Break Me (Enslaved #2)

1 EMMA

“Will you tie me up and spank me sometime?” I blurt the words out of the blue. I’ve been working up the nerve to ask Trevor this for months. Now seems like the right time. We’re at a new bar, seeking new adventures in a new country on a different continent. And I’ve had three drinks to build some liquid courage.

Trevor sets his beer down and gives me a confused look.

Unease crawls under my skin, and I look down to see my fingers fumbling with the coaster.

“Emma, look at me when you speak,” he says with an edge of irritation. He hates it when I get all embarrassed and meek. “And stop fidgeting.” He swats my hand away, and I gather them both in my lap, clutching them tightly as I take a deep breath and straighten my spine, looking him straight in the eye.

“I want you to tie me up, during sex,” I say with all the clarity I can muster and probably a bit too much volume.

Trevor’s mouth pulls down in disgust. “Tie you up? No! Are you crazy?”

He turns to the girl on his other side, who he was talking to earlier, striking up a new conversation.

I down the rest of my mojito as I fight the flare of shame that threatens to ruin my night and drag me into wavering uncertainty. The urge to stare at the tabletop and shrink in on myself becomes pressing. But that would only make things worse when Trevor would notice and say something like, Pull it together, Emma. We’re in public. Don’t embarrass me. So I search the room, desperate for something else to hold my attention.

My eyes land on the man sitting a few tables away. He sticks out like a sore thumb with his sleek silk shirt and devastatingly good looks that radiate power and affluence. He’s leaning back in his chair, exuding an effortless confidence that borders on arrogance, as he nurses a glass of amber liquor. And watches me.

His unapologetic stare is almost shocking, and my eyes flicker down to break contact. Realizing my slip, I force my spine to remain straight and look back up. But it’s impossible to keep steady under those eyes. They’re insistent and unwavering, demanding respect and maybe fear. A bit like Trevor, only without the impatient irritation. And ten times as intense.

I turn my gaze away, but something propels me to look back. Some magnetic energy.

Aiming a charming smile at me, he points at his glass and nods toward me.

I brush my hair behind my ear and look from his glass to mine, then to Trevor’s. Trevor will have a fit if I accept a drink from another man, so I shake my head, though a bit flattered. And disconcerted. The stranger must have noticed I’m already taken, and nothing good comes from men who go after someone’s girlfriend.

I force my attention away and back to my failed attempt at convincing Trevor to explore some new things in the bedroom. I can’t accept defeat. I’ve been researching this BDSM thing for weeks, and I know I’m not sick for wanting to try it out. Lots of people use it to spice up their sex lives. So I beckon his attention with a hand on his arm when his conversation comes to a natural pause.

Irritation tightens his jaw as he turns to me.

“I’ve been doing a lot of reading, and it’s quite normal to explore a little kink,” I say. “I think it would be good for us to try something new. We could just start with some ropes—you tying me up a little.”

“Yeah, and let’s go score some crack in the back alley while we’re at it. Seriously, Emma. That’s just sick.”

The girl beside Trevor leans in, curious to find out what all the fuss is about.

Trevor points his thumb at me. “Get this, my girlfriend wants me to tie her up and spank her.”

The girl laughs, and I stiffen beside him, staring down at the table as he turns away from me. A lump forms in my throat, and I do everything I can to suppress it. But I can’t control it. Tears well in my eyes, and I shoot out of the booth. My eyes fall on the man who offered me a drink as I dash across the floor. He’s still watching, having probably seen the whole humiliating thing unfold. Shame coils tight in my belly, and the tears are dripping from my eyes when I slam the door to the ladies’ room and press the heels of my hands to the counter.

I sniffle a few times, wiping my palms across my cheeks repeatedly as I try to rein in the tears. I hate how weak I feel when my emotions are about to get the better of me like this.

The door opens, and I keep my head down, my sniffles quiet, as someone enters. Expecting a woman to take the booth behind me, I jump at the sound of a smooth male voice with a sharp Russian accent. “Why are you with that guy?”

“What?” Whipping my head to the side, I see the rich man in the silk shirt leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Your boyfriend. He’s an ass. Why are you with him?” His accent lends a deep and foreboding sound to his words, yet each vowel and syllable is enunciated with precision, lending an equally intimidating and impressive effect to his words.

Taken aback, I simply stare at him. He seems genuinely concerned. But then I remember how inappropriate this is. “That’s none of your business.”

He shrugs. “You’re clearly not happy with him. Haven’t been for a while by the looks of it. So I’m simply wondering, what makes you stay?”

