A week has passed.
A whole week of being trapped on an island where it’s only the two of us.
A whole week of being tormented by Creighton, brought to my knees in submission, stuffed with toys, forced to orgasm. Denied orgasms.
All of it.
A whole week of me fighting and negotiating and pleading. I tried to reason with him, to tell him that not only are my parents worried sick but his must be, too.
I tried to knee him in the balls again and run, but that only got me whipped until I cried while I orgasmed, and then he fucked me.
He punished me and brought me to the edge, where the only thing I could do was moan his name and hate myself.
Fully. Thoroughly.
I hate myself because no matter how much I want to leave, I want to stay, too.
I want to sleep cocooned in his arms, I want to be fucked by him to the point of insanity. I want to wake up all deliciously achy and marked.
I want him to put those marks on me and then carefully slather them with ointment. He’d kiss them, too, making me shiver in both pleasure and self-loathing.
Because how can I enjoy the company of a man who vehemently refuses to let us start anew?
How can I find pleasure in this situation when my family is probably suffering because of this?
I had a nightmare about my mom’s mental issues declining last night and couldn’t go back to sleep.
After I tossed and turned, Creighton woke up and he fucked me back to sleep.
He’s been an insatiable beast since we got to the island. No matter what I do, he’d be breathing down my neck like a pervert with the stamina of a sex demon.
If I jog on the shore in the morning, he joins me and then fucks me on the nearest rock.
If I try to cook, he annoys the hell out of me, standing near like the Grim Reaper, and then after the meal, he eats me out on the kitchen table.
Sometimes, that happens during the process of making food.
If I’m trying to practice ballet to keep in shape, he sits across from me, watching my every move like a hawk. Then he tears at my tights and mounts me on the floor.
That one ends up being the most animalistic, with my cute purple tulle shredded and scattered on the floor.
I have no clue how he got my stuff here, but he definitely had them from back in England. When I left Brighton Island, I didn’t pack everything.
A part of me hoped I’d go back.
That part never counted on this depravity.
I swear this isn’t what I meant when I told the girls that my fantasy was to be kidnapped.
Or maybe it is.
But his reasons have left a bitter taste at the back of my mouth.
I place lamb soup and fish and chips Creighton made on the patio table that faces the bright sea and he brings my salad.
We’ve fallen into this domesticated routine that would be a dream under different circumstances.
We do our morning jogs or swims together, sometimes fully naked. He fishes by the rock and I try to help but end up making it worse. Then we shower together. He watches me practice, makes lunch, and then we hike on the island’s mountains to the point that every day is an adventure. We talk about everything, or more like I do and he reciprocates. We discuss school, life, art, like when we were on good terms, but he completely closes off when I ask him if we’re going back.
“I can cook sometime, you know.” I sit across from him and wince at the discomfort in my ass.
It’s impossible to move without feeling him inside me anymore.
A fact he notices and appreciates, considering the slight twitch of his upper lip. “I’ll do the cooking.”
“I thought you didn’t know how.”
“That was a month ago. I learned how.”
I nod and take a bite of my salad. “Can I have some fries?”
“Chips?”
“Chips. Fries, whatever.”
“You don’t have to ask.” He pushes the whole plate in front of me.
“Wow. You actually gave up your food. The first time we met, you almost killed me because I asked for a taste.”
That event feels like ages ago. I was infatuated with Creighton at first sight. He was silent, stoic, and the perfect recipe to pull on my heartstrings. Despite his broodiness, I yearned to bring out the man that lurked inside him.
I yearned to sink my claws into his skin and yank the secret part free.
But maybe I should’ve heeded his and everyone else’s warning and stayed away. Maybe I wouldn’t be in the situation I’m currently in.
“You were a stranger back then,” he says, scooping up a handful of fries and practically mounding them on top of my salad. “You’re not now, so you can have my food any day.”
I try and fail not to be touched, especially knowing how much he loves food and that he certainly doesn’t give it up, even to the people closest to him, including his brother and Remi.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I can’t eat all of that. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you want to make me fat.”
“You’ve lost weight.”
“Not since I got here.” I release a long sigh. “How come we never run out of stuff?”
He remains silent, seeming preoccupied with eating, but he just doesn’t want to answer me.
“Does someone bring supplies? When?”
Silence.
“When I’m asleep?”
More silence.
“Creighton!”
Still clutching both his fork and knife, he lifts his head while chewing slowly. His look is unnerving, so absolutely blank sometimes that I’m terrified of the depths it hides.
Sometimes, he looks at me like he won’t let me leave his side, ever, and if I try to, things will get ugly.
A secret part of me likes that. Too much. It scares me.
“Yes?”
“Do you have someone who comes over?”
“Not yet. I have a stock full of food that will last us for a few months. But even if we run out, you don’t have to worry about it. Needless to say, if you have any plans to escape, you might want to abandon them.”
My lungs deflate with a long breath as I let my fork stab into the salad without bringing anything to my mouth.
“Can I at least call my mom and tell her I’m okay?”
“So your father can track the call?”
“I’ll just text her then.”
“No. There are no phones here.”
I release a groan of frustration. “What if one of us gets injured or sick and we have to call for help?”
“I’ll think about that when it happens.” He pours himself a glass of wine. No kidding, he drinks wine. At fucking twenty.
He’s like an old man sometimes, I swear.
But I don’t say no to a drink, so when he pours me a glass, I take a sip, too.
The bland stuff is starting to grow on me. Or maybe his family only keeps premium wine, because I never thought I would like it until now.
Creighton leans back in his chair twirling the glass of wine and watching me with a little smile.
