Abduction (51 page)

Knowing, every second, that it could be you with her."

Vaughn's face remained stoic, but his chest was swelling and narrowing as his breath sped.

"And which you'd sooner do. Beg for release at my hand, or take Devan, without her…explicit consent. With no order from me."

If only she could stay in that bathroom forever. Alone. Wrapped, hidden in the pale gray steam.

Impossible. Devan tried to straighten up, to shrug off her feeling of weakness and nausea, and opened the door. She forced herself, against all her impulses, to face Vaughn, doing her best to look unafraid, unhurt. She couldn't read his face. Couldn't find any trace of torment or anger.

He'd let her go. It was better this way.

Better. Better, she tried to tell herself, silently fighting back a sadness that seemed to be falling over her like a grounded parachute, draping over her, covering, isolating. Then, afraid of what Vaughn would see if she went on looking at him any longer, she turned to Conrad.

Conrad had always been a man of great appetite, but never had the demands of his body so overwhelmed the calculations of his mind. But as Devan emerged from the bathroom, Conrad was struck by a sensation both unfamiliar and unsettling. Urgent, overwhelming need. As if, now that he'd taken her, his body demanded recompense for all his stoic self-denial, all the months he'd abstained in preparation for his time with her.

For all the long hours he'd spent with her, baring her body, touching her, making her 462

climax again and again, never allowing himself even a secret release. Now, less than an hour after he'd finally been with her, just the sight of her had his greedy body winding up, taut and tense for more.

He felt a sudden impulse to take hold of her, to press his body against her, to breathe in her scent, to taste her mouth, to kiss and touch her very softly until he forced her to confess her arousal with that soft little sigh of hers. The thought of her body quivering under his almost made him move toward her, almost made him groan out loud.

But he hadn't bloody well set aside months of his life and ripped the dear girl out of her world just so he could shag her every time he got a hard on for her. The larger picture had to be borne in mind. And, in any case, the anticipation was rather delicious.

They sat through a strange, silent communal meal. How could they eat? Any of them? But the body needs to be fed, regardless of fear, arousal, anxiety. Vaughn tried, again and again, to catch Devan's eyes, but each time, after a scant second or two, she'd turn away. Maybe afraid Conrad would punish them.

Conrad. Probably feeding them now just so their hunger wouldn't distract them from their bodies' reactions to whatever he had planned next. Vaughn wished, now that it had happened between Conrad and Devan, that he could stop feeling so fucking afraid all the time. Wished he could believe that she wasn't scared anymore. How he looks at her. Love? Hunger? Obsession? No way to trust him not to go too far. Not to hurt her.

As he ate his stew Conrad gazed at Devan and contemplated the afternoon's possibilities. Once they'd finished eating and had chance to use the toilet, he wasted no time getting back to the fun and games.

"What do you think, you two? Shall we have another story?"

Vaughn wished he wouldn't do that. Make her read those stories out loud to them. Force her to confess those dark fantasies of hers, meant to be her secret. But still, already just the idea of hearing her describe another scene had him aroused. And he felt a guilty awareness that he really wanted to know them all—these dark, intimate dreams of hers. Wanted to know every hidden detail of Devan's erotic imagination.

"This time, Vaughn, I think you should read for us."

Fine. Better. Easier on her. Conrad handed Devan the manuscript, attentively studying her face as she saw which of her secret fantasies would be revealed.

"Hand that to Vaughn, please, Devan."

As she brought him the little stack of printed pages, once again he sought her eyes, and once again she retreated from him. Conrad called her back to him, made her sit close by him. He kissed and petted her hair, then turned his eyes expectantly on Vaughn.

"Go ahead, please."

He'd thought it would be easy. The easiest thing Conrad could have made him do. But his voice caught, practically on the first word. She'd written it in first person.

From a man's point of view.

"I never knew I could be such a filthy bastard," he began, and read on for several paragraphs before Conrad interrupted Vaughn's recitation.

"Stand up, Devan."

Obviously reluctant and nervous, she stood.

"Go over there, please, and tell me if Vaughn's hard yet."

It was touching and awful, how she still blushed at such little things. It amazed him that Conrad could go on tormenting her like this.

