Chapter 14
The world is a jarring, confusing mess of motion and darkness. My head bounces against what feels like a car window.
I have no idea where I am, where I’m going. I only know the cold pressure of fear and the rough texture of the burlap sack that’s been shoved over my head, smelling of dust and earth.
After what feels like an eternity, the car slows, turning sharply before rolling to a stop. Silence descends, broken only by my own ragged breathing and the ticking of the cooling engine.
A door opens. A hand grabs my arm, hauling me out of the car and onto solid, gravelly ground. I’m marched forward a few steps, a key scrapes in a lock, and I’m pushed into a room. The door shuts with a heavy, final-sounding thud.
For a moment, I’m left standing in the dark, my heart hammering. Then, hands grip the bottom of the sack and pull it upwards, off my head.
The sudden light is blinding. I blink, my eyes watering as they adjust to the dim glow of a single lamp. And when my vision clears, I’m staring at the one person in the world I should have known was responsible for this.
Raiden.
My kidnapper is Raiden Blackwell.
He looks… unwell. Worse than he did last night. His face is pale and drawn, the skin under his eyes a bruised, purple-grey, as if he hasn’t slept in days. His hair is a mess, and he’s wearing the same dark clothes he had on before.
He just stands there, a few feet away, watching me with a dead, hollowed-out expression that sends a chill down my spine.
The shock gives way to a white-hot surge of fury.
“Are you completely insane?” I yell, my voice raw and shaking. “You kidnapped me? You fucking kidnapped me? What is wrong with you?”
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even blink. He just stares. His stillness is more unnerving than any physical threat.
“Let me go. Right now,” I demand, taking a step toward him. “I’m not playing this game with you anymore, Raiden. Take me back. I have a party to run.”
His dead eyes finally flicker. A muscle in his jaw clenches.
“No,” he says, his voice flat and empty. “You’re not going to the party. And Christmas is canceled.”
Before I can process the sheer, stunning audacity of that statement, before I can even begin to formulate the stream of vitriol I want to unleash on him, he turns, walks to the door, and opens it.
He steps out, and before I can follow, he slams it shut. I hear the deadbolt slide into place with a sickening thud.
I’m locked in.
For hours, I pace the room—it looks like his bedroom, sparsely furnished but clean—without a phone, without any contact with the outside world.
The more minutes that tick by, the hotter my anger burns. What is his endgame? I knew he didn’t want me at the party, but kidnapping? It’s psychotic. The party should be starting now.
My friends must be panicking. They’re probably looking for me, calling my phone, which is uselessly sitting in this madman’s car. He has stolen my Christmas. The one good Christmas I was trying to build for myself. The bastard.
Finally, hours after it should have begun, the lock scrapes again. The door swings open, and Raiden is standing there.
We stare at each other in the heavy silence. He looks even worse than before, if that’s possible.
My voice, when I finally find it, is trembling with barely contained rage.
“You’re going to let me go now. You’re going to give me my phone.
And then you’re going to pray I don’t call the police.
Is that clear?” I try to sound strong, but the words wobble.
“I already told the professor you helped. You got what you wanted. You can stop this charade now.” The last part comes out laced with all the bitterness and betrayal I feel.
Something inside him snaps. The deadness in his eyes ignites into a full-blown inferno.
He stalks into the room, hissing through his teeth.
“I don’t give a single flying fuck about the professor, or the police, or any of it.
Understand?” He gets right in my face, his sheer size and fury overwhelming.
“And you are not going to the party, because there is no more party.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s canceled,” he spits.
The world tilts. I can’t breathe. “You… canceled my party?”
A sound that is half scream, half sob of pure frustration tears from my throat, and I lunge for him. I grab the collar of his hoodie, yanking him down to my level. “You ruined everything! I was looking forward to this evening so much!”
“I ruined everything, yes,” he says, his voice a low, dangerous growl. He doesn’t fight me. He just lets me hold him, his eyes boring into mine.
“You planned all this. The fire. The sabotage. All of it.”
“No,” he says. “I planned to get you out of there before the party started. That’s all.”
“Why should I believe you?” I cry.
“Don’t believe me, Artie.” His voice drops, softens almost imperceptibly. “You’re free to leave. The door is open. I won’t stop you.”
“Even if you held me back, I would still get out,” I lie, because the fight is draining out of me, leaving a hollow, aching void.
