Page 26 of Stolen By the Enemy

There was no life insurance, just debts that took any money they had, leaving him with nothing. And for someone in this kind of life, that makes it even harder to get by.

God, listen to me. I’m sympathizing with my kidnapper—a man who wouldn’t think twice about torturing and killing my family if it means he can get what he’s looking for.

Have I completely lost my mind?

Maybe it’s just the hormones from those multiple orgasms that are making me feel something softer for him.

I wonder if that’s a thing—orgasm bonding.

Thinking about the orgasms and the sex we had makes me feel weird.

The fluttering in my stomach is a good feeling, but there’s also a pang of guilt because I should not be sleeping with this man, who is an enemy to my entire family—someone who brought me here at gunpoint.

The only thing stopping me from feeling too guilty about fucking him is the fact that my brothers haven’t found me yet.

With all of their contacts and resources, I did think that they would have been here by now. And I know Marco is in contact with them, so they know I’m with him and in Mexico.

They may not know the exact location of this house, but I’ve seen them track down an enemy and behead them much faster than they’re finding me.

The same weary bitterness I have been feeling toward my family chokes me again, and I fight back tears.

I am so tired of being forgotten by everyone.

***

In the bedroom later, I look at myself in the mirror, lifting my shirt to look at my skin.

I have bruises on my breasts and thighs, even one on my shoulder.

Marco’s hands are big, and they weren’t soft when he gripped my skin. I trace over the bruises, remembering the movements that caused each one.

I can feel myself getting wet all over again—not something I would have thought possible after the night Marco and I just had.

Soft light starts to creep into the room, and I realize that it’s already morning. Somehow Marco kept me climaxing all through the night.

Now I need to sleep more than anything else. I close the heavy curtains to keep the room dark and crawl into bed.

I’m exhausted, and my body is sore. It feels like I completed a triathlon last night.

Closing my eyes, I picture Marco again, naked, hard and covered in tatoos, making me climax in his own bed.

Properly asleep, my brain rewards me with a dream that only continues the night’s events.

I see Marco on the plane, looking at me with those eyes that make me melt. I go over to him and undress myself quickly, looking up to see he’s already naked.

He sits still and allows me to climb on top of him. Lowering down onto his cock, I feel him fill me up and moan at the feeling.

He holds onto my hips as I bite his neck and he moans in pain—and pleasure.

Then I ride him, faster and harder than the night before. I know he can take it and he’s surprised at my roughness.

My nails dig into his skin, and he grabs my hair, pulling it back so my entire body arches towards his hand.

I climax once, twice, three times, scratching and biting Marco until he’s groaning louder than me.

My dream self doesn’t care that we’re in the plane with the pilot.

I make him lie down on the floor and ride him cowboy style, then reverse cowboy, and when he finally comes inside of me, I move up to hover right above his face, indulging in his tongue skills while I climax again.

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