Stockholm Syndrome (14 page)

He laughed. “Oh, little drama queen! I’m glad you enjoyed
yourself, but you have so much to learn. By my standards, that was pure vanilla—and
I’m not talking about the flavor of the ice cream!”

He pressed a kiss to her open lips and walked quickly down
the hall before she could stop him… Before he admitted that it had been amazing
for him too.

Chapter Six

The next morning, Mason knocked on her door at ten, as they’d
agreed. She’d had breakfast and was ready and waiting, dressed in her olive-green
hot pants and a white vest. This time she had her hiking boots on, since she
didn’t know if they’d have to walk through the bush to get to the picnic spot.

He was dressed in a similar manner, his vest displaying the
blatant power of his body, but he frowned at her.

“Don’t you have anything else to wear?” he asked.

“Only some ultra-warm thermal stuff. All Owen brought was my
backpack. Do you think I packed a bloody ball gown to climb Kilimanjaro in?”
she snapped, instantly annoyed by his double standards.

“Don’t be so touchy. I just mean…” He gestured at her legs. “Those
shorts are so damn short. Surely you weren’t going to run around in Africa
dressed like that?”

She couldn’t let him discover that she’d modified her
clothes for his benefit!

“Er… I made a mistake when I was packing. I was in hurry,
you see, and I have hiking shorts in exactly this color. I thought I’d packed
them but…” Her voice trailed off. He was staring at her feet. “What? You can’t
possibly have a problem with my shoes! They’re proper hiking boots.”

“There’s no problem. They just look damn sexy on you. Better
than stilettos.”

His unexpected compliment disarmed her and she smiled at
him. “You’ve never seen me in stilettos. I have this killer pair at home that
you’d love. They’re—” She stopped, suddenly upset. “Never mind. I only have
what’s in the backpack. If I can make do, so can you.” She pushed past him into
the hall, tears clouding her vision. If only he’d let her go home! She was
doing all of these things with him to make him trust her, but she had no idea
if she was getting any nearer her goal. Not that she minded the sex, of course.
Now that she wasn’t frightened of him anymore, she could admit it was quite the
most exciting thing she’d ever done. But it was sex for a reason—scheming,
manipulative sex, and she felt guilty for enjoying it as much as she did. The
sooner he let her go, the better. She’d gone through a lot of pain to free
herself from controlling, domineering men, and she wanted her life back with a
vehemence that surprised her.

***

Mason followed Evelyn down the hall, through the kitchen,
and out the door. He’d heard the little catch in her voice when she spoke about
her possessions at home, and from the tight set of her shoulders, he could see
she was upset. The familiar stab of guilt soured his stomach. He didn’t know
how much longer he’d be able to bear keeping her here as a prisoner.

Although she said that she didn’t want to leave, that she
had feelings for him, it was obvious that she wanted to return to her life, her
family and friends, her home. He didn’t expect miracles. He just hoped that,
when she left, she would have forgiven him enough not to go to the police.

Of course, it would be different if she wanted to stay here,
and could come and go at will, as a girlfriend, or a partner. His mind shied
away from the thought. It was too much. Relationships were not for him. Nothing
was worth the pain of betrayal that inevitably followed when you let somebody
get that close, when you loved them. He pushed the deviant thought firmly out
of his mind and concentrated on the event ahead.

He wanted to push Evelyn to her limit, sexually. He needed
answers, assurances, and this was the only way that he could think of to get
them. The equation was very simple: if she let him do what he wanted to do, if
she trusted him, then he would trust her. But for the first time in his life as
a Dom, he felt nervous.

They walked out into the sun, the gravel of the driveway
crunching under their boots.

“We’re going in the Rover,” he said, and she turned to the
big, black vehicle, waiting patiently while he opened the passenger door for
her with a chivalrous flourish, hoping to make her smile. Once she’d settled, he
made his way around to the driver’s side and climbed in. He’d already packed
everything they would need.

He drove them up the road, past George and Edna’s house, and
on toward the stables.

“I thought the road ended at the stables?” said Evelyn.

“It does. We’re going cross-country.”

