Raw Ch. 06

Her eyes lit up as she held the shreds of paper like I'd handed her a hundred dollar bill. "Really? I wasn't expecting that. Thank you so much!"

She hadn't wanted an autograph after approaching a personally-esteemed author in a bar? What had she wanted? I shook off the thought and smiled politely, motioning to the pen again.

She scribbled out the information on the blank half of the napkin and handed it back with a shaky hand. Then she disappeared into the sea of bar patrons as quickly as she'd appeared.

That was weird.

I returned the pen and was walking away when the same bartender called out, "Your drink, ma'am."

Geesh. I retrieved my cocktail and left a dollar tip. When I turned to leave again, Sue was walking my way. Suddenly, someone ran into my arm, making me drop the glass. It shattered at my feet. I jumped back in surprise only to collide with the edge of the counter. I groaned and tried to catch my breath.

"Are you okay, Becca?" Sue squatted down as if to pick up the broken shards, but I grabbed her arm to pull her upright.

"I'm fine. Let them clean that up." I turned back to the male bartender for the third time, held up one finger, and then pointed to my table. I saw him nod before Sue guided me back through the crowd.

"Why the glum look?" Malcolm asked as I sat down.

"My feet are covered in Malibu Rum and pineapple juice because someone knocked my glass out of my hand. I fell into the bar, so my back is killing me. Oh, and I'm out four dollars." I kissed him. "But I made a fan happy by signing a napkin."

He laughed and returned the kiss. "As long as the fans are happy."

"Looks like you're going to be happy, too," Sue said.

I looked up to see a tall, very handsome man approach our table carrying a glass filled with a yellow-colored liquid.

His dark complexion appeared to be sculpted over his high cheekbones and forehead that were framed by cropped, even darker hair. His blue eyes sparkled as he leaned down to place the glass before me on the table. He wore a fitted dark suit and tie with a shirt that matched his eyes. Everything about him said sophistication. He could have been a model with that face and body.

"S'il vous plaît accepter mes excuses tout renverser votre boisson," he said.

Something inside me sighed at the sound of his thick, French accent.

"He is apologizing," Malcolm whispered in my ear. "About your spilled drink."

I just blinked up at the stranger.

"Pour la gêne occasionnée." He then set down four one-dollar bills. "For the inconvenience, mademoiselle."

"She says, merci," Malcolm said, elbowing me. He lowered his voice and added, "Close your mouth."

"Huh? Oh, yes! Thank you!"

"Bonsoir." The stranger tipped his chin toward me with a brief smile and was gone.

"Hubba, hubba," Sue said, waving at his departing back. "You can spill my drink any day, honey."

"That was very nice of him," Drake said. "And you got your money back as well."

"Yes, yes. Very nice." My hand shook as I lifted the glass to my lips. It was my regular Malibu and pineapple, heavy emphasis on the Malibu. I wasn't going to complain, though.

"You can stop staring now." Malcolm nipped then licked my neck right behind my ear, which made me shiver and turn to look at him.

"Sorry." I gestured to where my benefactor had stood, as if that explained everything.

Malcolm just chuckled and took a swig of his beer.

I shook my head, breaking the brief daze that had settled upon me. I went to set my drink on the nearby napkin but realized it had the woman's address on it. I slid the shred of paper to Sue instead. "Mail her a copy of 'Triple Tease,' please. Send her a signed one."

Sue studied it a moment before she put it in her purse. "Now enough business talk. We're celebrating."

"What took you so long in the restroom? You were right behind me."

Sue winked at me. "Covert operations."

I raised an eyebrow and took another long sip of my complimentary drink.

"Your man is all the talk, Ms. Rockland," she whispered in a conspiratorial tone.

"Should I be worried?"

She nodded and stirred the red-tinted liquid in her martini glass. "The teeny-boppers are planning to take you out and kidnap him. I could have heard wrong, though. It was loud in there."

I rolled my eyes and watched the far area of the room where a DJ was set up for the evening. Girls with more skin revealed than clothing covering them pressed against guys who seemed to have their hands too low on the girls' backs as they danced to music that was starting to hurt my head with the repetitive, thumping base.

