A strange feeling grips hold of me when I find her in the exact position I left her in, her eyes focused on the bathroom door.
I kneel in front of her and place her leg on my thigh to inspect the sole of her feet. Sure enough, there are some bloodied cuts, and while they’re not too deep, they would definitely be a hindrance.
Due to her ballet passion, Annika never, and I mean never, allows her feet to get hurt. She told me I could flog and spank her anywhere, but her feet were off-limits. The closest I could get to them was binding her ankles.
So to see her this fucking careless about them makes me murderous.
I retrieve a bottle of oxygenated water and clean the cuts on both her feet and then start to apply ointment.
“Next time you hurt yourself, I swear to fucking God…” I trail off at the strained sound of my voice.
The more I touch her, the faster pain and fucking rage consume me.
I feel the tremor in her body before her soft voice fills my ears. “I didn’t mean to. I only wanted to…”
“Escape,” I finish for her. “That won’t be fucking possible.”
“My dad will come for me,” she murmurs, but it doesn’t sound like a threat, more like she’s informing me of facts. “He’ll find me and you, and when he does, this will end badly.”
“This island isn’t on the map, and I left all your belongings back in the States. He won’t be able to locate you.”
Silence stakes claim as I continue lathering the cream on her cuts without looking at her.
After a moment, her gentle voice reaches me again, all elegant and melodic and made for me. “What do you plan to do with me, Creighton?”
“Keep you.”
“And then?”
“There’s no then.”
“How long do you intend to keep me?”
“There’s no time limit.”
“So we’ll live on the island for the rest of our lives?”
“If need be.”
“You can’t do that.” Her voice becomes panicky. “We both have lives, families, friends, a future.”
“A future where you’ll be married to someone else will not fucking exist, Annika.” I shut the first aid kit closed, about to stand up and cool myself before I act on the dark thoughts rushing wildly in my head.
A gentle palm falls on my chest, stroking the healed bullet wound, touching, trembling, exploring. “Does it hurt?”
“It does.” I grab her hand and slam it on the thundering organ next to it. “Right fucking here.”
“I’m so sorry.” She lowers herself so she’s on her knees facing me and I’m greeted by the pained tears that roll down her cheeks. “I know nothing I say would undo what happened and no excuses would justify it, but I want you to know that I hated myself every day since then. I couldn’t sleep, eat, or breathe properly and was only able to survive thus far after knowing you were safe. I’m so, so sorry, Creighton.”
“Apologizing isn’t enough.” I dig my fingers into the back of her hand. “You have to make it up to me for the rest of your life.”
She breathes heavily, the sound echoing in the air. “If I do, will you let go of your grudge?”
“Don’t worry yourself about that.”
Her eyes shine with that irritating defiance. “You can take your rage out on me all you like, but I won’t allow you to use me to bring my family down.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
She starts to stand up, but I shove her back against the mattress.
And before she can move, I fling the side table’s drawer open and retrieve my ropes and special toys I prepared specifically for her.
Annika’s eyes widen and she struggles against me, but it’s futile. “I did nothing to be punished for.”
“Let’s count what you did wrong. Aside from shooting me, you left.” I strap her hands to the bedpost. “You up and disappeared, leaving me for dead.”
Her fight slowly withers. “I didn’t want to. Papa made me.”
“I’m sick and tired of your father.” I move to her ankles, binding them to the foot of the bed.
She tests the ropes but knows better than to pull on them since they’d only tighten. “Is that why you’re so mad? Because I left? I wasn’t really allowed to visit you, but I wanted to, Creighton. If it were up to me, I would’ve never left your side. Even if I was locked up for it.”
“Is that why you went back to the States ready to marry the first son of a bitch your father chooses for you?” I stand at the foot of the bed and finger a toy, then turn it on. “Is he the older fucker you always smiled at and called a sanctuary?”
“What? No—” Her words end in a moan when I thrust the toy deep inside her cunt and push the vibrator extension against her clit.
The belt of her bathrobe comes undone beneath my ministrations. She arches off the bed and the ropes pull her back down. A pink tit teases from beneath the fabric, the nipple puckering and tightening for attention.
But that sight is not enough.
Nothing is enough when it comes to this girl.
I’m plagued with this need to brand myself on and beneath her skin, so she can’t breathe without feeling me.
So she’s unable to breathe without me.
Unable to exist if I’m not there.
I want her to feel the fucking pain I felt when I woke up and found out she’d left.
I retrieve the plug and her eyes widen as she fights against the ropes. My movements are methodical as I coat it against the juices that are gushing out of her cunt.
It takes everything in me not to replace the toys with my aching cock. But it’ll happen.
In time.
“Bet your arse missed being spanked, little purple.”
A moan is all the response I get as I plunge the plug into her back hole. The sound turns to a whimper when I jostle it inside, on and on just to fuck with her.
When she’s gasping, her skin becoming pink in preparation for an orgasm, I release the toy. “Do not come.”
I engrave my order with a slap to her arse then I go to the wardrobe.
Annika writhes, trying and failing to create more friction due to her position, but her gaze follows me.
My fingers splay around a leather belt and I do a slow show of rolling it around my fist as I stalk back to the bed. Annika’s struggles come to a halt, her lips part at the object, and a flush covers her skin in red.
“You think you can move on that easily? You think I’d let you?” I expose her perky tits and bring the belt down on the hard tips.
She convulses, arching before she’s held down by the ropes.
“Ack—” Her expressive eyes meet mine, pleading, begging, imploring. “Don’t…Creigh…”
“Don’t call me that.” Two successive whips come down on her breasts and pussy, causing her to yelp and sob. “You lost the right to call me that.”
Tears stream down her cheeks even as her holes open and close and stretch and beg against the toys. I bring up the intensity enjoying the sight of her cum all over the mattress. I’m going to make her drench the sheets on and on until she’s all spent.
I whip her in rhythm with the vibrator and she cries out as the orgasm is wrenched out of her.