He steered the Range Rover over the turf that surrounded the
stable building, and onto a narrow dirt track that ran parallel to the fences
of the paddocks beyond.

“George uses this track to take food to the horses,” he
explained as they bounced along the uneven path. “He has a quad bike with a
trailer. That way, he can get all the horses fed in under an hour, even the
ones in the far paddocks.”

When they reached the end of the paddocks, the track split
to the left and right, following the white fences, but Mason kept going
straight. Now the trail was barely discernible, just two narrow paths for the
wheels to follow while grass and small bushes scratched at the underbelly of
the car. He drove with confidence; he was taking them to an old favorite spot
of his.

They crested the top of the rise and the path became rocky.
He fought the wheel, holding the heavy vehicle steady as they descended into
the valley of a small river. The house and paddocks were no longer visible
behind them, and the bush now dense and pristine. They followed the river for
some distance then turned aside to go up a hill. The track ended when they were
almost at the top, and he parked in the shade of some large-leafed trees.

“We’re here,” he said, opening his door and climbing out. “Come
and see.”

He took her hand, and they walked the remaining distance to
the top of the hill. A beautiful old white-trunked tree crowned the summit, its
sweeping branches providing a wide circle of shade at any hour of the day. Around
its spreading roots, the ground was open, and covered with fine, pale sand. A
cool breeze rustled through the leaves and, far below, they could hear the
river racing between its stony banks. They turned slowly, looking out at the
view.

“Wow,” said Evelyn. “This is spectacular.”

“Yeah, it’s a bigger hill than you’d think. Look, there’s
the house.”

She looked where he was pointing. They were higher than the
intervening ridge, and she could see Brady Ranch like a miniature in the
distance. In all directions bush stretched for miles, dotted here and there
with lakes, gleaming in the sun.

“The ocean is that way, but you can’t see it.”

After a few more moments he went to unload the Range Rover,
making two trips to lug the heavy Esky and a bulky black tog bag to the top of
the hill. Evelyn helped, carrying some of the smaller items and the picnic
blanket.

“Spread it out under the tree, between those two big roots,”
he suggested. She arranged it then lay on it, looking up at the sky through the
leafy branches.

He took two Cokes out of the Esky then sat on the blanket at
her side. He opened the tins, holding them at arm’s length in case they spurted
after the rough drive, and handed one to her. She sat up and sipped gratefully.
The day was heating up. She looked lightly flushed, her hair escaping from its
hair tie, and her breasts straining against her vest, begging for release into
his palms. He couldn’t wait to get her out of her skimpy clothes. Unobtrusively
pressing his Coke tin against the ridge that was forming under his shorts, in
the hope that either the cold or the pressure would alleviate his urgency, he
pondered how best to proceed.

“Evvy?”

“Yes, Mace?”

“Tell me more about Stockholm syndrome. Does it just make
you want to have sex with me, or does it have other symptoms?”

A wary expression crossed her face, and she fussed with her
Coke, making a production of finding a level place to put it down.

***

Damn, thought Evelyn, what was he after now? She’d let her
guard down, seduced by the magic of this beautiful place, but now she must
tread carefully. If he’d looked up Stockholm syndrome on the Internet, which
she was sure he had, he’d know about the other effects. In fact, she was
counting on it, because those effects should help convince him to let her go.

“There are other symptoms,” she answered slowly. “The victim
bonds with the kidnapper on various levels. He or she usually feels empathy
toward the perpetrator and adopts and supports their point of view.” She spoke
stiffly, as if quoting from a textbook. “That’s why you can trust me not to go
to the police. I totally understand that what happened was a mistake, and not
your fault at all.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed, willing him to believe her.

“Hmm. So you’re saying that I can trust you because you have
Stockholm syndrome?”

“Not
just
because of that, but because I genuinely
believe you and I’ve already forgiven you.”

“And does it work both ways? You say that I can trust you,
but do you trust me?”

She stared at him, perplexed. Where was this leading?

“Er… Yes. I do trust you. Obviously I do, I mean, look what
we’ve done together. And I’m out here alone in the middle of nowhere with you.
Need you ask?”