I shake my head, not knowing how to respond to his audacity, not having a good answer to his question.

“Is it his dominance? His arrogance?” he asks, and when I just keep staring, he adds, “You know, that’s not real dominance. Real dominance is power, and power comes from within. He may not show it, but that guy is as weak and insecure as they come.”

“What do you know about that?” I feel ridiculous as I say the words because he clearly knows everything about it. But I don’t know what else to say, and I can’t accept how he portrays my boyfriend. Because that makes me look weak.

“You deserve a man who doesn’t need to belittle you to feel strong.” He pushes off the door, and I watch his perforated brown leather shoes as they click across the tile. “A man who won’t laugh in your face when you reveal your secret dreams.”

He steps behind me, meeting my gaze in the mirror.

“You deserve a man who will fulfill all your desires, no matter how dirty and depraved.” Lifting his hand, he touches his fingers to my throat. I gasp at the featherlight touch and stare at his hand through the mirror as he slowly slides his fingers over the sides of my neck to settle his whole palm around it.

I breathe hard as he holds my gaze and says, “A man who will open up a whole new world to you and show you true dominance.”

He runs his other hand down my waist, stirring up goosebumps and titillating shudders along the way. I close my eyes and push out a shuddery breath as he whispers against my ear, “A man who will make you submit with a single look or a slight change of voice.” He deepens his tone, imbuing it with a steady command that reverberates through me even as he keeps his volume low. “Tell me that I’m right.”

Something melts inside me—or snaps. A feeling I’ve suppressed all my life. The urge to submit.

“No.” I shove his hand away. “I’m not weak like that.” Then I’m bolting again, out of the restroom, through the bar, and back to our table. My pulse is pounding in my neck—where his hand just touched me—as I grab my jacket and my bag. “I’m feeling sick; I’m going back to the hotel,” I tell Trevor.

“I’ll see you back there later. Remember to...”

I don’t hear the rest of his words as I’m already on my way out of here.

***

My steps come in loud thuds against the carpeted hall floor as I run toward our hotel room. I’m shaking all over, my instincts on high alert as if I’m being chased. Only, no one’s there when I whip my head around for the hundredth time.

I’m not sure what it was about that man in the restroom, but something was off. Something told me he was dangerous. I could feel it in the crackle in the air around him. Like he has known violence. No, knows it and feeds on it.

But that’s not what scared me the most. What had me bolting was the way I reacted. The way I wanted to lean into him and give in to his control. The way I wished he would press a bit tighter on my throat, yank down my pants, and push into me. Take me right then and there.

I’ve known for a long time that I’m drawn to dominant men. Hell, I even know Trevor isn’t always good for me, and I often consider ending things. But realizing how much worse I could have done—how easily I could fall into the claws of a psychopath—I’m suddenly deeply grateful I’ve found a guy like Trevor. He might be condescending about my shy tendencies and snooty as hell, but he would never lay a hand on me.

How could I even wish he would spank me? What’s wrong with me?

As I slip out of my slim dress and into my comfy pajama pants and a matching T-shirt, I decide never to mention it again and bury it deep in my head.

Trevor is right. It’s wrong. And too dangerous.

I crawl into bed and pull the covers tight. Then I lie there on my stomach, staring stiffly into the darkness as I try to chase away the feeling of that wide hand around my throat and those commanding eyes watching me through the mirror.

The memory is no closer to dissipating when the beep of the card sensor announces Trevor’s return.

He steps inside, keeping the lights off as he enters and sets his things aside. Maybe he’s not so bad after all. He does have his considerate moments like this, trying not to wake me when he gets home late or bringing back breakfast when he goes out for a smoke in the morning.

“I’m sorry,” I say as he carefully crawls onto the bed. “I shouldn’t have asked that of you. I’ll never mention it again.”

He moves over me, and I crane my head, expecting him to press his lips to my neck.

There’s a tut, and a whiff of an unfamiliar cologne drifts past my nose just as foreign fingers brush my face. “Were you really gonna forgive him that easily?”

With a gasp, I jerk to pull away, but the stranger has me trapped beneath his weight.

“Let me go,” I demand in a thin voice as I writhe beneath him, clawing at the covers to gain traction. “Don’t touch me!” I half-yell as he trails his fingers down the sides of my neck—long soft fingers that seem terrifyingly familiar as they wrap around my throat.

He reaches out his other hand to turn on the bedside lamp, and I catch sight of his silky shirt and sleek hair in my peripheral vision as the soft light comes on.

