DELIVER(49)

“Let me?” She pulled her hand from his. “You’re pushing it, boy.”

He barked an unsmiling laugh. “I’ve stomached the boy crap long enough.” He stood on the mattress, feet planted on either side of her knees, and stretched out his arms. “Do I look like a boy to you?”

Dark stubble shadowed his masculine jaw. His biceps were damned near the size of her thighs. The brick wall of his torso narrowed into low-hung jeans that cupped his groin. She knew too well the shape and girth of the cock that formed that bulge, and it could only belong to a man. “Cocky bastard.”

He dropped to his knees and straddled her thighs. With a dip of his head, he stole a kiss. “You’re going to text Van and tell him to bring us food.”

“He won’t—”

He kissed her again. “Shut up and listen. You’ll tell him I’m becoming the perfect little slave— Don’t look at me like that. I can act out the damned requirements.” Determination sharpened his eyes.

“Van will test you before the buyer’s meeting tomorrow.”

His face slacked. “Does the buyer expect to have sex with me at this meeting?”

The other boys she’d enslaved weren’t virgins, and the buyers did f*ck them during the introductions. But this deal was different in so many ways. “I’ll do everything in my power to prevent it.” She filled her eyes with the truth of her words. “I promise.”

“Then we’ll get through the next few days and figure out the rest.” His tone sobered. “But Liv?” He held her eyes, drew in a long breath. “Requirement number two is my limit. The only way I’d have sex with those men would be by force. Do you understand?”

She could hold her promise about the buyer’s meeting. And she could calm down Van by sending him a text. Once he knew she was okay, he’d leave her alone to do her training. It was the rest that made her want to throw up. She nodded, her heart lodged somewhere in her stomach.





Chapter 23




Josh knelt in the center of the room, naked, and fixated on the nimble movements of Liv’s fingers. His muscles quivered from holding still for so long.

Crouched before him in her jeans and t-shirt, she tied a long coil of rope into loose bows, sliding his arms through the loops and cinching the knots along his sternum.

Flashes of dizziness reminded him he’d only eaten a couple energy bars. He nodded toward her phone. “Send Van the text, Liv.”

She’d texted him an hour earlier to check in but had yet to request food. She slid another knot in place, her eyes narrowed in concentration on the laced web that began with a noose around his neck and intertwined a dragonfly pattern down his chest. Her tongue touched her upper lip. “We’re not ready for him yet.”

The urge to suckle that taunting tongue sensitized his skin where it rubbed against the nylon bindings. The knotted bows formed taut sleeves over his arms, holding his elbows in an X over his stomach.

“You made a straight jacket from rope.” He waited for the panic to set in, but all he felt was wonderment.

“I’ve learned how to do a lot of awful things.” Painful memories pulled at the corners of her eyes. Then they were gone, and her calmness returned, flowing through the fluidity of her fingers as they moved down his abs.

The torturous caress of her full attention both soothed him and made him antsy. Van was probably prowling on the other side of the door. Or beating on it. She’d said it was soundproofed. “Why are you the only one with a code to this room?”

Her rich dark eyes, lashes fanning thickly through slow blinks, were as arresting as her hands on the rope near his groin. She pulled his hips closer to her. “When I was returned by the man who bought me, Mr. E put me in Van’s possession.” She kept her eyes on her hands, plaiting and twisting the rope. “I requested to have the only code to the door, and I think Mr. E agreed because he knew if he didn’t limit Van’s access to me…” Her voice wobbled, strengthened. “I wouldn’t have survived all these years if I had to live every minute under Van’s thumb, sleeping in his bed with nowhere to escape.”

Her courage knew no bounds. Maybe it was God working through her, but she radiated an inner strength he was certain she’d never acknowledged. “You’ve done a hellacious job surviving. You don’t have it in you to give up.”

“I would have.” She glanced up, eyes hard, and returned to her rope work. “But this living arrangement, this room, has kept those thoughts at bay.”

For how long? Mr. E could take it away any moment. “Van’s okay with it? How long before he swings a chainsaw at that door?”

“He’s accepted that this is the only way I’ll be a part of his life.” She yanked on a knot with more strength than was needed. “As long as I’m around, Van has an outlet for his desires. The virgin slaves remain virgin. Mr. E knows this and lets me keep the code.”

His heart ached for her. She deserved a life beyond masks and locked doors and black eyes. Something about her, captor or not, brought out a fierce drive in him to take care of her, to serve her. Not that he could do anything with his hands tied, but she’d asked his permission before restraining him with rope. It was the asking that compelled his cooperation.

She wound the ends around his upper thighs, tightened the final knot, and sat back on her heels. Rather than studying her intricate work, she peered into his eyes, her posture motionless and her face framed by ribbons of metallic copper in her chestnut hair.