“Yes, I do need to ask.” He was smiling at her now, and
alarm bells were clanging in her mind. “I want to fuck you again, Evvy. But I
want to fuck you
my
way.”

“What do you… Where? When? I don’t understand,” she trailed
off lamely. Her heart pounded in counterpoint to the throbbing between her
legs. How was it possible that he excited her so effortlessly, time and time
again? A word, a look, a touch—that was all it took.

He stared into her eyes and enunciated each word with
precision.

“I want to fuck you now, here, in this beautiful place. But
I’m a Dom, Evvy—a Dominant. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

She was visibly shocked. “Umm, yes. Well, I mean I’ve read
about it, at least. But you don’t seem… I don’t really know about it, you know.
I’ve—” She fell silent abruptly when he laid his thumb gently over her lips.

“Shhh, Evvy. You’re babbling. You shouldn’t be so shocked
given how we first met.”

The image of him in that sinister mask, all dressed in
black, flashed into her mind. He’d looked terrifying. An echo of that fear
swept over her, chilling her skin.

“You know me better now.” His voice was low and urgent. “You
know that everything I do is strictly consensual. But you also know that I like
to play games.” He stroked his thumb slowly over her lips.

“Games can give a lot of pleasure, Evvy. I can give you more
pleasure than you’ve ever experienced.” The rhythmic stroking continued, a
light, sensual touch, and his voice became persuasive.

“If you trust me, I can make it
very
good for you.
You want me to trust you, don’t you? Well, I want you to trust me too. Will
you, Evvy?” He lowered his thumb across her lips, pulling the bottom one open
slightly and brushing the sensitive inner skin as he stroked down, then
withdrew his hand from her face. She drew her lip into her mouth and sucked on
it.

“What do you want to do?” she whispered at last, fearful although
his simple touch had aroused her again.

“I want you to submit to me. I’m going to tie you up and do
certain things to you. I will not hurt or harm you, but if you agree then you
cannot argue about things, or question me. You have to give over the control of
your body to me, and trust me to see to your needs.”

His pale eyes were hypnotically green. He was so
unbelievably tempting.

“What things will you do to me?”

“That is for the Dom to know and the sub to find out.”

“Will I like it?”

“Yes. It will be different, and you might find some of the
things uncomfortable at first, but you will like it.”

“What if I don’t?”

He stared at her, considering. “I’ll give you a safe word.
If you say it, I’ll stop, no matter what.”

“Oh. What’s the safe word?”

“Exit. That was the safe word used for The Chase.”

“There was a safe word that night?”

“There’s always a safe word.”

She remained silent as she considered the implications of
that statement.

“So what’s it to be, Evvy? Will you give me your submission?”

The certain formality to his question made her pause. This
was important to him, so if she did it, it would mean a lot to him. It would
help her plan along. In fact, it might just tip the odds in her favor. Besides,
the conversation had left her wet and needy, aching to be filled—she could use
some of that pleasure he kept going on about.

“All right. I give you my submission.”

His body visibly relaxed, but at the same time, his demeanor
seemed to change. He rose to his feet and stood next to the picnic blanket,
towering over her.

“Good girl. Stand up and take off your clothes.”

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off sternly before she
could speak.

“Remember, no questions, no arguments. You may only speak if
spoken to. Disobedience will earn you a punishment. Now get undressed.”

She scrambled to her feet and removed her clothes. She didn’t
try to hide from his heated gaze, but stood naked before him, the breeze like
gentle fingers caressing skin that was usually covered. It was strangely
liberating to be nude out in the bush; a sense of physical freedom swept over
her and she took a deep breath. She could do this.

Mason cupped her breasts, squeezing and weighing her flesh,
sending warm, tingling sensations across her body. He held her nipples between
his thumbs and forefingers, observing closely as the areolas crinkled and
contracted under the light pressure.

“So beautiful,” he murmured gruffly.

Her juices flowed in a hot rush, soaking her pussy.

“Does that make you wet?” He rolled her nipples, increasing
the pressure until she gasped, hot bolts of desire twisting the inner muscles
of her cunt.

“When I ask you something, you must answer me, even if you’re
embarrassed. Does stimulating your nipples make you wet?”