Minus the headache, it reminded me of the secret BDSM club the guys had taken me to last year. We hadn't been back since, and I missed that experience. How Malcolm had danced with me in the sea of exhibitionists and made me orgasm. How I'd given him a blowjob under the table. And how he'd absconded with me to the private room and had his way with me until I was putty in his hands.

Now that I was back home and had time to unwind, I should suggest we hit up that club again. Or even a different one they might know of. Until then, I would just have to daydream.

Half an hour later, I couldn't hear myself think. I'd had several cocktails thus far, including another after my free one. I'd even allowed the girls to drag me out for a couple of dances, so I was feeling pretty good. But now I was really sleepy and ready to go home.

"How about another round?" Drake asked, pointing to each of our empty glasses or bottles. Although Sue and Daphne nodded, I waved my hand when he looked at me.

"Sorry, I'm exhausted." I didn't mention that the bouncing colors of lights made my brother look blurry. I'd definitely had too much to drink.

"I'm done, too," Malcolm said. He kissed my cheek. "I'll take you home and help you relax."

I smiled weakly at him. "Relax? Wouldn't bet on it." Was I slurring my words?

He winked at me. "You might be right. But you will have other guests crashing tonight, so we need to keep it toned down."

"It hasn't stopped him yet," Drake laughed.

I tilted my head toward my grinning brother. "Hello Pot. Meet Kettle. You're not exactly the quietest houseguests, you know."

Drake's eyes and mouth went wide with mock horror as he put his hand on his chest. Then he smiled again. "Get on out of here before someone steals your arm candy."

"I need to make a pit stop first," Malcolm said.

I leaned toward him. "I'll wait outside."

He caught my arm as I stood, to which I was thankful because the floor was spinning. I leaned into him, mostly to use him as support as I tried to keep my balance. His voice seemed far off even though he spoke in my ear. "I'm serious about getting you relaxed."

My heart was beating so loud in my head I couldn't think of what to say, so I just nodded.

"I'll meet you out front, okay?"

I nodded again.

It was much cooler on the other side of the dirty glass windows lit up with neon beer signs. The door opened onto a tiny triangle of sidewalk. Another couple came out, both of them lighting up cigarettes before they crossed the threshold so I was enveloped in a cloud of smoke. I chose to step around the corner to get out of their way instead of into the street. It had rained since we'd arrived, and it was just my luck that I stepped into a puddle. Like my feet weren't already wet. At least there was a streetlamp post I could lean on.

I heard the couple's footsteps fading on the wet cement as they walked in the other direction, their chatter waning with it. When it was quiet again, I sighed long and deep. Ah, a little peace. And fresh air. But my arms and shoulders were chilled by the latter. I was considering if I should go back inside when I heard footsteps right behind me.

The person bumped into me before I could get out of the way. I turned to yell at the culprit because that was twice in one night, but my feet didn't get the message and I stumbled forward. Arms wrapped around me, steadying me against a hard chest. I gasped in surprise before I considered that maybe Malcolm had gone out the back door.

"Be careful, Ms. Rockland," the masculine owner of the arms said.

The thoughts in my head may have been jumbled, but I knew he was definitely not Malcolm. He spoke perfect English, but with a foreign accent. I opened my mouth to ask him how he knew my name just as he stepped out of the shadows. What actually came out was, "Whoa, baby!"

It was the same man who had bought me a drink. The light winked off his eyes as he looked around. "Maybe you should sit down."

I slurred, "I'll be fine."

"I insist." His arm was still around my shoulders as he pried my fingers from the post.

"No, thanks," I said, but I couldn't of think why I should refuse his help. He was only trying to be nice.

Suddenly, his large hand covered my mouth. Something inside me said to bite, but my teeth scraped leather instead of skin. My hands clawed at the air as the strange but handsome man led me away in the opposite direction of the bar. The traitors, my legs carried me with him, no longer responding to my instructions to stop.

We walked up the street for several blocks. Each time I attempted to struggle in his firm grip, he held me tighter against his body. By the time we turned a corner and stopped next to a dark car, he was practically carrying me.

The backseat door on the passenger side opened. The man removed his hand from my mouth to push down on the back of my head. I told myself to fight him while he guided me forward, but the only result was a weak whimper as my limbs gave out and I tumbled into the obscurity of the backseat.