I’m breathing heavily, my knuckles white where I’m still gripping his hoodie. Everything is ruined. My one chance at a happy Christmas is gone. And I’m still standing here, clinging to the man who orchestrated the destruction, and all I can feel is the magnetic, devastating pull of him.
My anger, my grief, my impossible feelings for him, it all swirls into one unbearable vortex of emotion.
I kiss him.
I pull away immediately, horrified at myself, but his mouth finds mine again, insistent, consuming. His hands are on me, sliding under my jacket, mapping my body with a frantic energy. He lifts me effortlessly, my back hitting the wall, my legs wrapping around his waist by pure instinct.
“Stop me,” he whispers against my mouth, his voice broken. “Tell me you don’t want this. You know you can leave. Tell me right now, Artie. Or I won’t be able to hold back anymore.”
I look into his wrecked, impressive face.
“Then don’t hold back,” I swallow, the words a nervous, thrilling surrender. “I can’t say I don’t want you, because it’s not true.”
That’s all he needs. He carries me the few steps to the bed and throws me down onto the soft mattress.
He’s on me in an instant, a frenzy of hands and mouths. He rips my jacket off, my jumper, my t-shirt, his lips following the path of bared skin. He kisses my throat, my collarbone, the frantic pulse at my wrist.
“Spend Christmas with me instead,” he whispers against my skin, and the words, despite everything, make my heart ache with a hope.
This is our first time and my first time. The thought hits me like a freight train.
He undresses me with a frantic reverence, his hands shaking slightly as he unbuttons my jeans.
Soon, we’re both naked, skin to skin, and the heat between us is scorching. He pushes me onto my stomach, his hand sliding between my legs, slicking me with a lubricant.
He stretches me slowly, carefully, his fingers deft and surprisingly patient.
He works me open, murmuring praise against my back, telling me I’m too sweet, to perfect for him, that he knew I would be.
He strokes me at the same time, a slow, steady rhythm that has me writhing, whimpering his name into the pillows.
He makes me come first, a shuddering, blinding release that leaves me boneless and panting.
The room is hot, my skin is slick with sweat, and I can feel beads of sweat dripping from his forehead.
He pulls my knees up, pressing them toward my chest.
“Your knees,” he whispers, his voice thick with a strange awe. “I’ve thought about your cute knees more than any normal person should be allowed to.”
I’m so nervous I feel sick, terrified I’ll do something wrong, that I’ll ruin this. He must feel me tense up, because he pushes forward only slightly, the blunt head of his cock just breaching me, and then he stops.
A slight spasm crosses his face.
His free hand comes up to squeeze my cheek, his touch hard, grounding.
“Can’t believe it,” he says, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Can’t fucking believe I’m inside you.”
I just nod, every nerve ending in my body alive and screaming.
The sensation is tight, intense, an almost-pain that is thrillingly close to pleasure. He pushes a little deeper, then stops again, his entire body rigid with control.
“Next time,” he whispers against my ear, “next time, I’ll be deep inside you.”
A weak sound escapes me. “No,” I manage. “I want it now. This time.”
He shakes his head, pressing a rough kiss to my temple. But he gives in. With a low groan, he penetrates me almost all the way, a slow, stretching invasion that has me seeing stars after some time.
He holds still, letting me adjust, but even with the slight physical discomfort, my body betrays me. I sway my hips, just a fraction, chasing the feeling.
Raiden curses a lot.
That small movement is his undoing.
He crashes his mouth against mine, sucking at my lips, breathing my name like a prayer. He begins to move. Slow, deep thrusts that steal my breath and rewire my brain.
I whimper his name, over and over, and that’s all it takes.
With a final, desperate thrust, he loses control completely, roaring into my mouth as he comes inside me. He collapses on top of me, his chest heaving.
Then he wraps his arms around me in a crushing hold, swaying us slightly.
“You just didn’t give me a chance to hold out longer,” he whispers, his voice a menacing rumble in my ear. “Fuck. But I’m staying inside you for now.”
A weak, blissed-out smile touches my lips. My eyelids flutter closed, exhaustion hitting me like a wave, but his words excite me more than I can say. “I like everything,” I murmur.
“Don’t fall asleep,” he growls, not letting me go. “I need to see you come, sweet pie.”
He shifts, just enough to get a hand between us. He finds my cock and begins to stroke me.
Within moments, he’s hard again inside me, a thick, heavy presence that sends shivers of pleasure through my entire body.
He watches my face in the dim lamplight as I unravel for him a second time, my climax a direct result of his will, his touch, his overwhelming presence deep inside me.