Dane
She might have been a heartless bitch who was willing to do anything to protect herself and her career, but Dane could say one nice thing about Emily: she had a great liquor cabinet.
He dug through and found a seventeen-year-old bottle of bourbon on his first rummage. He pulled it out and went into the kitchen to find a glass. Something this good deserved to be sipped from a tumbler.
Glass in hand, he went into the living room and sat down for the first time since he’d left the car. He set the bottle and tumbler down on the coffee table, side-by-side, then grabbed the bottle and poured till the tumbler was half-full. When it still didn't look full enough, he poured another few fingers. Hunched forward on the couch, he took a sip of the smooth liquor, relishing the strong oak flavor and the way it burned on the way down.
The liquor must have brought him some sort of drunken clarity, because, as he slowly sipped the liquid gold, an idea began to crystallize in his mind. Maybe, just maybe, this didn't have to just be about revenge. Maybe he could convince her to do the right thing.
He took another drink of bourbon and held the glass up in such a way that it caught the light, refracting the ray all around the room. With his other hand, he loosened his tie, pulling it away from the collar and down in front of him. He slipped it over his head and tossed it on the couch beside him, immediately forgetting about it as his mind remained focused elsewhere.
Emily had hurried him out the office, Dane remembered, because she had a flight to make to an out-of-state conference. Conferences usually lasted a few days.
That meant he had a few days, at least, before someone realized she was missing. And, even then, they might not come looking for her at the house.
That was it, he decided. He was going to convince her to be on his side.
But, first, Dane needed to think about what he'd done—the way he had laid on top of her like that.
Of course, then there was the way she'd enjoyed it, too.
He shook his head. “No,” he said aloud, the alcohol already swimming in his veins, “That was . . .”
He was already getting drunk, he realized. He needed to slow down. He set the glass on the coffee table and slid it away from himself.
First, he needed to get her cleaned up by washing the semen from her body. That was the most important thing. He got up from the couch and went back into the master bedroom.
She still lay there, the collar attached to the chain and the chain wrapped around the bedpost. Her ankles and wrists were still bound together.
He walked past her, ignoring her excited and questioning mumbles, and headed into her well-appointed, elegant bathroom. There was a shower stall in one corner and a giant bathtub in the other. From all the candles and half-empty bottles of bubble bath and bath salts, Dane figured she tended to use the bath more often. He went over and leaned down into it, closing the drain, then turned on the faucet and started to draw a bath for her.
Dane stayed there for a minute, just thinking. He could get her to change her mind. He knew it.
With the water nearing the top, he stuck his hand down into it. It was just this side of hot. Not scalding, but definitely soothing.
With the bath drawn, he walked back into the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed, reached up, and put his hand on the duct tape. “This is going to hurt,” he warned. as he slowly began to peel it away.
“Ah!” she groaned as he, centimeter by centimeter, tore the tape away from her lips. “What are you doing to me now?” she asked, her voice quavering.
Ignoring her, he reached down and undid the duct tape around her ankles. When he finished, she already had her wrists presented in front of her. He started to unwrap the tape from her wrists, his eyes glancing up to meet hers occasionally.
“What's going on?” she asked again, her voice still full of trepidation and fear.
“You're getting in the bath,” he said curtly. “Come on.” He beckoned with one hand. “You need to get cleaned up.”
An uncertain look on her face, she got up from the bed and followed after him into the bathroom. “A bath?” she asked.
“Yep. Come on, get out of those thigh highs and heels.”
She eyed him warily as she stripped out of her remaining clothes, leaving her nylons in a slinky pile around her ankles. She went over to the bathtub and glanced at him.
“Don't worry,” he said, as reassuringly as he could, “you're fine.”
She stepped with both feet into the water and sat down in it, groaning a little as the water seemed to soothe and comfort her. She stayed curled up, her knees drawn to her chest.
“That nice?” he asked, as he found a loofah and squirted some shower gel on it.
“Mmhmm,” she said, nodding as he began to gently scrub her back.
He scrubbed her back and shoulders for a few moments. “I've been thinking,” Dane finally said, trying to sound as charming as he could as he rinsed the suds off her back, “I think we got off on the wrong foot here.”
There was silence, nothing but the sound of sloshing water as Emily shifted in the bathtub and Dane continued to bathe her. Finally, though, Emily snorted. “Wrong foot?” she asked, the disdain clear in her voice. “That what you call it? You know you won't get away with this, right?”
