Page 25 of Pose for Me
I chuckle and slap his ass, loving how he cries out from the sting of my hand on him. Then I slide forward and use his ass to rub off. “You like that, don’t you? You like being at my mercy?”
“Ryell. Damn you. God fucking damn you,” Lane pants, rolling his hips into my thrusts.
“You like this, Agent. Just admit it. Admit it and I’ll let you come.” I lean down and suck marks into his skin, my arousal ratcheting up as I hear his soft whimpers and gentle moans.
My balls tighten to my body, and I sink my teeth into Lane’s neck as I come, filling my pants with a nut so big I almost lose consciousness.
When I come back to myself, Lane is still wiggling his ass, panting with his need to release. I halt his movements, then shove him onto the bed. He lands in a heap, unable to get to his feet before I’m out of the cell and the door is closed.
Lane looks at me with a mix of arousal, frustration, and hatred. It only fuels my need for him. His desire to fuck me and fight me is heady, and I want more.
“When you’re ready to pose for me,” I say in a composed voice, even though I feel anything but, “I’ll give you an orgasm. But don’t fuck with me, Lane. I’ll know if you are.”
Then I walk away, the angry words of my favorite captive reaching my ears.
Ten
Lane
“Fuck,”I groan. “Fucking asshole.”
How the fuck did I let Ryell get that close to me, and how did I end up practically begging him to make me come?
I flop back onto the bed, still breathing heavily from how he rubbed off against me.
Reaching into my pants, I take my hard dick in hand and jerk myself, wanting to come so I can clear my mind.
Even though I told myself to fight, to get out of his hold, my body fucking leaned into him, wanting more of what he gave me last week.
Was it last week?
Ryell has only brought me seven meals, and judging from how hungry I am when I eat, it seems he’s feeding me once a day.
Looking down at where my hand is tugging my dick, I notice that even after a week, I’ve shed some pounds.
Then I realize I’m jerking off to my fucking kidnapper, who happens to be a prolific serial killer.
I let go of my dick in disgust and pull my pants up, cursing because he’s so far into my head.
For the past however the fuck long I’ve been here, I’ve broken down when he was away, but shored up my anger when we cameface-to-face. I purge my emotions when I’m alone, so I have enough fight for him.
I pull my legs to my chest and think about what just happened. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have given in so easily when he asked to draw me. His instincts were on high alert as soon as I laid on the floor. I knew he was going to call me on it, and I wasn’t that surprised when he did.
Getting to my feet, I grab the baby wipes he left for me a few days ago and clean myself up as much as I can. I would give anything for a hot bath, but the wipes are better than me walking around in my own filth every day.
Once I’m clean—or as clean as I can be—I sit back on the bed.
My dick has deflated, so I can think clearly. How did Ryell know I was crying at night? How did he know I was breaking down?
He has to have a camera somewhere, but it’s probably somewhere I can’t reach to block it or fucking rip it down.
Even still, I look around, trying to locate my spy. I check every corner outside of the cell, then the bars. Just as I start to give up, I notice the small lens in the corner of the cell opposite where I’m sitting. No matter if I lie at the head or the foot of the bed, Ryell could see me. It’s just out of reach of my chains, so I don’t even attempt to get it down.
Wanting him to know I’ve found his secret, I flip the camera the bird. I’ll just have to keep my feelings buried inside, only letting them out when I escape this hellhole. I can cry my fucking eyes out when I’m sitting in a therapist’s office.
I can do it. I’ve been trained for this. Then again, when I was going through training, IknewI’d get out, that there was an end where I’d go home. No matter how realistic the scenario, I knew it was fake. I’m not sure whether I’ll be walking out of here or leaving in a body bag.
I’m stronger than this, I know I am, but my brain hasn’t gotten the signal. I haven’t given up, but I feel like I will soon if I’m not freed.
