FIVE
“Get up.”
A harsh command comes through the loud speakers, jarring me awake. Two words and they’re angry. Disapproval comes through loud and clear.
For some reason that I’m not aware of, we’ve made her angry. She isn’t happy, and a rush of terror runs up my spine. I’m already being conditioned to fear her and she hasn’t even started torturing us, yet.
Somehow we actually fell asleep.
Our rest is not restful. A mediocre nap at best. The kind that fuck’s with your body because it’s nothing more than a sadistic tease.
“Wake up!” I hiss low while elbowing Noah in the side. The man let’s out a low snore and then a grunt, so I do it again.
“Babe, not yet. Give me a few more minutes,” Noah mutters and tufts of warm air caress the back my neck; his arms hold me tighter. This man surrounds me, his scent almost making me forget the pressing issue.
Our current predicament.
Again the speakers crackle and harsh breathing follows the sound.
Fully alert, I push against his hold but he won’t relent. Noah lays beside me—flesh on flesh. He’s under the covers and spooning me from behind.
That firm, bare chest is tight against my back. His hard cock is nestled between the crease of my ass.
Twitching.
With subtle moves he shifts and the bare, pierced, leaking head brushes my skin…
Wait. Bare?
“I don’t like to repeat myself. Get the fuck up.”
“Noah, please. Wake up!” I try once more. Panicking now. My eyes are wide open and they settle on the space in the center of the room. A pulsing shock of fear leaves me breathless.
Someone was in the room with us. Fuck. How did we not hear a thing?
There, in the center of the room now sits a single chair. High backed and plush, it reminds me of the kind of furniture you see on TV. Its an intricate design and the wooden structure screams high-end formal. Opulent.
Beside that is an end table with a silver tray on top. One where a small paddle sits.
What. The. Fuck?
Noah stirs beside me, his lips skimming my ear. “I’m up, Ivy.”
“N-Noah, they . . . she . . .”
“Baby, why are you shaking?” Gone is the sweet, sleep rumpled timbre of his voice. He’s pissed. Concern pours from his every pore.
Turning to face him, I burrow my head into the crook of his neck and breathe him in. It calms me down enough that the sudden lump in my throat recedes and I find a minuscule ounce of calm within this craziness.
Using our proximity to speak low into warm, masculine flesh. “Someone’s been in here.”
“The hell are you—”
“The chair.”
That gets his attention and he sits up. Almost pushes my body off the bed in the process. “Fuck.”
One word, and the self recrimination it holds almost makes me feel bad for the man. Almost, since it is his fault that I almost become intimately acquainted with the floor.
“Watch it, jerk.” How did I not realize just how close to the edge I am?
Noah ignores my indignified yelp; his sole focus is on the new item in the room. “How did I not hear them bring a chair into the room? Why is it here?”
For good measure, I thump his arm while giving him the how the hell am I supposed to know look. For a second, it’s like he forgot that we are on the same “not a clue” boat.
Again the radio crackles and she hums a bit of that song that tortured me all night. I hate that fucking song. “You have exactly three minutes to get up and accept punishment with grace . . .” she trails off and the threat hangs heavy in the air.
“Or else what?” I ask, voice cracking at the end. A tinkling laugh leaves her and I shudder.
“I will not repeat myself. Two minutes.”
Thirty seconds later I’m on my feet and standing at the edge of the bed. Fidgeting, I wring my hands together and wait for Noah to take his place. He isn’t rushing like I did.
Instead his expression holds a bit of embarrassment and his cheeks tinge pink. “Look straight ahead, Ivy. Don’t look back,” he begs me and I do as he says.
The sound of our bed sheets rustling meets my ears and I shiver. “Hurry up.”
Seconds on the clock tick away and I’m afraid to continue pissing our captor off. How unhinged—how much more fucked up can this all get? I don’t want to know, much less test her patience.
“Such a bad, little pet.” She tsks, and while her reproach worries me, it’s the amusement she’s trying hard to contain that sets my nerves on edge. “Look at him, Ivy. Look at what you’ve caused with that slutty, little body of yours.”
Slowly, I turn and a gasp gets caught in my throat. Fuck. Oh God, I— “Please.” It’s a pained whimper. A plea. My entire body tenses at the sight of his hard length twitching under my gaze. At the sight of the lone drop of pre-come that sits at the pierced tip and is making its way down the swollen head.
My mouth turns dry.
My pussy contracts violently and my knees give out.
