Bind and Keep Me, Book 2 (6 page)

On the drive back to the house, that thought rambled round and round in my head along with a whole flock of others. Klaus had put Steph on the floor in the back with me.

We’d left that shitty house behind us. The house of dead people. People who had thoroughly fucked up my life and theirs in one fell swoop. Was I sorry now? For this? What we did to Steph? Yes and no. My chest was so tight that sometimes it ached. I was scared right down to my toes. The horror of what I’d seen tonight could never be erased, and yet I was also, in direct contradiction, exultant. We’d done it.

So curious. I was excited, of all things. Triumphant. Some sort of odd over-reaction from fear? I had no idea as to that.

After a few minutes, she wriggled about and I wondered if she meant to try getting up. Not easy with her hands at her back. Though Klaus had put down a pile of blankets from the boot, and she was on her side, it couldn’t be all that comfortable.

I frowned. So long as her hands weren’t irreparably damaged, I was definitely okay with her not feeling one hundred percent comfy. The wriggling, though, was getting bolder. I had my knees up and my feet on the seat. I slowly slid one foot off the seat and lowered it until my cold toes touched the side of her neck.

She stopped and stared up at me—her eyes glasslike orbs that said nothing in this flickering darkness. I could empathize with almost anything and anyone, Klaus had told me. I knew what she must be going through. I did sympathize, and yet…

She writhed again, away from me an inch, as if escaping my touch. I moved my foot in and, keeping my eyes open so I missed nothing in her response, I pressed harder, ever harder, onto her neck until she stilled. Then I leaned down, and let my other foot slip also, to rest lightly on her ribs. She stayed there, quiet, and I thought her throat moved in a swallow.

“Good,” I whispered, and I smiled, I fucking smiled, and a thrill shivered through me from my groin. A sexual thing. I could tell. Damn. I would have to be careful. This was a little creepy, even to me.

With my foot on her neck, she couldn’t do much, but as we drove past streetlights I got to see the frightened glares she fired at me.

One cross lady. I was content though. We’d done it.

When I flexed my toes on her neck and saw her glare some more, my smile stayed.
Bitch.
Klaus had been correct. What sort of friend did what she had? Anyone normal could see in a blink that helping a strange man strip your unconscious friend was wrong. She’d wanted us to believe the drugs had made her do it but right now that excuse didn’t make the grade. I pursed my lips. My anger was too fresh and raw.

For the first time that night, since I’d awoken, I truly studied her. Her soft, calf-length white dress had a cute bodice front that wrapped over her breasts. It was feminine and had rucked up to mid-thigh. She was pretty. Fit certainly. From memory, Steph liked her swimming, and she had a brain when she bothered to use it. Hot even, with that figure and her pure black hair. I recalled how it washed about her shoulders like a wave when she turned. Would Klaus find her attractive? A tiny twinge of jealousy peaked then flowed away.

He was my man. That would never change.

This person was going to live in our house, eat our food, and maybe…try to do everything she could to escape. I would. If I were her.

The other side of the coin? I sat back a little, thinking. We, Klaus and I, got to say precisely what she could, and couldn’t, do. That rocked my brain.

The next streetlight showed her glare had drained away to be replaced by an unreadable flat expression. Then her mouth wobbled and she whimpered, just once, with her gaze fastened on me.

I bit my lip and swung back into worried mode. This was a real girl. What were we doing? I’d never gotten anything worse than a parking ticket.

As I carried the girl down the stairs to the room, I had a bad case of déjà vu. This was how my own introduction into the world of BDSM had begun; only I’d been asked to help Jodie enact a capture fantasy. From that had come our relationship of Master and slave. Though we’d evolved a little since then, and become more comfortable in our roles, and often I think we dropped into merely Dom and submissive, it had begun in the Room.

Capitals seemed right for this place. Nah. I downgraded it to small letters. Pretentious bullshit.

With her weight on my shoulder, my shoes made big hollow thumping sounds as we descended. The one muffled protest she made I settled with a smart thump on her behind, and a “Quiet!”

As behinds went, hers was a nine out of ten. Soft, bouncy, well-formed, and not mine.

There was going to be no leeway for her being petulant or rebellious in this enterprise.