This wasn't working. Maybe he wasn't being convincing enough, with his kindness. He frowned at her admonishment and gritted his teeth. Still, he was determined to stick to the plan. She wasn't going to get to him. Not yet. “Here,” he said. as he gently pulled back on her shoulder. “Lean back. I won't do anything. I promise.”
She scooted back to the edge of the bathtub, but kept her legs drawn up. A murderous scowl was on her face, and it didn't look like it was going to soften anytime soon.
Why wasn't this working? He fought to keep the edge out of his voice. “It's okay,” he soothed. “I've seen it all already, haven't I?”
Emily frowned a little, but still stretched out her legs.
“There,” Dane said, as drew her arm out to him and soaped it carefully, gently scrubbing everything away. “Isn't that nice?” He was careful not to be too rough with her, fighting his natural inclination to rough up her skin with the loofah. After all, she would have deserved any ill treatment, especially after what her company had done to Benton.
She nodded, closing her eyes. She even sighed a little as her breaths began to become deeper and more full.
“I just think,” he started over again, as she started to relax, “That you could really help me and my brother with his case. That's what all this was from—me trying to help my brother.”
A twisted little smirk turned up the corners of her mouth. It was a beautiful look, but still cruel and unforgiving at its root. And any fruit from such a poisonous root was bound to be poisonous as well. “You must really love you brother,” she said, a sarcastic note to her voice.
Dane felt an impulse to pull her out of the bathtub and drag her back to the bed, but ignored it. That wasn't the way to do it. He clenched his jaw and tensed his shoulders. “I do.”
“Good,” she spat. “You two are going to be spending a lot of time together on death row. You're just as big a piece of shit as your dirt-bag, baby-murdering brother.”
The rage nearly reached a boiling point within Dane as the words left her mouth.
That was it. This plan wasn't going to work. The niceties he'd planned to use to change her mind weren't going to fly. And, just like any war, whether it was of the heart, the mind, or the body, when one tactic didn't work, you changed to meet the conditions on the field.
Dane knew the darkest, ugliest sides of human nature. He'd been to war, had seen what happened to men who gave into the desires within them—into their more destructive urges. And he knew the effects and aftermath when they were released on the world.
And now, Emily would know them, too.
# # #
Emily
As Dane lunged forward into the bathtub and grabbed hold of her soap-slick body, Emily knew she'd pushed the deranged vet too far. His eyes were wide, terrifying in their rage.
She flailed and struggled against him, clawing his arms, and slapping at his hands as he pulled her from the tub. Her legs banged against the porcelain sides of the bath, sending sharp, shooting pains through her body. Still, she kicked and flailed, beating at him with her fists. “Let me go!” she screamed.
“You're going to learn to see my side of things,” he said through clenched teeth, as he wrapped her wet body up in a bear hug. The scratchy wool of his slacks rubbed against her bottom and the buttons on his dress shirt dug into her back as he carried her back into the bedroom, her legs still kicking and flailing as she screamed in protest. “You're going to learn,” he said again over her protests, “to be nice.”
She kept up her struggle as he dumped her on the bed.
She shrieked as she fell through the air, rebounding off the mattress.
“Think I've been rough so far?” he yelled into her face, his own face beet red and the veins in his temples and neck straining. The front of his clothes were soaked through, and Emily could see how his shirt stuck to his well-defined muscles.
The sudden outburst shocked her. She recoiled from him, forgetting to even struggle.
“Stay!” he said more quietly, but still with an air of practiced command to it, before he stomped over to the bedroom door. He stopped at the door and looked back at her. “You move, and I'll know.”
Emily held her breath as he left the room. But she didn't move. It was like his words had somehow exerted some sort of mental lock on her.
God, what was happening to her? How was this her lot in life? She'd just wanted to get ahead, be successful, and live the American dream. Sure, she admitted she’d had to be a stone-cold bitch to reach her goals, but so did everyone. Didn't they?
Now she had this handsome vet, crazy though he was, lying on top of her while he did things to himself, commanding her around, and trying to break her will. He was heartless one moment, like when he'd groped her and led her by the leash. Then the next, he was almost caring, as he scrubbed her legs and washed down her arms. No man had ever done anything like this to her before. No man had dared to try. She was too strong for that, and would never it happen.
Letting him do this, she realized, was one thing she didn't have a choice in, though. Terrified and helpless, she realized she was his prisoner here.
But was she really his prisoner by force?
Dane came back in with one of her dining room chairs held in front of him. As she watched him set the wishbone chair, with its low back and no armrests, down at the foot of the bed, Emily couldn't help but wonder why she hadn't moved even a fraction of an inch while he was away from the room.