I’m left on the floor looking up at him in the nude. I meet his eyes. His blue ones meet my turquoise ones and they widen for a fraction of a second. A miniscule moment before they narrow and his nostrils flare.
A rush of wetness coats my pussy lips and inner thighs. I’m embarrassed. Shamefully hungry, and for the moment, I don’t care about anything else, just him.
Noah fists himself, the hold tight and almost violent. He’s biting his bottom lip while he watches me. My chest rises and he follows the movement with a pump of his hips. Once . . . twice . . . and then swipes his thumb over the engorged, pierced head.
“Noah.” I’m breathless, my heart thundering inside my chest as the want grows.
I want him.
All of him.
Everywhere.
“Ivy, baby, come to—”
“Stop.”
He pauses and I whimper. It hurts. Every molecule in my body throbs for this man to satiate my thirst.
“Get up, Ivy.”
Slow and with precise movements, I stand. Spread my thighs just enough that they don’t rub and the sensitivity of my pussy begins to recede. I can feel Noah’s eyes on me. Almost taste his desire in the air and I breathe in deep.
Control: that annoying feeling which we pride ourselves on maintaining. But here, in this instance, it means nothing. A shitastic notion which keeps me from taking what I want most.
His cock.
Knees weak, I wait for further instruction and once again notice a sudden drop in the room’s temperature. Cold air blows from a vent above my head and I shiver, nipples puckering into tight, little buds against the material of my bra.
“Noah . . .” the woman says his name on a low moan “. . . I’ve left your underwear neatly folded atop the chair. Grab them, and get dressed. Stop tempting the little slut beside you with that which she hungers for most.”
“When did you come in? Why didn’t we hear you?” he asks. It’s the most logical question. How? When? And why the hell is he naked?
Again my eyes wonder down his frame and pause at the deep V of his hips. Narrow. Strong. Sculpted.
He’s perfect. I’ve always known that, but now this realization is smacking me in the face.
“Get dressed. Or her punishment will be worse.”
I freeze all movements. Can’t breathe. The room feels small and the walls are caving in on me.
“Her?” It hangs in the air. Like the weight of a freight train running over us and I shake. Harsh shudders that Noah notices from the corner of his gorgeous blue eyes.
Slightly, he turns my way and I can see his thought process as if he’s voiced them aloud.
He wants to come to me.
Reassure me.
Protect me.
Shaking my head, I hold a hand up to stop this attempt. “Stop. Please. Just listen to her.”
“Okay.” Hearing the submissive tone come from him is worse than anything they could do to me. His fear isn’t his own, for his being, but concern for me.
“Good, boy.” The low coo pisses me off.
Within seconds fear vanishes and anger consumes me.
Whiplash, that’s what this is. One second I’m scared and the next infuriated. Sane then overcome with lust—this raging inferno of desire that makes me weak.
Ire.
Want.
Fervor.
Greed.
Before I can say a word, a hand is clamped over my mouth. “Don’t, Ivy. Focus on me.” My initial reaction is panic. Deep and illogical fear even though I know there is no one beside the two of us inside the room. “Never her. Me.”
“Are we making promises we can’t possibly keep?” She’s taunting us, pushing us.
“You won’t touch a single hair on her head.” He pushes me behind him, his naked back to my cowering form. Again—on instinct—my eyes wander lower and it saddens me to see that he’s covered. What the fuck is wrong with me? “Take your anger out on me. Not her.”
This is not the time for my mind to wander. I need to keep my focus for his safety and mine.
“Not your decision,” the sound of ice clinking in a glass follows; we can hear her take a greedy sip “, now move to the center of the room.”
Moving around Noah, I take his hand and pull him with me. He’s not happy with my decision and remains quiet. His body is stiff as he moves behind mine.
Heat radiates off his body, soothing my fragile nerves, and I find resolve in facing whatever awaits.
If we follow directions, it might lessen our offense. Whatever that might be.
Because in reality there is no other option. We aren’t safe.
A loud, blood curdling scream rents the air and we stop. The person sobs and the sound is muffled.
“Are you ready to play?” Another piercing scream comes through the speaker; you can tell that the person being hurt is a woman.
“Oh God,” I whimper as a tear rolls down my cheek.
“Or would you rather take the place of my other pet? Your choice.”
“I can’t let you hurt her.” Noah takes my hand in his and gives it a squeeze. My eyes meet his and in them I see fierce determination. To protect me at all cost. No matter what he might suffer.
“Who said it would be by my hands?”