"Yes."

"But you haven't touched him yet. How do you know?"

Obviously exasperated by Conrad's ploys to make her say aloud each little thing that embarrassed her, she softly answered, "I can see that he is."

"No doubt," Conrad came back in his amused tone. "But you'd better feel him, just to be sure."

If he hadn't been hard already, the thought of her touching him would have had him erect before she could have stepped forward and put her hand on his cock. Fuck, he resented how well Conrad was managing to keep him desperately, almost perpetually aroused.

Devan came shyly forward, seemed to hesitate, then bent over him, giving him a look like an apology, then gently put her palm against his hard on. She'd never touched him that way—not during Conrad's coercions, and not before them—and the sight, the feeling of her hand there made his body, his cock, surge with sudden heat.

"Well, darling?"

"He's hard," she said softly, finally really holding Vaughn's gaze.

"Does it make you proud, darling, knowing that your stories have that effect on Vaughn?"

She didn't answer, and he didn't make her.

"Now, Devan. Down on your knees, and suck Vaughn's cock."

She started and blushed again, but still held his eyes with hers. God, she really looked horribly scared. Like she might cry. He'd been wrong before. The first time Conrad had made her. She'd hated it. Hated the thought of doing it again. He wanted to beg on her behalf, but knew it was useless.

She sank to her knees, and when she looked up at him again she managed to hide most of her fear. God, he wanted to pull her up, hold her against him, his arms wrapped tight around her. He wanted to protect her.

"Go on, darling. Get his jeans and all down."

Vaughn hated how it excited him—her hands working his belt, his fly. She'd never undressed him before. His body hummed to the feeling of her fingers getting a tentative hold on the waist of his jeans, coaxing them down his hips and thighs while he raised himself after an order from Conrad. He hated his cock for being so fucking hard, for looking so livid, alive, as it sprang forth as she stripped him, for wanting her mouth so badly when she seemed so afraid.

Then Conrad was behind her, whispering something to her. Then he receded back, back to his place on the couch.

Fuck. Fuck. The warm wet tip of her tongue brushing softly over the head of his hard cock. The sight of her, kneeling between his legs, her eyes focused on his cock, her lips parting, her tongue lathing the shaft, the tip, the weight of her arms on his thighs—it was all a terrible torment.

Jesus. Fuck. She took him in. The wet heat of her mouth closed over his rigid, twitching cock. Fuck. Every lick made him flex. Each pulsing suck of her wet mouth made him squirm. So needful, so close, he violently clutched the armrests to resist pulling her hard against him, thrusting deep into her mouth. She'd only have to do it for a minute or two. He couldn't hold off longer than that.

But then she shuddered suddenly against his legs. He must have closed his eyes. Lost focus somehow. Conrad kneeling right behind her. She stopped, panting and shaking so hard Vaughn's heart contracted with sudden panic. He'd done something to her. Hurt her.

"Don't mind me, darling," Conrad drawled in the saccharine voice he used when he was being his most sadistic. "Go right ahead with what you're doing. I'm just going to slip these knickers down 'round your knees."

God. Fuck. What was he doing? He wouldn't…

"Go on, Devan dear. Take his cock in your mouth again."

Her lips closed around Vaughn's cock once more. But then the only movement was her trembling. And she was hyperventilating. About to cry.

"Now, Devan. Take a wider stance with your knees."

Vaughn could see that Conrad had his hands on her, guiding her body into the position he wanted, but then Devan lurched suddenly, and Vaughn's hard prick popped free of her mouth.

"And now, just arch your back a little.:

"Conrad. Please!"

God. She looked really terrified. Skin so pale. Eyes red and glistening.

"Please what, darling?"

Tears were sliding down her cheeks.

"Please. Please don't do that to me." Her voice was hysterical. Vaughn's whole body surged, taut and ready to fight, to rescue.

"All I want," Conrad mused as he slid the few sheer inches of her garment up to her waist, baring her behind, "is a nice, clear view of your pretty bottom."

Then, as Conrad stood and drifted back to the sofa, Devan's rigid, trembling body slowly softened, and after a couple deep breaths she put her lips to Vaughn's cock once more. His heart hammered almost painfully with a mixture of fierce adrenaline and terrible arousal.