Down here, in the room, was our collection of BDSM toys and equipment—cuffs, chains, ropes, spanking bench, and rings bolted to the walls and floor and ceiling. Our dungeon that was soundproofed and mostly underground, and inescapable, as far as I knew. What would she make of all this?

More importantly—would we ever be able to let her go?

I went along the corridor, reached the door, and fumbled to open it while steadying the woman with one arm over her back. It snicked open and I booted the door to send it swinging inward. I clamped down on a shudder. This was so Hannibal Lector. Jodie and I—serial killer one and serial killer two.

No way. No bloody way. I eyed the derriere of the girl, of…Stephanie—I chastised myself for forgetting her name—as I strode to the left hand wall where I’d long ago set up multiple bolted-in rings. Many fun times had been spent here while I kept Jodie pinned against the wall so I could torture her. She liked to hear Nine Inch Nails blasting out of the speakers while I flogged or cropped, or did whatever struck my fancy to her. Sometimes I’d played her
Raindrops on Roses
or a sugar-sweet Christmas song to add to the torture.

But this girl wasn’t into BDSM, or us. This wasn’t an agreed-upon scene of fake forced seduction. I had to keep my dick in my pants. No matter how pretty or enticing she was. And, yes, she was enticing. My appreciation of the divine female form refused to go away and hide in a dark corner. I could control my voluntary actions but not my involuntary ones, like the hard on that had already arisen.

There were reasons, good ones for what we were doing. I had to keep that in mind. Yes, and the best-laid plans of mice and men often blow up in our faces.

Carefully, I went down on one knee and laid Steph on her side on the floor. I slipped my finger between the metal of the cuffs and her skin. The cuffs might leave a bruise, but the gap was correct and nerve damage unlikely. They’d be removed in a minute anyway. Since handcuffs were illegal in Queensland, I made a mental note to dispose of them ASAP.

The ridiculousness of that—worrying about the handcuffs when we had a kidnapped woman in the basement.
Be daring
, I may as well hang onto the cuffs.

By the time I heard the patter of Jodie’s footsteps on the stairs and she entered the room, I was busy collecting the bits and pieces I needed from the big timber toy box we kept down here. Cuffs, collar, leash and ball gag, just in case.

“Close the door.”

She obeyed, though without taking her eyes off what I was doing. The girl lay on her side where I’d left her, shivering and whimpering a little.

Ignore that. She needed to know we were serious and now, right now, was the crucial introductory phase. Though I had to admit I wasn’t sure exactly how we were going to somehow get to the stage of being able to trust her.

I massaged my forehead. Yeah, no idea. We had to wing it. Stockholm Syndrome? Plain ol’ brainwashing? Logic…mmm, no, cross that one out. And me, an accountant. Haha. What I really wanted, really,
really
wanted, was to see a business plan before we went a step further.

One labeled, maybe,
The Gentle Persuasion of Stephanie
? I rejected that one.
The Mean and Nasty Persuasion of Stephanie
? Better. Gentle was for non-kinky accountants. I’d graduated. I had unplumbed depths and a great capacity for being mean and nasty. I was fairly sure I could even crack my knuckles in a pinch.

I glanced at our scared victim—our victim in the cute little white dress that showed a peek of white underwear and butt cheek due to how the cloth had collected under her. I rose, unfolding my legs and taking stock. Fast and efficient might be best. I’d talk once I had her in place.

When Jodie looked about to intervene I pointed at the floor and waited for her to kneel. The world might have been knocked off course but some things could stay the same.

Stephanie was still shivering. I took a step toward her, thinking how I would fasten her to the wall, make her understand this was how it would be from now on—we held her reins. Her next whimper was even more pitiful. So terrified. And why wouldn’t she be?

Fuck. Was this the way? How could you make someone trust you, which surely was needed before we could trust her, if all you did was scare them and order them about?

Rapport. The word sprang up. We, Jodie and I, needed to form a bond with her so that trusting was part of the relationship. I stood there awhile, not sure how long, thinking, tapping my back teeth together in a habit I’d had since childhood but didn’t often do anymore.

