Chapter Three
Pepper
Reality truly is stranger than fiction. Never in my life would I have believed the man I’ve been fantasizing about would simply take me from my wedding. He hauled me up over his shoulder, tucked his hand around my legs, and carried me straight out of the building like he owned me.
Like I belonged to him.
Maybe there was something in those cookies the bakery dropped off. God, I ate like three of them. There’s a non-zero chance that I’m passed out in the bridal suite, having some sort of cookie-induced hallucination.
I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again quickly, inhaling the scent of lakeside pine and sagebrush.
Nope, still here. A humongous and sprawling lake house that my giant, inked, muscular kidnapper is renovating.
What the hell is going on? Why would Rhett take me from my wedding, and why was he kind of flirting with me in the truck? Most people would understand why I would think he’s attractive, but… him being interested in me? That’s insanity. Compared to him, I’m a round, distorted, little, field troll.
Clearly, he’s insane, and instead of getting married to Nathan, I’m here at this sprawling house with a view of the lake Nikki and I grew up playing mermaids at.
She was Sunnyfin, and I was Pearlie. We could both talk to fish, and though we had no fins, we’d pretend our legs were fused together as we flopped around on the shore, half covered in the cold lake water.
Life was so easy then. Summers were spent in the sun with Mom’s frozen fruit cups, and the only worry I ever had was when Nikki had to go home.
Somehow, I’ve gone from playing mermaids to playing runaway bride, except now, I’m not playing.
Now, I’m making real-life mistakes that affect far more people than my imaginary underwater kingdom.
That, and I don’t remember any of the mermen telling me they wanted me to call them Daddy.
Daddy. Is that what he meant? Did he want to be called Daddy, or was he speaking generally about what I needed?
This is probably more of a cookie-induced hallucination, but my pussy thrums and my panties soak all the same. How could they not, with thoughts of a giant, muscular, inked-up man bending me over to spank my ass red and kiss it all better again?
This… is exactly how I know now that something is wrong with me. I can’t be here. I need to call my mom, Nikki, and Nathan. I need to explain everything immediately. I have to—
“I thought you were taking that thing off?” Rhett groans as he leans his massive frame against the open doorway. The wood creaks under his weight, and his shoulders fill the space, blocking out most of the light behind him. Good Lord, the man is hot. “I gave you some clothes. Put them on.”
“So bossy,” I say, pretending to be annoyed by his demands, though I rather like the way he commands me to do the things I want to do anyway. “I need help. There are buttons all the way up the back.”
He nods once and steps behind me, his giant frame shrinking me down as the rough pads of his fingers brush my bare back, warm, slow, and deliberate, catching my breath.
His hand moves with certainty as his fingers slip toward the buttons. I can’t see what he’s doing, and I know I shouldn’t love the way his heat feels behind me, shouldn’t let it calm me, but I do. He’s steady, warm, and the way my body reacts to his is impossible to ignore.
It’s confusing. I’m here against my will. I shouldn’t like any of this. I should be desperate to get back to Nathan. I should be desperate to get back to the inn so I can walk down the peony-covered aisle toward the man of my dreams, but I’m not.
I’m not desperate to leave, and Nathan is not the man of my dreams. Not even close.
God, what’s wrong with me?
Instead of any of that, my sick, twisted body is aching for Rhett’s finger to slip and brush against my skin again. My messed-up brain is running fantasy after fantasy of his massive frame bending me over and filling me up.
It’s unsettling, but it’s real.
It’s real, and I need to talk to someone outside of this situation.
I need to be reminded why all of this is stupid.
I need someone to point out that I’ve lost my mind, and though this big, rugged, bad boy will be a good time, the smart choice for long-term stability is Nathan.
He can change, I know he wants to. I bet once the wedding is over, he’ll go back to the person he was when we met.
“I need to use your phone,” I say as Rhett fumbles his big hands around each tiny, pearled enclosure.
He pauses for a long moment as though he’s thinking over the implications of my request. “If you use my phone, everyone will know where you are. Are you ready for that?”
“Umm… I mean, I should want them to know. You carried me kicking and screaming out of my own wedding! That’s messed up!”
“And you enjoyed every second of it,” he groans, handing me his cell. “Call your mom. I know she’ll get sicker if you leave her stressed.”
