Chapter Two
Rosie
Owen's gaze lands on mine with intent as his hand glides up the side of my hip. I’m not sure what universe I’ve landed in, but I never want to leave.
He leans in slowly and kisses the lobe of my ear before dragging his lips to my shoulder and up again, covering my neck and collarbone with ease. Chills run through me, followed by a rattling static that sends my clit to full throttle.
“You’re so beautiful,” he groans deeply in my ear as his fingers dig into the back of my hair.
How did we get here? I can’t well remember now, nor do I know if it matters. I’m with Owen, the man I feel safest with. The man I’ve loved for years. The man that makes everything make sense.
Peace and relaxation wave over me as his hands wander my frame, eventually landing on my thighs. “You’re so soft, Birdie. Damn.” His thick fingers slide over the warm cotton sheathing my crease and he rubs softly, pressing into my wetness until I sigh.
I love the way he listens to my body, the way he holds me close as he touches me, like we’re two halves of a person becoming whole.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he says, his voice raspy, and the longer he works, the harder his cock is against my leg.
God, even through his jeans, it’s easy to feel how huge he is.
“Please!” I whine. “I need it. I need you so badly.”
The room is dark, and at this point, I don’t remember how we even got here. The only thing I’m feeling is his body, his sounds, the faint thump of his heart against mine.
He grips me tighter and lands his hand against my breast, pulling my nipple from the dress I’m wearing to suckle as he slides beneath my panties and pushes into me one finger at a time, stretching me wide.
“Damn,” he groans again, “you’re soaked.”
It’s true, I’m dripping wet.
“I need you,” I whine. “I really, really need you.”
Brushing my hair back with his free hand, he kisses my lips again and again as he thrusts his fingers inside of me. “I know, Birdie. Come for me. I want to sink into you when you’re soaking wet. Can you do that for me?”
“I…” I drive my hips into his hand, scrubbing up against his touch as though my life depends on it. I’ve never wanted anything more. “Please, fuck me. I need to feel your cock.”
He groans and pulls his fingers from within me, and slides them into his mouth, licking them clean before tugging down his jeans to stroke his cock at my entrance. “You sure? It’s your first time. I want to make it special.”
My pussy is pulsing, aching, more desperate than it’s ever been. I need this man to fuck me. I need him to set me free. “I’m sure,” I pant, pulling him closer. “Fuck me.”
The tip of his hard dick slips against my seam and slides into the wetness of my waiting hole as I lean back on the couch and stare up at him. He’s so perfect. Thick, juicy biceps, a strong muscular abdomen, pecs that dance when he moves, and a square jaw with a dimple in the center of his chin. The man is undeniably flawless. “You ready?”
My heart slams against my chest and my pussy aches with a desire it’s never felt before. “I’m ready! Give it to me!”
Gripping my hips, he tugs me closer, bringing with him the spicy sweet scent on his skin.
“Don’t move!” he barks harshly and I’m taken aback. This doesn’t sound like Owen. Usually, Owen is soft and sweet, shy even.
My brows narrow. “What?”
“Don’t fuckin’ move!” he repeats, but this time I see a white ghost mask in place of Owen’s face. That, and I’m not bent onto a couch with a cock being drilled into me, I’m being tossed onto an old mattress in a basement within a dog cage.
The van, the masked man, the last scent of sweet nothings before I blacked out. Where the fuck am I? Oh my God! Where the fuck am I? I’m never getting out of here. I’m going to die a virgin. A desperate, pathetic loser. It’ll be all over the news. ‘Virgin missing after trying to sell her innocence online.’ My mother is going to be humiliated. Owen will have churros and watch trash with some other girl, and my friend Jen will talk shit about the town sheriff with some other version of me.
Why the hell would anyone take me?
I sigh and stare toward the muscular man, whose forearms flex as he locks the door. “What’s going on?”
He doesn’t answer. He pulls down on the latch and climbs up the stairs, returning a moment later with a few bottles of water and a box of pizza from some place I’ve never heard of before.
Where are we? Why is he feeding me? Why do I feel dizzy? What did they drug me with?
“Ring that bell if you have to use the bathroom. We’ll be down to talk within the hour.” The man’s voice is deep and mechanical, sounding as though he’s using one of those voice modulators killers use in scary movies.
Great. Alongside the news article, some low budget production company will make a cheesy horror flick out of my story. I distract myself for a moment with which actress they might cast to play me, but I quickly figure whatever low budget company picks up my story won’t be using a big-name actress.
How sad is that? I die a virgin at the hands of sadistic lunatics and my tell-all won’t even be cool enough for a mainstream star.
I need to get this guy talking. The more he talks, the more details I’ll have. The more details I have, the better prepared I am for whatever comes next.
