His Indecent Secrets (Bound and Shackled to the Billionaire, BDSM Erotic Romance) (2 page)

I don’t know where I am. Your brother fucked me. I thought he was you.

What a shitty twisted world we live in.

The video winks on.

Channing is on the other side, the spitting image of Hugh. The same intense blue eyes, worry creases around them.

“Susan? Are you all right?”

She can tell that he’s in some sort of room. Where, she doesn’t know. He might have already flown to Rome or Luxembourg or wherever a billionaire usually holes up in if his house gets burned down.

“Channing!” Tears spring to her eyes even though she promised she wouldn’t break down in front of him, lest he be more anxious over her. Her hand touches the screen. How she wishes she can touch his face.

“Susan. Please tell me you’re OK. If I get to wrap my hands around that little fucker’s neck, I swear I’ll choke him so hard that he won’t be able to rise from the grave ever again.”

“I’m OK.” She’s not sure she’s OK, but seeing Channing lifts her hopes up to almost stratospheric levels.

Channing’s eyes blaze. “Did he touch you? Because if he did – ”

Hugh cuts in, “Yeah, what are you going to do about it? The same thing you did when your house burned down? Because I’ve already fucked her and she gave her cunt to me willingly. Didn’t you, princess?”

He grabs her face roughly and kisses her full on the lips, right in front of the camera aperture on the open laptop. Susan can only imagine what Channing must be thinking. Channing . . . who has never kissed her before. Channing – who equates kissing with profound intimacy. But Hugh obviously has no such hang-ups.

She struggles, but his grip is firm. She remembers what he threatened about what he would do to Channing if she didn’t submit. So she lets her body go lax as he kisses her voraciously. When he finally lets her go, there are indentations of his fingernails on her chin. She can scarcely feel her circulation.

She realizes that the sheet has fallen off her body and her breasts are displayed. Miguel’s eyes are popping out of his head. Channing is screaming something into the camera. His eyes are bloodshot and anguished.

“I know. I’ve turned off the sound,” Hugh says. He taps the sound icon again and it turns from red to green. “If you’re done yelling, listen up. The only reason she let me fuck her . . . again and again . . . is because I threatened her I would make you die a slow, painful death. You’re going to die anyway, big brother, but I can make it quick so you don’t suffer. Well, as quick as I can, considering you left me in Iraq to burn.”

“You didn’t burn, you fucker!”

“Are we going to play nice?” Hugh adjusts the laptop screen to face him. “Now listen up. I’m going to kill her . . . nice and slow . . . in a way that even
you
will have never thought of. Unless – ”

She knows it will come to this. She cringes.

“You’ll have to decide how much she’s worth to you.” Hugh pauses significantly. “You see, I’m taking a gamble that you won’t let an innocent woman go to her death, even if you don’t have any feelings for her. And I’m willing to bet you don’t. You never do, big brother. I know you better than you know yourself.”

The vein on Channing’s temple looks as if it is about to burst.

Hugh lifts a tendril of her hair and starts to stroke it. “This will come as a test of your moral character. Even if you have no feelings for this woman, whom you’ve obviously fucked in every way, you’ve involved her in a very personal family feud. That’s got to mean something even for you.

“You’ve got to decide – just like any superhero who involves innocent bystanders when he’s battling the demon beast from hell – if you’re gonna take a break to save your damsel in distress.”

He grins.

“Superman always does.”

“What do you want?” Channing hisses from the other side of the world.

“Only what is due to me, big brother. From your share of the Iraqi spoils, you built your company from ground zero and listed it. I only want what’s mine. What should be mine. Half of whatever you have, and believe me, I’ve checked your net worth. What do you say to sending over five hundred and forty million to a private bank account in Cayman Islands?”

Five hundred and forty million! She feels faint.

“In exchange for her?” Channing’s voice is strangled.

No, no, she thinks.
He’s not going to think I’m worth it.
It’s literally half his fortune.

She sits limply in her chair, the sheet bunched at her waist, her breasts exposed. Waiting for the axe to fall.

There’s a stretched silence.

I’m going to die
. She wonders if she will get a chance to tell Channing she loves him. If only her tongue would untwist itself.

A visibly strained Channing says, “It’s going to take some time to move that kind of money. It’s tied up . . . in company stocks, among other things.”

His expression is pained. Not pained because he is forced to part with half his money, she thinks. Or
wants
to think. But because both of them have been forced into this situation where they have to barter with terrorists.

Hugh says, “I’m patient. I can wait. I’ll give you five days to come up with something.”

“I’m going to need more than that.”

“It’s you call, bro. I’m not going to tell you what will happen to her in five days. Use your imagination. You were always good at that.”

“Touch her and you’re dead.”

“Figuring you’re gonna try to kill me anyway whether or not I touch her, I think I will indulge.” Hugh lifts her hair to his nose and inhales deeply. He says to her, “Hmmmm. What do you say we give my brother a little pointer on how to be lovers, shall we?”

He bends down to kiss her again. Slowly, deeply, lovingly.

She suppresses a shudder. Not because Hugh is a cold-blooded killer, but because her body – as much as she tries to fight it – is responding to him in the same way she does to Channing’s.

Oh help me, God. What’s happening to me?

2

It’s been two days, and she hasn’t heard anything from Hugh about Channing. She is sure Channing has changed his mind.

Half a billion for a woman I scarcely know? Fuck you. Let her die.

She’s restless and fretful. She’s confined solely to this room, and all she can do is peer out of the window and wonder where they are. She has completely lost consciousness during the plane ride phase and she has no idea how many hours they flew.

