Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
TRISTAN
Her escape plan was cute. I’ll give her that. While she unlocked the cuff and hid, I watched her on the camera while tracking our food delivery on my phone.
As soon as I saw her hide under the stairs, I knew what she had planned.
Clever woman.
But not clever enough.
A dash of chloroform on a rag, and she was out cold.
Tying an unconscious woman to a chair isn’t easy. Her head lolls, and her arms keep dropping off the armrests before I can get her wrists bound properly.
It’s a struggle, like I’m fighting with a drunk, but after a few minutes, I manage to bind her wrists and ankles before I take a longer piece of rope and work on her calves. Taut muscles trace a deep line along her calves, and I can’t help brushing my fingers against soft skin.
Once her legs are secure, I work on her chest. My ropes crisscross around her body, securing her to the chair until I’m ready to let her go. Shibari is a kink that’s useful in situations like this.
Her breasts catch between two ropes, and there’s the faintest trail of lace underneath. Her nipples pucker, straining against the fabric of that oversized dress that’s flush to her skin in these ropes.
My hands twitch, but I’m not an asshole. I won’t touch a woman unless she’s begging me to.
But I’m going to lose my fucking mind if she doesn’t wake up soon.
And what’s worse is our damn pizza is getting cold.
Retrieving a bandana from my back pocket, I secure it between her lips and knot it around the back of her skull. Not like there’s anyone else to hear her, but it adds to the ambience.
Her eyelids flutter open as a groan strains her throat.
I adjust my ghost mask—something different this time—and step back as the world blinks into view for her.
Those gleaming blue eyes land on me, and she glowers before they drop to my black t-shirt.
Her face contorts, and she tries to stop a laugh but fails.
The words “Fuck me like the IRS” stretch over my chest.
“You like it?”
She laughs against her gag and goes to move.
The ropes bite into her pale skin, shading it pink in places where she strains a little too hard.
She grumbles into the gag, and I can’t understand what she’s saying. Her eyes spark with fury as her shoulders lurch against the binds again, her tits pushing between the ropes.
My God, she’s fucking stunning like this. There’s no doubt in my mind that tonight I’m going to picture Daphne Fox like this, only naked and begging for more with my head buried between those pillowy thighs.
“What was that?” I say. “I think you need to speak up.”
Daphne rolls her eyes before launching into a tirade of muffled words. Probably curses. I’d bet she’s calling me every name she knows.
I deserve some of them.
Stepping closer, I crouch down. And she keeps grumbling.
“Daphne,” I start.
But that mouth of hers keeps going.
“If you don’t stop, I’ll find another way to keep your mouth busy.” I walk around behind her, giving the knot of the bandana a gentle tug. “Now, I’m going to untie this. I’ll put it back on if you piss me off.”
As soon as the bandana’s free from her lips, she gasps. “You’re an asshole.”
“And you’re forgetful. I’ve got cameras in here, Princess. I was wondering if you’d remember those bobby pins I left for you.”
Her fake laugh punches through the air. “Please, you didn’t leave them for me. You don’t want to admit that you forgot them. The genius kidnapper forgot something as simple as a fucking bobby pin.
“Two bobby pins,” I remind her. “Now, tell me where the second one is, and I’ll untie you.”
“And if I don’t?”
She shoots me a sly smirk that makes my cock twitch. I would have thought she’d be crying and cowering, but there’s a defiant streak in her that’s intriguing.
“I guess you’ll be stuck to the chair until I get what I want.”
“You didn’t think this through? What kind of stupid kidnapper are you?”
“I’m a professional, thank you very much.”
She rolls her eyes. “A professional fuck up? That I’d believe. A pro kidnapper? Please.”
That smart mouth of hers is endearing. She’s quick, I’ll give her that. She had a near-perfect GPA at Georgetown but works as a glorified secretary. That’s a puzzle I want to solve.
I shake my head at her. “Like you would know what a professional kidnapper looks like, Princess.”
She looks offended. Good.
“Hey, I’ve had someone try to kidnap me before.” She pauses like she’s not sure she wants to say anything else. “I was thirteen but managed to get away on my own.”
Thirteen? The idea of some sicko laying their hands on a thirteen-year-old—even one who grew up to be a mouthy, spoiled brat—sickens me.
“How’d you get away?” I ask, my curiosity overriding her inflated ego.
She scoffs at my question. “Why? So I can’t use the same tricks on you?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I want to know how a thirteen-year-old girl managed to escape a kidnapping.”
“I bit his ear, Mike Tyson style. Hey, I’ve got a secret for you. Come closer, and I’ll tell you.” She smirks.
A laugh bursts from my chest, shaking me so hard that my ribs ache.
“Who knew you’d have a sense of humor?”