Why does he care that my mom will be stressed? I barely know the guy. Sure, we had one really intimate conversation the night I dropped off the paint, but that’s it.
I barely know him, yet I want to be held here against my will, void of all decision-making powers forever and ever while he fucks me like an animal.
Yeah, this is all totally normal.
“Whose dog is this?” I say, staring down at the screensaver of a golden bull mastiff the size of a small horse.
“Oh,” he reaches around me, his massive bicep flexing an inch from my cheek as he presses his index finger against the screen to unlock his phone, “that’s Charlie.
He’s my old buddy. Probably out lying in the yard somewhere.
He’ll be in to slobber all over you sooner or later.
You should download a third-party app, so it’s harder to track the call.
Here,” he slides his thick fingers around on the screen, his forearms brushing my skin as he searches for an app to download, “I used this one to call home when I was overseas. Should be downloaded in a minute.” He leans back, the heat of his body immediately missed, my clit throbbing like a desperate, little ho.
Talk, Pepper! Say something!
Why am I trying to keep the conversation going with my kidnapper?
Who cares? Just talk!
About what? Gas prices? His favorite color?
God, I need help!
“Your mom has MS, right?” he says, his voice resonating deeply behind me.
“Yeah,” I swallow hard, my heart full with the fact that he remembered the details of what we talked about last week, “she was diagnosed three years ago. I thought it would progress a lot slower, but it’s taken over her life.
This year has been the worst yet. Vision problems, weakness, insane fatigue, and memory issues.
It’s part of why I couldn’t go through with the wedding today.
Nathan is… oblivious to it all. I don’t know if he’s got so much money now that he’s out of touch or if he’s really just this cold.
They have the same outcome, so it’s hard to tell. ”
“Yeah,” he groans. “That’s… sick. I’d have done whatever I could’ve to make sure your mom was there, even if it meant getting married in her living room.
” His words are slow and the edges are softened, like he really means what he says, and truthfully, I believe him.
Even though there’s a clear age gap between Rhett and I, we were raised the same way.
A mountain-morals, family-first, kind of upbringing.
I wonder what his family did on Sundays. Sundays are like a compass up here. They point to what folks hold sacred. Was his family into church, yard work, a crowded supper table, or a day out in the blind?
Why do I care?
His big hands brush over my bare shoulder and down again before I hear a distinct clicking noise, a swishing sound, and suddenly, I’m free. I’m not one hundred percent sure what’s just happened, but I figure it can’t be good given the quickness with which I’m feeling air against my back.
My breath catches, and I turn back to see he’s holding his pocketknife in his hand, the blade glinting in the soft light. “What are you doing?”
He stares toward me, eyes wide as though he’s not sure what to say. “You said you needed help getting out of that thing, so I helped you.”
“I said I needed you to help me with the buttons!”
He grins. “I did help you with the buttons.”
“No,” I groan, the dress falling off my shoulder, “you sliced the dress off me. I told you how expensive this is. Nathan might want it back.”
The giant rolls his eyes to the side. “Step out of the dress.”
“What?”
“Step out of the dress.”
I don’t want to listen, but the dress is cut open, and I’ve been desperate to get out of it since the second I put it on. Plus, I’m still wearing the horrid, too tight, awful, would not recommend bodysuit that sucks all of me in, along with the crinoline.
I should consider his demands. I’m not naked, far from it, and his commands sound an awful lot like one of the many bizarre fantasies I’ve been having.
Is it possible to already have Stockholm’s syndrome? God, maybe this is what his family does on Sundays. They kidnap people.
I should trade my aching thighs for some nervous energy, but despite the fact that he hauled me up over his shoulder, took me from my wedding, and there’s a pocketknife in his hand, I feel safe with Rhett.
I don’t know how, but my body feels it.
“Good girl,” he says, taking the puffy princess cut fabric from my hands as he makes his way to the closet.
He grabs a hanger and loops the dress in place before hanging it on the curtain rod in the window overlooking the beach.
The bedroom windows aren’t as big as the ones in the living room, but they still display that gorgeous turquoise lake like a perfectly framed photo.
“I’m going to give you my knife and I want you to tell me everything Nathan did to hurt you while you hack this thing up. ”
I glance toward the giant. “What?”