"Now, Vaughn. Carry on with your reading, please."

What, was he fucking kidding? No. Of course not. No end to the lunatic's bizarre ideas.

Vaughn glanced down, watched Devan's head bobbing slowly above his lap in sync with the sensation of her mouth sliding up and down his cock, and beyond, the dip of her back and the rising swell of her bare bottom, lifted to the gaze of Conrad, behind her on the sofa. Everything—what she was doing to him with her mouth, the sight of her, of him lurking behind her like a threat, even his own fear—had him so close he thought he'd come before he could say another word. But just as he thought he'd let go she stopped, took her mouth from him. Maybe she dreaded it, the thought of his come suddenly filling her mouth, the taste of him. But she'd have to endure it, eventually.

Conrad would never let her stop without finishing. Trembling with anger and fear and 468

need, Vaughn took up the stack of pages from the side table, and went on reading . And slowly, delicately, Devan took him in again.

The story. That's what had her so scared. Afraid Conrad was going to force them to play out what she'd written. For now he remained sitting on the couch, but suddenly Vaughn feared that at any moment he'd rise, get down on his knees behind Devan, do to her what that man in her story was doing to that girl.

But his anxiety couldn't overwhelm the sensation of Devan's mouth on his cock.

Her lips closed tight around his shaft, sliding up and down, her tongue swathing over the head, flicking the frenulum, making him gasp and twitch. He went rigid with his pending climax, his breath held for long, anxious seconds as his body waited, pleaded for release, then gasped for oxygen, grunted with need, held again. God. Fuck.

She stopped. God. Fuck. Stopped. Her mouth abandoned him, and cold air circled around his wet prick.

"Poor Vaughn. You must need to come so badly."

Vaughn opened his eyes, leveled them on Conrad's smug face.

"It's all right. Just put your hands on Devan, and take what you need."

God, was that it? He had to take hold of her, fuck her mouth, or he'd be left in this aching torment? And she'd have to go on—fuck, for how long?—sucking him, never letting him come? Was she kneeling there, willing him to do it? Or fearfully hoping he'd keep his hands off her?

He couldn't. No way. Stuff his cock between her lips, pull her against him, ram his cock into her throat. Women, his lovers, women who told him they loved giving head, had related stories of men they were with, men they were happily giving blowjobs 469

curving their fingers over the back of their head, or clutching fistfuls of their hair, fucking their mouths, of feeling real terror at that loss of control, a panicked feeling of asphyxiation.

He tried to steady his hands and his voice as he went on with her story, accidentally picking up three paragraphs back from where he'd left off, hardly even noticing he'd done it. As he hit fresh words her lips brushed over the head of his cock once more, parted, drew him slowly in to her warm wetness. He tried to keep the arousal from his voice, keep his body soft, his breathing even as the images from the story and the sensation of her tongue and her lips, her licking and sucking brought him close, so close, he was going to come before she'd realize it. But each time she backed off, leaving him panting, almost crying with frustrated need.

He almost groaned out loud when he turned the page and saw he was at the end, his throbbing cock in agony with want.

"Oh, Vaughn. You stubborn man," Conrad sighed as Vaughn set the papers aside with a trembling hand. "Ah, well, just because you're too gallant to take what you need, doesn't mean Devan should suffer, does it?"

Conrad didn't bother to wait for an answer. He'd already risen from his place on the couch and was closing in on them. When his feet were almost to Devan's he halted, smirked at Vaughn, then dragged his zipper open. What Vaughn saw, Devan heard.

Before she could mask her terror for his benefit, Vaughn watched her shudder and pale, watched her eyes fill with tears, watched the corners of her mouth twitch as if she was about to cry.

He didn't care that his knees and ankles were taped to the chair, that he was belted to it at the waist. His hands were free. He'd break the fucker's neck before he'd let him do that to her.

"Easy, Vaughn," Conrad inveighed with his obnoxious grin. "Promise me you'll never play poker. You're so easy to read, in no time at all you'd be mortgaging the mansion you must live in, back in Seattle."