I crouched on one knee next to her and began swapping the handcuffs for the thick leather ones. I snicked each padlock in place to lock in the buckles—you’d need heavy-duty shears, a knife or the key to remove these. Once the ankle cuffs and collar were on I lifted her so she stood with her back against the wall. With her hands linked behind her, her virginal white dress, and her downcast eyes, Steph looked suitably chastened.

I wasn’t stupid, though. She’d possibly knife us and run if she had the chance. Rapport, we needed that so badly. I knew what my mind was hinting, but going there was so wrong…

“There.” I drew her chin up, gently, as if she was made of glass. “Eyes on me. Understand, Steph. You’re no longer in control of your life now. I am.” She cast a worried glance at where Jodie knelt, then at me, then at Jodie again. “She’s not going to rescue you. Jodie is my partner as well as my submissive. You’ll learn what that is. Jodie, get me a pair of scissors, please.”

The scissors I’d taken from Steph were in the car along with the vacuum cleaner. More evidence to dispose of. When I’d first seen those shiny scissors, and the blood on her white clothes, I’d envisioned those scissors plunged into Jodie. What if? What if she had done that?

Nothing,
nothing
, would stop me protecting Jodie. I’d do what I had to.

I put my hand around Stephanie’s neck and thumbed her skin. “I’m not going to say much more tonight. Tomorrow we can sort things out correctly. Your duties, your position here. How I will punish you if you do wrong. It’s late. We’re all tired. You’re terrified.”

She flinched and her neck moved in a tiny suppressed swallow.

“It’s obvious that you are. You don’t need to hide it.” I leaned against the wall next to her. “I’m not going to murder you, or torture you.”

“Are you going to rape me?” The flutter in her voice—more desperate nerves. She might crumble into a hysterical heap if I did the wrong thing, said the wrong words.

“I’m not into rape.” So true. But…but, but, but. There were other ways. My badass conscience whispered to me.
We need this. We need a relationship. Unless you want to go to your deathbed with a woman’s skeleton in your fucking basement.

God. I focused on her. For the first time, she looked back at me squarely.

“Thank you for that.”

“Just one of my weaknesses.” I gave her a bland smile. I might not do rape, but maybe I was contemplating seduction of a woman tied up in my basement—a small yet significant difference. But what if it was the best, the least traumatic way to achieve results, for all of us? I was not going to try beating her into submission. No fucking way would I try that.

Jodie arrived and gave me the scissors. Watching the subtle change in Steph’s face, the relief as she saw Jodie had returned…

As a way of cementing in place my dominance, I was going to strip her of the dress. But I had a small epiphany. Both of us were needed here. My sub or not, I could see a role for Jodie, maybe. It should be both of us.

I fished the leather leash from my pocket, clipped it to the collar then to a ring on the wall. It was long enough so Steph couldn’t hang herself.

“Come with me, Jodie.”

Outside the room, I shut the door and cornered Jodie next to the door jamb. With my hands around her ribs beneath her arms, I bent and kissed her well. God, the warmth and swell of feeling. “It’s so good, being able to touch you again. So good.” With my nose buried in the hair above her ear, I breathed in, enjoying her scent and just being near her.

“Me too,” she murmured shakily. “Me too, Sir.”

After a minute I drew away. “We can’t leave her too long. So, here is what I’ve decided. This isn’t going to work, scaring her into doing what we want. We’ll end up with a woman who will maybe seem complacent, but underneath it all, she’ll want to do us damage. We need to make her want to be here. We need to make her like us.”

She nodded, her eyes serious. “I guess. That sounds so incredibly impossible, though.”

“If you’re agreeable, beautiful, I’d like to get close to her emotionally…maybe even sexually. Are you happy with that?” I kept my hands firmly on her body while I waited, content to feel the rise and fall of her chest.

If she said no, I wasn’t sure where to go after that.

“Sex? You’re talking maybe sex? With her? Us, doing that with her? After what she did to me? That’s so odd. So, maybe, wrong? You’re not talking force?”

I shook my head and Jodie looked away at nothing for a few seconds.

A fleeting hardness crossed her face. “Good, because that’s kind of what they did to me. I’m okay with this. On one proviso.” Her eyes narrowed and she prodded my chest with her finger in a “you’re-my-bitch” gesture I hadn’t seen for months. “You said this was just a you-and-me decision?”