Miguel brings her meals and books. He’s nervous and shy, refusing to look into her eyes or engage her in conversation.

“Did he forbid you to speak to me?” she asks him.

He shakes his head.

She says gently, “Then it’s OK for you to talk to me. I won’t bite, regardless of what he tells you.”

Still, Miguel keeps mute, looking shyly at her from beneath his thick lashes.

She says, “Would it be too much for me to ask for some clothes?”

She has not been given any clothes to wear. She has taken to wearing her towel and some sheets she found in the closet.

Miguel shakes his head, clearly troubled. He says haltingly, “Sir . . . he no want you wear clothes.”

Oh, so the boy speaks. She feels sorry for him.

“Miguel, can you please tell me where we are?”

He looks away and begins clearing her empty tray. “Sir . . . he no want me talk to you. No ask me no more, please.”

Is he local? She can’t place his accent, but she thinks he’s Central American. Not Mexican, but one of the smaller countries. Then again, it’s hard to tell. She hasn’t been out of America before, thanks to her brutal self-imposed working schedule to rise to the top. How meaningless it all seems now – this rat race she has put herself through. And now look at where she is. From a successful, high-flying corporate executive, she has been reduced to the role of kidnapped sex doll – her body subject to the whims of powerful men.

Worse still, despite the obvious danger she is in, she finds it perversely exciting to be the object of desire. To be in the tug of war between two identical, completely dominant alpha males. She is going to get killed for this, but at the same time, she has never been more alive than before.

What does that tell her about herself?

Just when she thinks she would die of worry and loneliness, Hugh comes on in the third day.

“Your boyfriend hasn’t replied,” he remarks.

She’s actually glad to see him. To see anyone, actually, in her isolation. But she’s also frightened. Hugh is a whipping electrical livewire – a dangerously unpredictable mess.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Really?” He struts to her. She’s wearing a bath towel, wrapped just above her breasts. He strokes her face. “Of course. My big brother doesn’t do love and affection. He doesn’t do romance either, or anything women claim they crave. But that doesn’t stop them from flocking to him. From loving him.”

He dips his hand to the swell of her breasts.

“As I’m sure you do.”

She nods warily. He runs a finger over the skin of her right breast just above the towel. His voice is husky and his eyes are dark.

“Why hide your beauty under this?”

He loosens the towel. It drops to her ankles. A shiver passes through her – mostly fear. But there’s also that skein of buried desire in it, deep and very, very complex. Hugh has a face she adores after all. A body to die for. Even if his mind is unstable and the soul that resides within is not the one she loves.

The thing is . . . how unstable? Would he strangle her right now – his possible cash cow? She’s his bargaining chip after all. The trouble is she doesn’t know him. The same way she doesn’t know Channing at all, come to think of it.

How did she get herself into this mess?

He caresses her breasts. Their tips, so pointy and inviting. Her nipples harden despite her misgivings. All she has to do is look into his eyes and imagine . . .

Submit
.

“Tell me what he likes to do to you. He likes to make you dress up, that’s for sure.” Hugh bends his lips down to nuzzle her neck. “What else does he like to do? This?”

This is followed by his mouth on hers, his tongue insistently probing through her moist lips. If only he knew what Channing really does and does not to do her . . . but she’s not going to tell him. He licks her mouth and sucks at her tongue. She wishes she can say he feels exactly like Channing . . . but she doesn’t actually know how Channing kisses, so she has no comparison. She finds herself responding to the kiss nevertheless. She lets his tongue invade her, roll all over and across her inner cheeks.

He doesn’t let her come up for air. He seizes her face and kisses her savagely, tipping her head backward. She’s drowning in his kiss. Almost drowning, but for the little voice that screams at her to rein in, to stop enjoying this intimacy with this madman.

He senses her pulling away. He pauses.

“I’m not a monster, Susan, in spite of what he tells you. Nothing is as it seems.”

“I know you tried to burn us alive,” she whispers.

“I burned his house down to give him a warning. I didn’t know you were in it.” He flops her head back, exposing her neck. He bends down to kiss her throat.

“I don’t believe you,” she says softly. His mouth sucks at the soft skin of her neck. Delicious tingles spiral down from his love bites, moistening her sex.

Her heart is beating very fast. Why is she responding to him? Why does her body betray her so?

“Believe what you want. I don’t care.”

“You must care. Otherwise why are you doing this to your brother?”

He grabs her breasts and squeezes them with mounting pressure. “Because of what’s fair.”

He pushes her down on the bed. Her hair spreads out in a tangled fan and her stomach clenches. He’s extremely strong. He snares her right wrist to the bedpost and takes a red piece of cloth out of his back pocket. He binds her there.

He does the same to her left wrist.

“He lies to tie you up, doesn’t he?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Yeah, I’ve done my research on him. Apparently, he’s spent the last ten years of his life going to bondage clubs and picking up women who would let him do this to them. He can have his pick of any woman he wants, and yet he only goes for a certain type.”

Yes, she suspects as much.

He seizes her ankles next and bends her body double. Her trepidation increases. He secures her right ankle to where her right wrist is. He repeats the maneuver with her left. Her legs are now positioned in a very embarrassing and helpless ‘V’, as are her arms. She tugs at her bonds, but he has tied them too tightly, but not tightly enough to cut off her circulation.

She can see the desire light up his eyes. It’s a desire matched by the sudden and florid spurt of juices in her pussy, something that both surprises and mortifies her greatly. Her sex is so exposed, so open to his hungry gaze.

He says, “Tell me. Does he like to suck your tits? Your cunt?”