us like this, Noah?” I ask in a small, scared voice. I already know what he’s going to say. It’s the only logical conclusion. And yet, I’m so fucking afraid of his answer.
“Ivy, someone’s gotten the barmy idea to either use us sexually . . .”
I swallow, and my body freezes over. “Or?”
His eyes rake over me, darkening. His brow tenses. I can tell by his dilated pupils that he’s also still under the influence of that drug. There’s something dangerous in his expression. Predatory. I lean further back against the headboard.
I’ve never seen Noah like this.
He doesn’t answer me. His stare pauses on my chest, where my hands are still holding the covers up to hide my tits.
His eyes get darker, seeming almost black.
Beneath my bra, my nipples tighten painfully. “Noah,” I whisper, breathless. “Or what?”
He shakes his head and looks away, refusing to answer.
Anger explodes in me out of nowhere and all I can think is, fuck this. I tear the covers away and rise off the bed. I know what he was about to say. It’s the only logical conclusion.
My nerves are frayed. Adrenaline rips apart my common sense, leaving this wild violence within me. “Noah!”
He startles at my loud cry and spins around. Immediately, his eyes widen, and a feral, deranged gleam covers them. When those eyes slowly eat up the sight of me, I swear I go a little madder.
What . . . What is this? What’s happening to me? To us? What the hell did they give us? It’s obviously messing with our minds.
“T-tell me what else they would have taken us for.” My anger has completely drained at the sight of him. His cock is somehow growing harder. Fuller. Gives a solid jerk beneath his boxers at my perusal.
My face burns hot as my pussy creams uncontrollably. His nostrils flare and for a second I forget to breathe.
My best friend is hard as a rock for me.
And I’m slick and wide open, ready to accept every inch of that huge fucking machine he’s packing.
This can’t be happening. No.
“Love, you know. We’re utterly snookered.”
“Noah!” I stomp my foot. My tits jiggle with the move.
He inhales a sharp breath. Ripping his eyes away from my chest, he growls at me in a tone he’s never used with me before, “Look at the walls, Ivy.”
For the first time since waking up, I focus on the dark, concrete walls. There’s writing on them in light letters. Every inch of the walls are covered.
Tease him.
I want to see you choke.
Make her come.
Let them watch . . .
My extremities freeze. Reality sets in slowly, horribly, and with it comes nothing but a heinous fear. There’s no doors. I can’t see any doors. We’re trapped here . . . “Noah.” His name is nothing but an airless whisper. “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”
His eyes meet mine, anger and fear warring in them. “We’re fucked, alright, Ivy? Fucked. Either we’ve been kidnapped to become someone’s good ol’ sex toy, or they want us to be each other’s . . .” he trails off and I understand.
No more words are needed.
We’re here to be used in any way our captors desire.