Chapter 9
POV: Gabrielle?
I slept last night like a baby.
Who knows if it was the wine or the pasta or the way he put his hand on my throat but I actually got…excited from it, but something deep inside me electrified—like a false pulse.
I groaned as I tossed over to my side and stared at the empty night table.
The only thing I had to occupy my time in this place was the television, and not even cable tv, just regular old reruns. Somehow even the News was turned off.
This guy was a professional—he didn’t take any risks, he thought of everything and he most certainly was incredibly strong and quick on his feet.
And his hands—they were calloused and rough but they felt so right along my throat.
God, I was fucked up, I really was.
I was beyond fucked up.
I was fantasizing about the feel of my kidnapper’s hand around my throat and how it turned me on.
Something’s gotta give.
This literally can’t be happening—I can’t be having these delusion thoughts and I can’t be allowing them to linger. If I kept thinking like this then it would fuck up my entire escape plan.
Maybe I should’ve used that dildo. Maybe I just need a simple release.
I glanced at it sitting on my bedside table and considered it.
It was literally 7 in the morning and I was thinking of getting myself off. I was more depraved than I originally thought.
I scooted myself into a seated position on the bed and against the backboard and placed my hand in my hands.
Get yourself together, Gab. This is insane. You need to find a way out soon.
But for now, I needed something to distract myself.
“I need some shower gel and nail polish!” I called out to the air, hoping the creep was listening.
His voice sounded over the speaker. “Nail polish?”
I called out, a hint of humor in my voice “I’m hoping the chemicals in it can be used to burn your face!” I laughed at my own comment, smirking. “Kidding.” After all, I needed the nail polish.
His voice was almost calm. “I’ll bring you your shower gel and nail polish, princess. Any other demands?”
But just as I was begging myself to think straight, the sound of the door opening caused me to look up.
My kidnapper, Dane, who knows if that’s even his actual name, stared at me with his back pressed against the doors and a sly smirk on his face. “Good morning, Belle.”
“Good morning, Dane,” I shot back, getting to my feet and crossing my arms with a few bottles of colorful nail polish and a bottle of blue shower gel in his hand.
“I’ll take those,” I started towards him, desperate for the polish, anything to make me feel less gross than I did before.
He wagged a finger at me. “Not happening, princess.”
“What?” I scoffed, feeling ballsy and strutting towards him. “You’re going to paint my nails for me?”
He smirked, his beautiful dark features glowing as he did. “Yes, Belle, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Fuck him for being so damned hot and evil.
I scoffed, turning around and walking towards the bathroom.
“Are you sure you don’t want to bring your dildo with you?” I heard him chuckle.
“Fuck off!”
I almost slammed the door on his face, almost.
He used one hand to push the door open and stood in the doorway, making it look incredibly tiny compared to his humongous body.
“You’ll have to hike up your pants, better yet, take them off so we don’t ruin the polish.” His eyes scanned across mine, trying to unnerve me.
This time, the asshole wouldn’t win. I wouldn’t allow it.
“Fine,” I shrugged, dropping my pajama pants down and kicking them to the side, leaving me in only my underwear.
His gaze stuck to mine as he tried to not look at my body and only at my face.
“You can look,” I shrugged. “You want to anyway. You might as well memorize this because this is as far as you’ll get to seeing me partially naked.”
He smirked, letting his eyes linger across my body, slowly, as if he was undressing me with his eyes, and as if he could tell what my nipples looked like and how pink my pussy was.
And that made me wet.
It actually did, having him look at me with hunger in his eyes.
He took a single step towards me, until he stopped right before me and pushed me into a seat on the closed toilet seat. “Hold out your foot.”
I obeyed without thinking, flushing red.
He held the colorful bottles of polish out, offering me a choice.
I guess this is my only choice while in this damned place.
“The red,” I told him.
“Good girl,” he smirked as he took my foot and began painting my toenails, one by one, carefully.
I didn’t speak.
I just watched as he painted my nails, with gentle and perfect hands.
When he was done he glanced up at me and reached for my other foot, painting my other toenails as carefully as he could.
“Are you actually a doctor?” I blurted out.
He looked up at me with softened eyes. “Yes.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “I find it hard to believe a doctor would need to kidnap women.”
His jaw ticked from my comment. “I’m not like most doctors.”
“Clearly,” I laughed, rolling my eyes.
“Clearly,” he reiterated, looking up at me with a serious gaze. “I am not doing this for some sick, twisted pleasure.”
“Then why?” I yelled out, causing him to paint part of my skin.
“Stop moving,” he muttered, concentrating on painting and not smudging my skin. “You wouldn’t understand my reasons.”
“But what if I did?” I whispered.
He looked up at me then and there was something beneath his gaze that made him consider it.
“Doubtful but we’ll see.” He finished painting my nails and looked up at me, waiting for me to offer him his hands.
“I don’t like my fingernails painted,” I told him.
Dane shrugged and got to his feet. “I left a lunch box filled with breakfast on your dresser. Chia pudding and fruit today. Also a can of cold brew.”
My gaze drifted lower, from his eyes, down to his lean torso, then to his cock straining in his sweatpants.
I gulped as I noticed the outline. He was big. Definitely well hung.
“Enjoying the view?”
I looked away from him and stumbled getting to my feet. “Thanks for the manicure, Dane.”
“Anything for you, Belle.” Then he turned on his heels, closing the bathroom door behind him, as I counted his receding footsteps until I heard the door close behind him.
I slumped into a seat on the bathroom floor, placing my head into my hand and cursing myself out.
I shouldn’t be thinking like this. I shouldn’t be wet for my captor. I shouldn’t look at the outline of his dick or think about what it looked like or how he felt inside me. I shouldn’t but I was.
And beyond the clear attraction—there was a twinge of something else—a reminder that I was curious about him—what made him the way he was—who he was beneath his calculated exterior as well as what he wanted with me.
I was interested in him and a tiny part of me thought well maybe, just maybe he isn’t as bad as he seemed.
And that’s how fucking delusional I was.
I consciously thought, well, maybe just maybe I can fix him.
And I knew that was the beginning to the end.