“About what? What are you coming back to talk about? And did you say we? Are there multiple of you?” I swallow hard, forcing a lump down my throat. “Why am I here?”
The man turns away before glancing back again. This time, I try to memorize what I can about him, but he’s covered in black head to toe. Even his hands are covered. “Your virginity,” he says flatly, then turns and climbs the stairs, leaving me with a sickening feeling that I doubt will go away anytime soon.
Fantasy Driver.
My heart sinks, and vomit rolls up my esophagus until I’m throwing stomach acid up into the bucket beside me. Shit! I didn’t randomly get kidnapped. The people who kidnapped me knew about my auction.
I’m such a fucking idiot! Of course, this is about the auction. Oh my God! My temples swell and flare, and a wild headache crawls through the front of my scalp and settles in the back of my head.
Owen was right. I shouldn’t have messed with that website. Of course, people can find me if they want to. It’s not that hard to hack websites anymore. I mean, people hack all kinds of important shit. Of course, they can get into a website like Fantasy Driver.
My mind races a mile a minute as I lean against the back wall of the stainless-steel cage, my stomach still unsettled. Are they going to sell me? Are they going to fuck me, then toss me for dead somewhere? Maybe they’re a group of do-gooders who believe they’re taking a sinner off the streets.
What has my life become?
My heart hammers and sweat drips down my face. I can’t believe I did this. It’s money. Who the hell cares about money? I don’t need it. I was doing fine at the coffee shop, and I’m sure Owen would’ve let me stay with him as long as I needed.
“Help!” I scream over and over again as panic rises in my throat and anxiety shutters what little power to think I have left. “I need help!” I don’t know who I’m hollering for. Maybe a neighbor will hear me, or maybe someone else is in the house that I don’t know of. Someone who doesn’t know I’m here. Someone with the sense in their head to call the cops.
I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to refocus my energy. Owen will notice I’m gone. He’ll tell Wolfie and they’ll look for me. I have no idea how far we drove, but it couldn’t have been far. It’s still daylight. Then again, I guess it could be daylight the following day, but I’m not too hungry yet and my hair doesn’t feel greasy. I haven’t trained it to go longer than eight hours without a shower, though I’ve been wanting to, given the benefits of less frequent washes. What I need is better shampoo, something with a clarifier in it.
What the hell am I thinking? I may never see shampoo again. Well, I bet I will. The captors will probably want me clean before they fuck the virginity out of me, or before they sell me to the highest bidder.
I blow out a heavy breath and lean back on the mattress, holding the pillow against my chest. Men… most men, are perverse, disgusting beings and I can’t believe I was about to willingly sell myself to one of them.
Why couldn’t I have listened to Owen, or even Jen? The few people that knew what I was doing were not shy about their opinions on the topic.
I pinch my lips together and hum under my breath. I could be at work right now making soy lattes and macchiatos. I could be having churros and chocolate for dessert tonight with my best friend. I could be settling in to watch idiots fall in love with strangers through a wall on some stupid reality channel. I could be crawling into my big, warm bed with my big, sweet, best friend one wall away. Instead, I just had to try a get-rich-quick scheme.
Heavy footsteps pace back and forth above me, rattling dust from the ceiling beams. I hear three distinct voices. The mechanical sounding man, whom I recognize right away, a normal toned man, and a man with a voice so deep I wonder if he’s using a voice machine too.
“We said we’d wait until tomorrow morning,” one man groans, though I can’t tell which.
“Relax,” a man gripes back.
They go back and forth like this for a few minutes, sounding disgruntled on the timing of my capture. I wonder why that would’ve mattered?
I’ve always liked mysteries, but I never thought I’d be sitting at the helm of my own. Turns out, being kidnapped takes a crazy toll on your brain, or this drug hasn’t completely worn off yet. I’m exhausted.
The men ramble on back and forth about something with strained voices. I wish I could hear them more clearly. At most, all I hear are broken sentences. They must have moved into another room because their voices get more and more distant, and the footsteps nearly disappear.
I sit up from the mattress and dry my eyes on the pillowcase before blowing my nose in the same place. I’m an animal now. An animal who blows her nose on her pillowcase.
Get it together, Rosie, I tell myself. Thinking straight is going to be imperative if I’m going to get out of here. I can’t cry nonstop and expect my brain to come up with the answers I need to break locks and sneak out of a house being guarded by at least three men.
The basement door creaks open, and one by one, masked men parade down into the basement slowly, methodically, purposefully. My breath catches and a tear threatens its way onto my face, but I push it away before it gets the chance to roll.
I got myself into this mess, and now I’m going to get myself out.