Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Lane
“You look beautiful with my cock in your mouth,” Ryell murmurs, and I preen under his attention but don’t release his dick. He’s letting me suckle at his cock so he can sketch me. I love suckling him and feeling this closeness. Cockwarming Ryell keeps me calm, keeps the thoughts of leaving at bay.
Since the first time in the dungeon, I’ve become addicted, not knowing it was something I needed until he gave it to me. I’m not sure how he knew, but I’m glad he did.
The sound of Ryell’s charcoal pencil over his thick sketching paper and the feel of his warm dick against my tongue has me so relaxed that my eyes grow heavy, and I’m close to sleep when I hear my name.
But not from Ryell. From the television.
Letting his cock drop from my mouth, I turn toward the news that Ryell left on for some reason. He picks up the remote as if to change the channel, but I stay his hand. Ryell sighs but drops the remote.
There on the television is Brock. He looks awful, his eyes sunken, cheeks pale, his red hair standing out in sharp relief and his lips a thin slash on his face as he stands in front of a poster board with my face on it.
All the sound is sucked out of the room as I watch Brock point to my picture and say…something. It’s like my ears are stuffed with cotton balls, the words muffled.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I’ve been here, living my life—albeit as a captive—carefree and not thinking about deaths, crime scene photos, evidence, witness or testimonies.
I’ve forgotten everything because, for once in my life, I haven’t had to be on.
I haven’t had to remember to do anything but just be, relax under my Daddy, and rest.
But one of my only friends has been searching for me, likely while working a full caseload. He’s probably run himself into the ground trying to figure out if I’m alive or dead.
I wrap my arms around my middle, feeling as if I’m improperly dressed to watch Brock break in front of my eyes, as I sit around in just a pair of panties.
I’m a fuckup. I fucked up. I allowed myself to push FBI-agent-Lane so far back that I almost don’t know who he is, so I can be Ryell-is-my-Daddy-and-he’s-all-that-matters Lane.
He is all that matters. Ryell is everything to me.
But I used to be someone else. I used to have other people. But I let my whole world become Ryell.
My Daddy’s hand on my back jolts me out of my thoughts and sound returns to the room as he calls my name.
I look over at him, at his handsome face—his electric blue eyes, his plump lips, and his serious expression. It hits me like a ton of bricks.
I love him.
I fucking fell in love with a serial killer, and I’m not even sorry about it. I’m … a fucking fool. There’s no way this ends well, especially with what I’m thinking.
“Lane,” Ryell says again, his eyes shuttering, making him look…blank. Not like the man I’ve fallen for but the man I met at the bar. So unlike the man I’ve been slowly getting to know over the past…I don’t know how many weeks.
“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper, and his breath hitches.
I’m still in this, wanting to stay and be with him, even if that means I’ll never step foot off this property again.
I need Ryell. I can’t live without him. But I have people out there that love me.
Not my mom and dad, since they never loved me and cut me off at seventeen.
But the people I chose. The person I chose to be my brother. My partner.
I need to find a way to get him a message that I’m alive. That he doesn’t have to worry about me anymore. But how?
Ryell catches my attention when he clasps my chin and pulls me closer to him. I go to him easily, accepting the kiss that he plants on my lips. I place my hands on his biceps, falling into the kiss as easily as I always do.
Only Ryell can give me this peace when I’m with him. Only he can make me feel like I’m not broken, and if I am, he’ll put me back together. Hell, he’s already put me back together once, so I’m sure he can do it again.
When he pulls back, he searches my face. I’m not sure what he’s looking for, but he must find it because he sighs and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, the affection he usually aims my way is back, and it sends flutters through my belly.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod and smile at him. I hope it’s believable, as my mind is still reeling. “Yeah, I’m good. Are you done?” I ask, pointing to the sketch pad.
His eyes ping-pong back and forth between mine, and he nods. “I’m done.”
“Can I see?”
Ryell flips the sketch pad around, and I smile at how he’s captured me. My eyes are closed, my eyelashes fanned across my cheekbones, and my cheeks are hollowed as I suckle at his semi erect cock. He even added his hand in my hair, though it wasn’t there when he was sketching.
I trace my finger over the sketch, falling in love with it like I do all the others. “It’s perfect. Can I keep this one?”
I’ve asked Ryell for almost every one of the pictures he’s drawn of me, but he always tells me no, that they’re for his personal collection.