“Like you know anything about me.” She raises an eyebrow at me and shifts in her chair, her breasts pushing tighter against the ropes.
Fuck me, I can see the dulled points of her nipples straining through that fancy lace bra she’s wearing.
“I’ve done my research, Princess. You’re President Fox’s daughter.”
She rolls her eyes. “Brilliant deduction, Sherlock.”
Thank fuck she can’t see my grin behind my mask. It would only encourage her to mouth off more.
“I know you studied at Georgetown. You work for Senator Furt, your dad’s whip.
I know you have a puppy named Hawkeye. I know you don’t have any close friends, but you’re always attending brunches with girls from your old sorority.
You never take pictures outside of staged social events.
You have a book social media presence, but no one knows about it since you wear a wig, heavy makeup, and go by the name Maggie.
Oh, and your Wishlist is full of more smut than Pornhub. Did I miss anything?”
That shut her right up.
“Now, either you tell me where the bobby pin is, or I keep you tied to this chair until I find it.”
“I’m not telling you.” Her back straightens in defiance, and her breasts squish tighter between the ropes.
Jesus fucking Christ. It’s there. The faint ridges and two round edges pressing on the side of her left breast reveal an indent.
“Pervert.” Her cheeks flush.
“You’ve got great tits, Princess. Are they real, or did Daddy buy those too?”
Her eyes hood with anger, and her upper lip rises in a silent snarl.
“Fuck you.”
“I’m sure you want to.”
Her face reddens as her anger radiates like heat, but her pupils dilate.
Good to know I’m not wrong.
“Is that what you want from me, Princess? A good, hard fuck? Do you want to ride this?” My hand lowers to grip my hard cock from beneath my jeans.
“It’s a bit small. I can’t see it.” She smirks up at me, trying to piss me off further.
Damn, the things I could do with that smart mouth…
“There’s something you don’t know, Princess.” Reaching behind me, I slip my knife from the holster.
Her eyes widen as her skin pales. Her gaze is transfixed on the knife as I step closer.
I tilt the blade downward. And plunge
She whimpers as the shred of ripping fabric fills the air. I slice the skirt down the middle, leaving a large slit between her thighs.
“When women are turned on, we can smell it.” I keep the blade between her legs, leaning in closer in case she tries anything dumb. “And you smell, Princess. So. Fucking. Sweet.”
“Go to hell.”
I straighten up as she glares at me. Slipping the blade back into its sheath, I cross my arms and stare down to admire my handiwork. With her upper thighs pressed together, I can’t see her panties, but I was right.
Her musk and vanilla perfume mingle in the air. She smells delicious.
“That’s an interesting piercing.” My eyes dip back to her breast. “In fact, I’d say it’s shaped like a bobby pin.”
Her eyes widen as it dawns on her what I’m saying. “Side boob piercings are all the rage in Europe.”
“We’re not in Europe, Princess. If we were, you wouldn’t be here.” Because healthcare bullshit like this only exists in America. “How about we make a deal?”
I crouch down until we’re eye level and she’s staring at me with caution—as she should. You know, masked serial killer and all.
“What kind of deal?”
“It’s simple. I cuff you to the wall again and untie one of your hands. You give me back the bobby pin. Then I’ll let you untie yourself from the chair.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then my hands get to explore those perfect tits of yours until I’m satisfied there’s nothing else you’re hiding in there.”
Her lips pop open in shock for a moment.
“That’s right. I said perfect.”
I’d wink if she could see it.
She pauses before her back straightens in defiance. “Chain me back up.”
“Not the option I was hoping for, but as you wish.”
I stride over to the bathroom and retrieve the open cuff from the floor.
“What I wish is for you to let me go. I told you, if you’re trying to stop the bill, you’re actually helping my dad by keeping me here. All publicity is good publicity to him. And the sympathy vote will work perfectly for his re-election campaign.”
I cuff her right wrist this time and untie the binds, keeping her left strapped to the chair.
Her nimble fingers dip into her shirt and reveal a soft swell of her upper breasts before she plucks out the bobby pin and tosses it onto the floor.
“Good girl.”
“Bite me.”
“I didn’t know you’d be into that kind of thing.”
“I’m Mike Tyson, remember?”
My laugh escapes as I stomp on the bobby pin with my boot and drag it further away from her. I bend over and tuck it into my pocket for safekeeping.
Her breasts jiggle as she struggles to untie the knot below them, then the one at her right arm, before finally getting to the ones around her ankle.
“Try anything stupid like that again, and I won’t be so nice, Princess.”
“Nice? Yeah, you’re a real saint.”
“I’m the patron saint of bobby pins.”
That earns me an eye roll, but the corner of her lips quirk up. I call that a win.
“Now, how about that pizza?