Page 46 of Vengeful King

“I’ll keep you posted,” I say, stepping away from the kitchen. “I know what I have to do.”

And just like that, it ends. Aiden is last, trailing behind the others, and he stops to talk to me. “We’ll keep our ears out for any hints.”

“Thank you.”

“Call if you need anything.”

If you need us to take this,he doesn’t say.

“I will.”

I know I won’t.

CHAPTER17

Katrina

I don’t know how many days it’s been since Lachlan took me.

At first, I told myself I could last as long as I needed to. A week or a month didn’t matter to me. I could live through anything just to have the chance to make it back to my mother.

But the days have blurred together, and I don’t know when it’ll end.

I’ve been tied up for so long. Lachlan lets me up occasionally, to use the bathroom—but nothing ever happens there again. He never touches me, never pushes me against a door and slides his hands over my body.

But he does look, and I can see in his eyes that he wants me to think about it every time.

And I do.

It’s not just looks that he gives me. He’s been pushing me since that first day, teasing me. Sometimes it’s just a barely-there touch, hands sliding over skin, no pressure or promise. Those times are the easiest, but they’re noteasy.

Then there are times when he squeezes, takes my breast in his hand. My ass. He holds me in his palm and I try to pretend that it’s bad, that it’s pain, but I can’t. My brain can’t work hard enough to block out the rush of need I feel when he does it.

Sometimes he does more. He plays with my nipples, presses his fingers against my neck.

He’s using my arousal as a weapon to try to break me.

I feel like every nerve ending in my body is screaming. His touches are getting harder to ignore, harder to fight. It’s like I’m going crazy. He never goes just a step further, never follows through on the promise of his hands on me.

I can’t stop thinking about it, though.

I think about him fucking me almost constantly. It’s in the back of my mind like white noise. I don’t even imagine him untying me or taking me upstairs, letting me leave this basement. I just imagine it like this, in the dim light, frantic and messy. Rough.

It’s all about lust. It’s about the look in his eyes when he’s touching me, the look that tells me there’s a part of him that feels exactly the way I do. There’s something in both of us that wants to give in. Something that wants to let this happen.

I want him to. I want him to spread my legs wide and sink his fingers into me. I want him to string me out and just when I think he’ll stop again, I want him to go deeper until I come on his hand.

I want him to tie me down and fuck me senseless. I want to see his cock, see what’s beneath the bulge in his pants that’s always there when he leaves me wanting. I want him to be demanding, push his cock to my lips, fuck my face while I’m still bound in the same damn chair.

All these images are running through my head and I feel like I’m feverish. My body is screaming for release. It needs more.

But I’m pissed. Pissed and unsettled by the way he was able to make my body respond. Like he knew what I was looking for, knew what I needed so desperately.

I’ve been on my own for a long time now. The last boyfriend I had was a disappointment; he only cared about himself. He only cared about his own pleasure, his own problems. He left me unfulfilled and empty.

Lachlan isn’t my boyfriend. He’s my captor. He’s untouchable to me. But somehow, he’s gotten under my skin in a way no other man ever has.

I turn my attention to getting free. I’ve tried a few times; it’s never worked. I’m only making my wrists ache and my skin burn. But there’s nothing else I can do right now, and I have to do something.

---