“Sit up,” Dane ordered, as he came over to the bed. “On the edge of the bed. Now.”
What was this chair about? Emily eyed the chair and her captor warily, her eyes going back and forth between the two as she sat at the edge of the bed.
“Ever been sleep deprived?” he asked.
Eyes focused on him again, she shook her head.
“Well, I have, princess. In the Air Force, they'd give you pills. They called them ‘go pills,’ and they’d use them for long flights and combat sorties. You'd get ‘stop pills’ afterward. It damn sure fucks with your head. Now, get in the chair.”
She hesitated for a moment, but he shot her a look that told her not to try anything. She quickly got up, not knowing what he would do if she remained obstinate, and sat down in the chair as he went over to grab the duct tape from where he'd left it on the nightstand.
“What are you doing?” Emily asked, finally speaking up.
“Teaching you to behave,” he said, as he returned with the tape. “Struggle, and I'll make the tape so tight you'll worry your fingers are about to fall off. Got it?”
She nodded.
He roughly forced her left arm against the chair back, forcing her sit with her back arched uncomfortably. He taped her in place and moved to the other arm.
“This is uncomfortable,” she said.
“That's the point,” he replied, as he taped her other arm in place.
Her back was arched cruelly, stressing the muscles of her lower back already. However, she quickly found she could adjust herself to a more comfortable position by thrusting her chest out a little, putting her breasts even more fully on display for Dane.
He got down on his knees in front of her, and she reflexively slammed her legs shut. He grabbed both of her knees and pried them apart. “Hold still,” he hissed.
Even from this distance, she could feel his hot breath on her body, slipping up between her thighs. She felt the blood rushing to her extremities, her body betraying her as she adjusted herself in the seat.
She shouldn't be feeling this way. Not about what he was doing to her.
He bent his head and began to tape each ankle to one of the chair legs. Binding completed, he pulled at each of her feet, testing her bonds. Satisfied she couldn't move, he looked up between her thighs. She could feel his eyes on her pouting lips. He glanced up at her, no expression on his face.
Emily blushed and looked away. She couldn't bear to make eye contact. Not now.
He got up from between her legs without saying a word and left the room.
Alone again, at least for a moment, she tested her bonds. He'd done a competent job, though, and she could hardly move given the way he'd taped her into place. She didn't have a chance of getting out of these duct tape shackles.
He came back in a moment later, a pair of heavy, padded headphones dangling from his hand, loud and raucous music already blaring from them.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
He didn't say a word. He just slipped the headphones over her head, and dropped the mp3 player in her lap, the metal and plastic like ice against the inside of her naked thighs.
“Hey!” she screamed, as she twisted to look at him, unable to hear even her own voice over the blaring of the distorted electric guitar, thumping bass, and screaming lyrics that were too loud to understand. “Dane!”
She watched as he took the tie he'd earlier been wearing and held it out in front of him. He had a determined, crazy look in his eyes—more so than at any point so far.
Was he going to strangle her to death? Was this how they'd find her, with headphones blaring heavy metal into her dead ears, her corpse taped to one of her dining room chairs in her bedroom? She could just picture the news, too: “Youngest Female CEO of Fortune 500 Pharma Company Found Dead in Home. Deviant Sex Play Suspected as Cause of Death.”
She recoiled in fear, panic filling her at what he might do with that innocuous article of clothing.
He stepped around behind her.
She yelled again. “Dane!”
The tie descended over her eyes, sending her deep into a metal-filled hell of darkness and despair. She thrashed in her chair, struggling against her bonds till she was too exhausted to continue to fight. When she couldn't fight anymore, she tried slumping in her chair. She still couldn't get comfortable, though, and had to straighten her body back out.
And, all the while, the same thrashing metal song played on repeat. She wasn't sure who the band was, but, if she ever saw them on the street, she'd shoot them after this hell.
Time seemed to blacken, just as her vision had. With no clocks to see, no way to feel the sun on her, or see its passage through the sky, she couldn't track the time. She felt as if she sat there for ages.
Finally, though, she felt the floor shift below her. She felt Dane's heavy footfalls as he came back into the room and stood beside her. Feeling his presence nearby, she turned her head to the side and looked for him with her sightless eyes.
He stood there for a moment longer, doing nothing.
Was he there to remove the headphones? To take her out of the chair? Her whole body ached, her muscles screamed from the uncomfortable position, and her mind was cloudy from sleep deprivation. “Dane?” she shouted, unable to be sure how loud her voice actually was.
