Page 30 of His Captive
Lea
I’m falling.
And I’m falling hard.
Common sense has gone out the window. It fluttered away and I’m not sure I’ll ever see it again. I practically begged for a kiss, even before I agreed to let him spank me—before I agreed to let himtasteme, if I enjoy it. And I know I’m going to enjoy it, especially if it isn’t a punishment like last night. Which means I’ve given Massimo’s lips free rein. He can taste meanywhere.
I squirm as I think about it, watching as Massimo loads everything back into the basket. I had more wine than he did, and I’m a lightweight, so I’m feeling it. A pleasant buzz that makes the world feel more vibrant and alive. That makes my inhibitions not seem so… inhibiting. But it’s only a taste, right? I’m not agreeing to anything more than that—unless I beg for it. I won’t let it go that far. I can’t.
“Alright, let’s get a move on it,” Massimo snarls, picking up the basket and motioning for me to follow him.
“Eager to get me back to the resort?” I tease, feeling flutters and tingles in places I didn’t realize could flutterortingle.
Massimo doesn’t respond. He just grunts and hikes his way up the hill with me trailing behind him. I have an excellent view of his broad shoulders and muscular back pressing against his t-shirt. A great view of his ass in a pair of tight-fitting jeans. I raise my hand, hesitate, and grin. I shouldn’t do this, but turnabout is fair play. As soon as he gets to the top of the hill, I slap his ass and giggle.
“What the fuck?” he challenges, spinning around and leveling a stern gaze at me.
“Now we’re even,” I chime, unable to stop giggling.
“Get your ass over here,” he growls, snatching my arm so quickly I lose my balance, but he holds me in place. “These don’t count, so I don’t care if you enjoy them.”
Massimo forcibly turns me around and starts slapping my ass. Hard. I kick my feet and dance on my toes as the stinging slaps land on the seat of my jeans.
“Hey! Stop! That’s not fair!” I protest, still giggling.
“Naughtybambina,” he scolds, but there’s some playfulness to it.
Massimo only gives me around a dozen stinging slaps before stopping. It’s enough to make my giggles trail off and force a couple of whimpers toward the end. As soon as he lets go, I move away from him.
“Okay, okay! I won’t smack your ass,” I sigh, rubbing my bottom through my jeans and doing my best to pout. “Meanie.”
“You’re adorable, but I don’t like being hit,” he says. “Even playfully.”
“Got it,” I mutter.
Massimo starts down the hill and I follow. I mock him silently, mouthingyou’re adorable, but I don’t like being hitwhile mimicking his expression. It’s enough to make the giggles return until Massimo stops and I nearly run right into his powerful frame.
“Stay behind me,” he growls.
“What? Why?” I peek around him and my eyes get wide. “Oh!”
The Jeep is where we left it, but all the doors are open, and there are several men surrounding it. One of them is holding Massimo’s shotgun and several others are playing with his knives. The men appear to be locals, with the same olive complexion I’ve seen around the resort.
Massimo slows down and puts a hand behind him, keeping it on my hip in a protective gesture. I appreciate it this time, but my heart still starts beating hard as we get closer. I’m not sure if we’re in danger, or if he’s just being overly cautious. Either way, I’m not excited about approaching a group of armed men. I’m glad I have an enormous meat shield in front of me that I can hide behind.
One of the men says something in a language I don’t recognize. The dialect is similar to the accent most of the workers at the resort have, so it seems to confirm they are locals. I peek around Massimo and see the one with the shotgun step forward.
“English?Italiano?Gaeilge?” Massimo asks. I assume he’s running through the languages he knows. I’m not sure what the last option he offers is.
“Basket. Now.” the man responds in broken-sounding English, pumping the shotgun and making me flinch. “And the girl.”
Massimo stiffens and I cower behind him. And the girl? Oh, no. I don’t like the sound of that.
“I’ll give you the basket and you can keep everything else. I’ll even give you my wallet,” Massimo offers. “But the girl stays with me.”
The man with the shotgun takes a step forward. Massimo takes a step back and I nearly get shoved down, but he holds me steady. When he lets go, fear twists my stomach into a knot. Several of the other men advance on us, a few brandishing knives, and not just the ones from the Jeep.
Suddenly, my meat shield is gone. Massimo drops the basket, lunges forward, and drives his fist into the throat of the man holding the shotgun. Except Massimo’s hand isn’t empty. He’s got the corkscrew from our wine tucked in his palm and I see blood splatter as it rips through the skin. The man screams and Massimo disarms him, flipping the shotgun around and backtracking to me. I tremble and cling to the back of his shirt, moving with him as he keeps distance between us and the men holding knives.