The door slammed shut behind me. I screamed, but another gloved-hand clamped over my mouth and I was pulled once more against a hard body. My fingers fumbled over the panel to find the handle as my continued cries were muffled. I heard the locks click a moment before I found success. Still, I yanked, but nothing happened. I heard the whir of a window being lowered, then a cool breeze brushed my face.

"A little extra for any trouble," the masculine voice of the body behind me said. His body pressed mine forward against the door as he reached around me, his citrusy-but-spicy-scented cologne drifting up my nose as I inhaled.

I blinked rapidly as an envelope was passed through the opening to a waiting black glove. Or were there three gloves? I closed my eyes for a moment hoping to clear my vision.

"His usual, along with the requested package," said the French man outside.

I opened my eyes to see his face appear in the space of the open window. Handsome be damned, he was not trying to help me.

He looked from me to somewhere behind me. "Remind him that a little goes a long way."

A small, black bag was held at the opening. Whomever was holding me in the car took the bag. The window went up, and the car moved forward. The weight on my back was released, but the arm remained around me as well as the hand over my mouth.

I was so tired, but I told myself, "Don't give up." I pressed my forehead to the cool glass and closed my eyes again to concentrate. I kept hearing the clacking sound of the handle being released until I could no longer grip the metal bar.

###

I had vague memories of being helped out of the car. Of walking up a set of stairs with the aid of two people. Of being led to a mostly dark room where I was stripped of my clothes. After I was laid down on a bed, sheets and a blanket were tucked around me. I moaned then. At least I think it was me.

A voice whispered something in my ear. I didn't understand it. Then there was nothing for awhile.

I swallowed several times when I came to again. I attempted to lick my tongue across my dried lips, but my mouth felt like I had been sucking on a cotton ball. I opened my eyes yet saw nothing. I heard heavy breathing. Was it me?

When I tried to roll onto my side, my body would not cooperate. It took a few tries to realize my arms were stretched above my head. I could move my legs, but my ankles appeared to be secured somehow. I was trying to rationalize how and why when a door opened on my right.

Pain shot up my neck as I turned my head too quickly.

A dark silhouette appeared against a backdrop of golden light. The door closed again, casting the room in darkness again. Then a husky voice said, "Hello, Becca. I hope you're well rested. We have a lot of catching up to do."

I screamed so hard and long that my throat was raw. My wrists and ankles were no likely bruised from yanking on my restraints. But I was fighting a losing battle. I was still secured to a bed with Brian Hughes standing nearby. We weren't in his bachelor-themed bedroom, but I guessed we weren't far from his sadistic lair disguised as a normal Chicago brownstone.

"Are you quite finished?" he said as he fiddled with some switches on the wall until he seemed satisfied with the ambient light flooding the room. Then he perched on a stool opposite the foot of the bed where I lay while he sipped a glass of red wine. He wore his obligatory dark suit sans tie, and his white dress shirt was untucked with several buttons undone.

I just glared at him, realizing my head was tilted up with pillows so that I was forced to stare at him directly. What an arrogant asshole.

"You really should reserve your energy. You're going to need it."

I rattled the chains once more to show him I would fight him. However long I'd been resting had been enough for me to sober up. Surprisingly, I did not have a headache, which I usually did get when I was hungover. "Fuck you!"

He set the glass aside and stood. I had forgotten he was at least a head taller than me. From my prone position, he appeared quite menacing, and I shrunk back a little. He removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. "We'll get to that, Becca."

"Go to hell," I rasped, my eyes darting to the narrow table he was walking towards near the door.

A little black bag sat on top next to a tall, white bottle and a rectangular box that was about the size of the one my tampons came in. From this distance and with the low lighting, I could not read the words on the latter two items. But I'd seen that bag. Hadn't I?

He squatted down. "As I recall, you were in heaven last time."

I spat at him.

He just continued with unzipping something beneath the table. A moment later, he turned around fully and approached the bed with two short, narrow chains and something I couldn't determine in his hand.

My heart raced as he dropped the chains on the bed, rested one knee beside my head, and reached over me. Not knowing what his intent was, but knowing it couldn't be good, I fought as best as I could by rolling my head back and forth as I yelled, "Get off me!"

