Page 18 of Pose for Me
Glancing over at him, I see he’s fast asleep in the same spot he landed in when he rolled off me, arms and legs spread wide, his soft but heavy cock resting against his thigh.
My mouth waters to suck him down, to wake him up for another round of the most explosive sex of my life, but I ignore the urge. I need to get home and process what the fuck just happened.
I willingly gave up control to a stranger; someone I only met last night. And I fucking liked it and want it again, over and over.
But did Ryell think this was a hookup? Did he think this was a one-and-done, because we both had fucked-up days?
Probably.
“Fucking hell,” I whisper, sliding out of bed to gather my clothes and my shoes.
I pad toward the door, careful not to make any noise. When I open it, I wince when it creaks, but when I look over my shoulder, Ryell hasn’t moved an inch.
As quietly as I can, I slip into the hallway, where I get dressed quickly. I still have cum on my cheek, and I use my undershirt to scrub it away. I can shower when I get home.
I walk down the stairs on silent feet, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Ryell doesn’t see me sneaking off.
When I get to the front door, I try to open it, but it doesn’t budge. Frowning, I flip the bolts and try again, but nothing happens.
“The fuck?” My heart hammers as I study the door, trying to figure out what’s going on. I focus on one of the bolts and see it has a light that’s blinking red. He must have one of those locks that’s operated remotely to keep anyone from entering by picking them.
No way am I going back upstairs to ask him to unlock the door for me.
I look around for another exit and see a hallway. It must lead to a back door.
I hurry in that direction, checking my pocket for my keys.
When I step into the kitchen, I see two doors. The one that leads to the back door, which also has the red blinking light.
I really could just ask Ryell for help, but I’ve already come this far; I can get out of here without looking like a complete slut.
The other door is cracked open, and a faint noise is coming from below. Almost like a whimper but not quite. “The fuck?” I say again, pulling the door open wider. The noise comes again, just as faint.
Fuck, I wish I had my weapon, but I locked it up, along with my badge, in my glove compartment before I entered the bar.
My instincts tell me not to engage, but if there’s something untoward down there, I need to check it out.
On ninja toes, I venture down the stairs, wishing I had my gun or at least some sort of weapon. Too late for me to go back upstairs and grab a knife, and I can’t seem to find my keys to use those.
Hitting the bottom landing, I look left and right, then head to the right where I see a faint shaft of light.
I step inside of a room, and my lungs seize. Across from me is a cell. A real live fucking jail cell, the door thrown open. A fewfeet away is a dental chair resting over a linoleum floor with a grate underneath it.
The fuck is going on? Why does Ryell have this in his basement? Is he…is he kidnapping people? Is that…is that fuckingbloodon the straps of that chair? Fuck, this is bad. This is really fucking bad. Who thefuckdid I just let fuck me into the mattress? What kind of sick fuck is he?
It takes a moment for my training to kick in, but when it does, I look around at as much as I can catalog, so when I get far enough away, I can call this in and have the FBI swarming this place.
Belatedly, I remember my fucking cell phone. I slide my hand into my pocket where I usually stash it but come up empty. I feel the other pocket, but nothing.
What the?—
A prick on the side of my neck has me whirling around, locking eyes with Ryell. Through the haze that quickly descends over me, I meet his gaze and see…nothing. The man I just submitted to is gone, and in his place is a robot that reflects no emotion.
As if from far away, I hear him say, “Sleep well, Agent Bauer,” as I drop to my knees.
Before I can catch myself, I topple forward, smacking my head hard on the floor. But the pain doesn’t register. In fact, nothing penetrates as the fog blankets me, and I see no more.
Seven