I stuff my face with salad. “Why do you look so pleased with yourself?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Because you kidnapped me?”
“You like it here.”
“I do, but I don’t want to be trapped in this place for the rest of my life.”
“It’s better than being surrounded by the outside world.”
Oh.
It dawns on me then.
The outside world, the truth about his origins and my parents’ involvement, is what tore us apart, so Creighton has purposefully chosen a place where they can’t reach us.
I don’t know if I should be touched or appalled by that fact.
“How about your parents?” I whisper. “They must miss you.”
“They understand. Dad encouraged this plan.”
“He what?”
Creighton lifts his glass in the form of a cheers. “Best Dad of the Year Award goes to Aiden King.”
“Wow. I thought he might be unhinged from the time we talked, but now I’m sure.”
One of his brows rises. “You talked?”
“More like he threatened me, but Papa threatened him, too, almost killed him, actually, so I pretended to faint and Papa had no choice but to take me back. He totally didn’t believe my performance, though.” I sigh. “I’m afraid some sort of a world war will happen if they meet again.”
“Which is one more reason not to go back.”
“Then we’d just be running.”
“So what?”
I release a frustrated breath. “We can’t just do that, Creighton. We have a life back at home. People waiting for us. People who love us.”
He eats in silence and I think he’s dismissed me, which is his modus operandi whenever he wants to change the subject.
I eat, too, feeling my heart shriveling up and dying inside my chest.
He really won’t look past the grudge. It’s already shaped who he is, and the more I try to make him get rid of it, the harder he holds on to it.
“What’s his name?” The question he asks in a low tone catches me off guard.
“Who?”
“The man in black who’s by your side all the time, looks twice your age, and whom you smile at. Constantly.”
I frown. “Yan?”
Full-blown calculation covers his features. “Yan. Russian, I assume?”
“Yeah, didn’t I mention him before? We’re so close and he’s a badass. A former member of the elite Russian Special Forces, ranked among the first, and one of the most merciless assassins in the Bratva.”
“We will see how strong he is when I pummel him to death.”
My lips part as the realization dawns on me and I burst out laughing.
He’s jealous of him.
Creighton is jealous of Yan.
A dark look shutters in his unique ocean eyes. “What are you laughing at?”
“I’m sorry, but this is just too funny,” I say, still fighting the remnants of my laughter. “Yan is Papa’s second-in-command.”
“And? Why is that information funny? If anything, it makes me hate your father even more for bringing this Yan into your life.”
“My Tchaikovsky, are you for real?”
“I told you to quit worshiping that dead man.”
I suppress a smile. “Yan is like my favorite uncle, totally more approachable than Kolya and Boris.”
“There are more of them?”
“We have an entire army of guards. But don’t worry, I was never interested in them in that sense. One, they’re way older. Two, Papa would skin them alive. Also, he hates Yan with a passion.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s Mom’s best friend and he kind of doesn’t like that. Yan won’t stop provoking him about it, though, so the whole situation is fun to watch.”
“If your father dislikes him so much, why doesn’t he get rid of him?”
“Because Papa knows how much Mom needs a friend.” I grin. “I’m telling you, Yan will have a field day when he knows both you and Papa are jealous of him.”
“I am not jealous.”
“Yeah, right. Wait a minute, how did you see the picture I posted with Yan?”
He remains silent and flat-out ignores me by drinking from his wine.
“You don’t have social media. Did you stalk me through Remi’s account or something?”
“I tried, but he found out about it and exposed me in front of everyone in his super dramatic way.”
I laugh. “I can imagine that. It must’ve been entertaining.”
“No, it wasn’t. And Remi is not that funny.”
“He’s hilarious. Don’t be jealous.”
He narrows his eyes on me but says nothing.
“Then how did you stalk me? The only alternative is through the others’ accounts, but I doubt they would give you their phones unless…you made an account yourself?”
Silence.
I jump up from my seat and round the table to come to his side. “You did!”
“Sit down and finish your food.”
“No, this is way more important. Does everyone else know you have a form of social media? What’s the handle? Your profile picture? Your first post? Bio? I want to know all the things—”
My words die in my throat when he grabs me by the wrist and forces me to sit down. This time on one of his thighs so that I’m practically riding it.
Heat blossoms where my panties meet his jeans and spreads all over my skin.
His slightly stubbled chin rubs against my cheek as he whispers in dark words, “I said, sit down and eat.”
“If I do, will you tell me your handle?” I don’t recognize the thickness in my voice.
“That’s not important anymore, considering we’re not leaving.”
“Or that’s what you think.”
His eyes, those gorgeous eyes that I’m sure once belonged to a fallen angel, turn to slits. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“Annika.” I feel the vibration of his warning before I hear it and help me, Tchaikovsky, his authoritative voice is such a turn-on.
“I’m just saying.” I shrug and grab a fry.
I’m going to convince him to let go of his grudge, even if it’s the last thing I do.
And if I fail, then let it be the last thing I do.
“You have until the count of three to tell me or so help me God…”
I jump up from his lap and dart in the direction of the house. Adrenaline pumps in my veins at the thought of playing a cat and mouse game.
“Catch me first.”
Creighton’s eyes fill with unhinged animalistic power. The type of power that made me fall for him in the first place.
That’s my Creighton.
The only Creighton that should be allowed to reign.
The other one who’s bent on destroying us both is an asshole and I need to figure out a way to defeat him.
“Sure you want to play a hunting game, little purple? I always win.”
“And I never lose.”
Despite my confident tone, the moment he strides in my direction with that dark expression, thrilling fear courses through my veins.
I squeal, then turn around and run.