He ignored me. As he lifted the mysterious object, I paused my thrashing long enough to see that it was made up of a red ball with a black band connected to either side. He took advantage of my sudden stillness to tug my jaw down until he could wedge the ball into my mouth. Then he secured the band around the back of my head, tightening it so that it was snug. "Relax your jaw or you'll hurt yourself."

I tried to speak, but the rubber ball—although flexible between my teeth—was hard enough that I could only mumble against it. And I slobbered while doing so. I resorted to breathing through my nose, but that made me sound a bit like a mad bull as I comprehended that he had just gagged me.

He flung back the bedclothes with a flourish. His only response was a guttural grown. Mine was a stifled shriek and an unsuccessful attempt to pull back as shivers jolted through my limbs.

I was still wearing my stockings. They were a luxury I had not indulged in since my first and last sexual encounter with Brian—because of said encounter—but nothing else. Or rather, nothing else that belonged to me.

Strapped to each thigh was a black, leather band that looked like a short belt with grommet holes and a buckle. I flinched again as Brian caressed my left breast and slowly slid his hand down my side. I watched him with morbid curiosity, repulsed by his hand touching me but unable to stop him.

He didn't speak as he retrieved one of the smaller chains he'd laid on the bed and secured it to a metal ring on the underside of the thigh band. His fingers trailed down my leg to my ankle. He squatted again, and I heard a metal clanking before my leg went slack.

I yanked my leg away. The now-loose chain whipped out. It caught him on the bare part of his forearm just below his rolled-up sleeve. A red welt immediately appeared.

Brian reacted exactly as I had expected: he did nothing. No cuss words, no striking me anywhere on my body. Instead, he continued in his controlled demeanor and moved my leg up so my knee was in the air. He secured the shorter chain on my thigh to the cuff on my ankle so that my leg stayed bent, and then he hooked the longer chain on my ankle to a new position on the side of the bed. Only then did he pause to wipe at the light trail of blood that trickled down his skin.

He didn't look at me as he walked around the bed. He didn't touch my body the way he had on the left side. He merely repeated the re-chaining process—keeping hold of my right leg and the loose chain this time. When he was done, I was left with my feet flat on the bed, my legs pried open.

"You're a fan of Enigma, correct?" Brian was back at his mysterious bag and pulled out an iPad. He tapped the device's screen a few times. Suddenly, the familiar sounds of one of my favorite artists streamed through the speakers. It almost drowned out his words as he shed his shirt, his back to me. "I have a little treat for you, but I think I want to wait to show it to you. Strange as it may seem, I only have so much self-control. And you've kept me waiting a good, long time. First things first."

I thought I would choke as he lowered his pants and turned to face the bed. His cock was long and proud against his pelvis. I felt bile rising up my throat at the thought that I once had been in awe of this man, of his manhood, as brief as it had been. I swallowed now with some difficulty.

Still facing me, he pulled a shiny strip of material out of the rectangular box, clearing up the mystery of the contents within. He tore a square off and ripped open the package with his teeth. With a slow finesse, he rolled on the condom as he said, "I really don't like to use these. But for my protection, it will have to do until we can make permanent arrangements for you."

I screamed and struggled, but both were in vain. Oh how I wish I had my legs free. Especially to kick him and make him the one who would become sterile. I had never been so thankful that I'd had an IUD implanted when Malcolm and I had become regular lovers. But if Brian had had many other lovers since me, I was only protected so much.

He retrieved the white bottle and climbed up on the bed, kneeling between my legs. Then he finally looked up at me. There was nothing in eyes. Just a dark void. No remorse for what he had already done or what he was about to do.

How long had he planned this? Since the book signing? The altercation at the restaurant? The moment I'd said the safe word? This was payback for leaving. Of course, he'd call it training or some other term, but it was the farthest thing from it. Not when his intent was to make me do something I did not consent to. And I knew he would break me if I let him. So I couldn't let him.

He must have read the understanding in my own eyes as his lips curved up ever so slightly, but not enough to be considered a grin. The man never smiled. He tilted his head to the side and paused for a moment. "You know, you have good taste. I can see why you like this music. It's very arousing."

I wanted to close my eyes. To convince myself that I was just having a horrible nightmare and I could wake up any second. But I was more afraid of what would happen when I couldn't see him again. Not that I could stop him, but knowing where he was provided a tiny comfort in my brain.