Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Warmth enfolded me. Slowly, the ice ebbed away. I became aware of a low, lilting voice saying words I couldn’t comprehend. A few seconds later, I realized they were spoken in Spanish, but I still didn’t understand more than a word or two dotted within the comforting litany.
“You’re okay. Don’t be afraid,” he finally said in English as he continued to smooth his big hands over my body, warming my frigid skin. I realized I was cradled in Andrés’ strong embrace, but I couldn’t bring myself to try to fight my way free anymore. I felt wrung-out, weak. Small and helpless.
Tears streamed down my face, and my brain whirred back to life. I was naked and crying into my tormentor’s chest. The voice in my head was gone; wiped away, forgotten. All I knew was that my captor had tried to touch me sexually, and I’d freaked out. I didn’t want to be raped.
“Let me go,” I whispered brokenly.
“That’s not going to happen” he told me in that same sure, calming tone.
“Stop touching me,” I begged. I couldn’t bear the feel of his hands exploring my naked, vulnerable body, stroking me like he was soothing a frightened animal. Or a favorite pet.
“I will touch you whenever and however I want.” He paused and sighed. “We will work on this later,” he declared ominously, but he released me.
I shoved up onto my feet, willing my shaking knees to support me as I put several feet of space between us. My eyes flicked to the closed door across from the bed, which I presumed was the way out.
“No,” he said sternly, noticing the direction of my gaze. “Don’t try it, or I’ll spank you again. Go wash away those tears.” He gestured at an open door to my right, which led into a bathroom.
I became suddenly, acutely aware that my basic needs hadn’t been met for long hours, and I darted into the bathroom without any further thoughts of defiance. As I moved, I noticed the slickness between my thighs.
You’re wet. We are going to get along, sirenita.
Mortification burned through me at the memory of Andrés’ words. I might not have considered myself a sexual person, but I wasn’t completely naïve. I knew that a woman got wet when she was aroused, so her body would be prepared to accept a man. It wasn’t the first time I’d gotten wet, either. Watching Dex’s BDSM porn had aroused me, even though I hadn’t been brave enough to act on my desire. Whenever I’d gotten too turned on, I’d thrown myself into a particularly challenging task, usually involving hacking. Using the analytical side of my brain helped cool my animal physical responses.
My stomach roiled. Had my obsession with becoming the object of Dex’s darker needs twisted me so thoroughly? I’d just been spanked by an evil man who claimed to own me, who wanted to rape me. And I’d gotten wet, my body responding to his harsh dominance.
My tears spilled faster as shame heated my cheeks, and I hastily finished my essential business so I could wash my hands and face. I pressed my palms against my flaming cheeks, turning the water colder to help chase away the heat of my humiliation. A few broken sobs heaved from my chest, but I gulped in air and forced myself to calm down.
In the calm, a single imperative took over: escape.
I couldn’t wait around for my friends to find me, for Dex to come to my rescue.
I’m not the damsel in distress, I told myself. I’m the hero. Heroine. Whatever. I’m a badass FBI agent/hacker goddess. I can get out of this.
I couldn’t take down Andrés without a weapon—something he had made painfully clear. My bottom still ached and stung from his punishment, but that wasn’t enough to deter me. He’d stripped me. He’d touched my sex as though he had every right. I refused to sit around and do nothing to defend myself when he clearly intended to rape me.
So, I’d have to find a weapon. Or make one.
I cast my eyes around the opulent bathroom, searching. There, hanging beneath one of the multiple showerheads: a razor.
I quickly crossed the tiled floor and retrieved it. I glanced at the closed bathroom door, knowing I didn’t have long before Andrés would start banging on it. Possibly even breaking it down. I’d locked it behind me, but that wouldn’t stop him. He’d already proven how strong he was, how relentless.
Turning my attention back to my task, I tamped down my anxiety and applied pressure to the razor’s plastic casing. After a few seconds, it snapped. I gripped the flat of one of the blades between my thumb and forefinger, careful of the wickedly sharp edge. If I bloodied my fingers, I wouldn’t be able to hold on to my only weapon.