But this time, he gives me an almost sad smile and nods. “Yeah, baby boy. It’s yours.”
Grinning I launch myself at him, kissing him deeply.
But my mind is still on Brock.
In fact, I don’t stop thinking about Brock for the rest of the evening. Not when we eat dinner, not when Ryell washes me in the shower, and not when I’m curled up beside him, my head on his chest.
As he sleeps deeply, breathing slowly and evenly, I’m wide awake, my mind racing.
How can I tell Brock I’m okay without him coming to look for me?
I can’t mention Ryell. Over my dead body will Ryell be cuffed and sentenced to life in prison or worse, the death penalty.
I know I should hope for nothing but his incarceration so he can pay for his crimes, but I can’t live my life without him.
At that moment, it clicks that if I gain my freedom, if Ryell still wants to keep me, I can’t continue to be an FBI agent. There would be too much risk to him and too much at stake. I would gladly give it all up for him.
Figuring that out is fine and well, but it doesn’t help me in planning to get a message to Brock.
If I just leave it somewhere, he’ll think it’s some kind of hoax, that someone is playing games to give him false hope. If I get away and see him, he’ll find a way to take me in, and Ryell will think I sold him out and kill me and everyone I love.
But what’s the alternative? As much as I love Ryell, I love Brock too. A brotherly love but still love. I don’t like being responsible for his pain and suffering.
All I have to do is give Brock word that I’m okay.
Easier said than done. Mainly because of the ankle monitor, but also because I don’t know where Ryell put my phone, so I can’t call Brock.
I have my clothes from the last night I was seen, though. Ryell has them hanging in his closet. Maybe if I…I don’t know…wrap a letter in my tie, Brock will get it, and he’ll know I’m okay. He’s seen my handwriting enough to recognize it.
I’ll write that I’m not under duress, that I’m okay, but I have to disappear and won’t be coming back. That should be enough.
Right?
Fuck it, it’s the only plan I have.
Ryell’s alarm goes off as I iron out my plan, and I smile as I peer up at him.
I have a way for us to be together, with no one looking for me.
I’ll probably have to wait a few months before we can go out in public, but we can have dates.
Maybe late at night, way out of town, but we can be together like a normal couple.
I kiss Ryell all over his face to wake him up. He grunts but chuckles and grabs me around my waist, pulling me to straddle him. His large hands land on my hips, and he smiles sleepily at me. “How did you sleep?” he asks.
“Good,” I lie easily. “What do you have for work today?”
“Remember the upper jaw surgery I told you about a few weeks ago?”
I nod. “The BSSO?”
He smiles at my knowledge of dental procedures. “I have another one of those. I’ll be in the OR all day.”
“I’ll have dinner ready for you when you get off. I took out a roast.”
“Sounds good. I should be back around five this evening.” He pats one of my thighs, and I roll off him, watching as he climbs out of bed and enters the bathroom.
His briefs hug his ass deliciously. I can’t wait until he finds out what I did for us.
He’ll want to sink his huge cock deep inside me when he knows that we’re free.
Twenty minutes later, he comes out freshly showered and makes his way to his closet to grab a pair of scrubs. Once he’s dressed, he climbs back onto the bed, settling between my spread legs. He kisses me, and I give him my tongue, letting him plunder my mouth.
When he’s had his fill, he draws away. “See you tonight. Be good, baby boy.”
I shoot him a cheeky smile. “I’m always good, Daddy.”
Ryell barks a laugh, kisses my nose, then climbs out of bed.
“Daddy?” I call after him, sitting up in bed. He turns around to look at me, an eyebrow raised.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him what I came up with.
It might not be the most watertight plan, but as an FBI agent, I know when they find my fingerprints all over the letter and have handwriting analysis done to show that I didn’t write it under duress, they’ll call Brock off my case.
They’ll know that I’m safe and Brock won’t look so fucking stressed.
But if I tell him, Ryell will want to lock me up in that damn dungeon. He’ll be in surgery all day today, so when I get away, he’ll never know. He’ll only be made aware when he gets the alert, but I’ll already be back by the time he gets out of surgery.
Deciding against sharing my plan with him, I just say, “Have a good day.”
Ryell stares at me for a few seconds, and I think I’ve given myself away, but he just pulls his lips in and nods, leaving the room and closing the door softly.
I flop back on the bed, throwing an arm over my eyes.