“Why not?” He tightens his grip, just enough to let me feel the potential strength that could easily snap my neck. “You seemed to enjoy it quite a lot back at the bar.”

“Trevor will be back any second,” I pant through the restriction.

He swipes my hair behind my shoulder. “Not tonight, I’m afraid.”

“What did you do to him?” I jerk my head back, and he releases my neck to grab my forehead, pinning my head against his shoulder.

“Nothing he didn’t deserve.” He licks the shell of my ear. “I followed him, beat him up in an alley, and took his key card.”

“No!” I writhe against him, fumbling at my sides to try and push at him.

He grabs my wrists, shoves them under my body, and traps them in place as he presses his elbows against my arms.

“Don’t worry, he should be out of the hospital in a few days.” He strokes his fingers along my jawline. “And you’ll be long gone by then.”

Lowering his weight onto me, he keeps me pinned as he reaches for my phone. “Actually, he might not even realize something is wrong until he goes back home.”

I fist my right hand when he pulls it out from beneath me, but he easily pries my thumb free and presses it to the side of my phone. The screen lights up, and I claw at his arm as he holds the phone out of my reach and types.

“See what I mean?” He shows me the screen, and my hand goes still on his arm as I read the sent message.

It’s over. I’m going home.

No, no, no, no, no. The single word goes on a loop inside my mind as I try to think of a way out of this. There has to be a way. Nothing is ever this hopeless.

He gets off me and pockets my phone as he walks to the middle of the room and grabs something off the desk.

I jump to the floor, watching him warily as I linger in the corner behind the bed, trying to come up with my next move.

My heart thunders in my chest as I see what he’s holding. A small bottle and a white cloth.

There’s only one thing to do. I scream. With the full force of my lungs. Someone will come to my rescue before it’s too late.

He shakes his head and tuts as he opens the bottle and places the lid on the desk. “Don’t you know that the room is soundproof? Your rich, little boyfriend got the absolute best for his girl.”

Horror pounds in my chest as I watch him pour liquid onto the cloth. I glance toward the door. My line of escape is free, and he’s preoccupied. So I bolt forward, muscles aching from the sudden force as I dart through the room.

I only make it to the desk before I slam into an arm that stretches out and knocks the air from my lungs. I kick my feet into the ground as he pulls me back against him, locking me to his muscular chest. I scratch at his arms and writhe and jerk, but it’s no use. He doesn’t strain a muscle as he easily restrains me and sets the bottle down without spilling a single drop.

“No,” I pant as he runs his knuckles over my cheek, the wet fabric in his hand brushing my skin. “No!” I repeat, my voice rising to a shrill wail.

“It’s almost a shame I have to put you out. You’re awfully cute when you’re all desperate and screaming.”

He moves the cloth toward my mouth, and I dig my fingers into his arm, feeling his skin break beneath my nails. But it doesn’t faze him. He continues as if he has all the time in the world, folding out the cloth in his palm and pressing it to my mouth.

I try to hold my breath, but my tight chest has already deprived me of air, and within seconds, I’m panting hard to access precious oxygen. A whimper escapes me as a sickly sweet, chemical smell invades my nose. Expecting the effect to set in immediately, I’m surprised when nothing happens. I try to hold in another inhale, but it only makes me heave harder, and I start struggling again as I lose control over my breath. I writhe against him, shoving, pulling, and scratching at the hand over my mouth. I put in all my strength, panting even harder with the effort and inhaling more of the cloying smell.

“Sorry, it’s not like in the movies. Takes a few minutes for the effect to set in.” He swipes his thumb across my cheek as if he’s genuinely trying to comfort me.

My strength weakens, but I’m not sure if it’s the drug or my struggle. I keep going for a little while, but my strength drains faster, and my fight wanes to abrupt jerks.

Tears pool in my eyes as a slow haze creeps over my mind and my limbs go heavy. I blink my suddenly heavy eyes against the room and sink into him as drowsiness drags me down.

“That’s it,” he croons, adjusting his arm to support my weight rather than restraining me.

My fingers relax around his arm, now holding on more than pulling.

Tightening his grip around my waist, he hoists me up, still holding the cloth to my mouth, and lowers us both to lie on the bed. I give a few jerks, but he easily wraps his legs around mine, pinning me in a little spoon against his body as I breathe in the chemical solution.

The room blurs before me. I blink a few times, trying to fight the fatigue, but it’s out of my control. My eyes fall shut and refuse to open back up.

He removes the cloth, and my head falls limp on the mattress.

“Dax is gonna love training you,” he whispers, and those are the last words I hear before darkness claims me.