Finally, blissful silence returned as he pulled the headphones from her head. “You have a text,” he said, his voice sounding faraway and distant because of the numbness in her ears.
A text? Maybe it was from Jas, or from someone who could help her. She didn't say anything, though. She couldn't give him any more leverage over her.
“From Edward Barker, asking how the conference is going,” Dane continued. “Is he your boyfriend or something?”
Why would Edward be texting her? Did he know she wasn't at the conference and that she had missed her flight? That lying snake in the grass would probably try to use this against her. Fuck Edward. Despite her feelings, though, Emily didn't reply. She didn't say a word or shake her head. She just bared her teeth in rage.
“Suit yourself,” Dane said, after she didn't answer. He went to return the headphones to her ears, but, before he did, he stopped. “Almost forgot to tell you,” he said, his voice deadpan, “I found a surprise in your nightstand.”
“What?” Emily asked, confused. “A surprise?”
“You'll find out,” he said, then slipped the headphones back over her ears, filling her head with the banging, ripping metal music again. Her world became the cacophony, as the unintelligible lyrics filled her head.
What kind of surprise did he have for her? One from her nightstand? Was he going to give her some more of her sedative, like he had in the car? Was he going to let her rest?
Finally, even with the music and the uncomfortable positioning, Emily began to drift off to sleep. Her head fell forward, snapping her awake. The human body was ever adaptable, it seemed, and could get used to pretty much anything, if given long enough.
Maybe, she realized, she could get some sleep, if she really tried. Maybe she could hang her head forward on her own, to keep the abrupt stop from waking her back up, and manage to get a little relief that way.
She hung her head forward and tried to shut out the heavy metal on the headphones. It had become so monotonous, now, that it actually came easily for her.
Soon, she was drifting off to sleep, the sensation of the chair beneath her, the tape on her skin, and the music pounding in her head all fading away as she embraced the darkness of slumber. And that was when she felt the buzzing between her thighs.
Immediately, Emily knew what he'd found. Her multi-speed vibrator. She groaned as she tried to get away from it, just to return to the peace and quiet her body had somehow almost found. She couldn't get far, though, not with the way he'd taped her into place. She felt herself already dripping, her body flushing with unwanted arousal. She bit her lower lip as she continued to try and squirm away.
He rubbed the tip of the vibrator up and down her lips, collecting her excitement.
She spread her legs wider for him, her body wanting what it wanted.
He circled her clit with the tip, producing an excited moan from her.
She chewed on her lower lip, thinking that maybe a good orgasm would be what her body needed to finally get some real sleep. It had always relaxed her in the past, so why not now?
“Dane,” she moaned, her words lost to her beneath the beat of the double-kick bass and the unending screaming of the lead singer. “Dane,” she moaned again.
The tip of her toy found her clit, and it was like electricity rushed through her body. Her whole body arched, even through the pain of the stress positioning, her hips moving forward to beg for more of his touch.
Fuck, her body wanted it inside of her, wanted to feel it filling her as it hummed her to sleep. Just one quick, little release would be all that she needed. She licked her lips and bit her lower lip, praying that Dane would give her what her body craved.
But then the buzzing just stopped.
It just stopped, and Dane pulled away.
She moaned her protest. “Dane?” she whined. “Please, just a little more.”
The floor didn't shift, though, and she didn't feel him move away. He stayed there.
“Please?” she begged again. “Please?”
After five minutes of asking, though, and still with no response, Emily decided to keep quiet. It was beneath her, anyway, to beg, even if she could feel the evidence of her excitement and arousal drying on the inside of her thighs. She'd been positively dripping as he'd touched her, and, for some reason, the thought that it could come at any time kept that feeling heightened and keyed up.
However, after much time had passed, she finally gave up hope of his fulfilling her wanton need. She laid her head forward, just like before, letting her body doze off in exhaustion.
And then the vibrator returned. More pressing and more urgent this time.
She arched her back again, her hips trying to move and gyrate as he sent wave after wave of pleasure rolling through her body. Just as she began panting and getting close, so close, to just letting go and allowing the sensations to rip through her . . . he stopped. Again.
She realized, after the third time this happened, that he wasn't going to let her sleep. Not for a very, very long time. And, as she sat in a puddle of her own unwanted desire to feel this man's hands on her body, she realized he wasn't going to give her the relief she craved.
She sniffled a little at the thought. But, no matter how much she wanted to cry, she wouldn't let herself.
That would be giving in.