I pull the water bottle away from her face and lean her forward as she hacks up the water. Guilt, a foreign emotion, creeps into my chest. I poured the drink too fast and nearly drowned her.
Uncertainty spears through me, but I push it aside. I had no choice but to kidnap her. She could ruin my only chance to find out who Narciso Vivaldi is working with.
Maybe if her curves didn’t transport me back to my horny teenage years this wouldn’t feel so dirty, but my thoughts refuse to stay above the sheets. I know she didn’t choose to be here, but her body tempts me to take and devour. Her feisty spirit and righteous anger only heighten my desire.
I want to poke the bear. The cute, sensuous, curvy bear.
When she finally stops coughing, I ask her if she wants more. She hesitates before nodding. I study her face for a moment, certain I’ve seen her before, but push the thought aside and lift the rim to her lips.
She empties the bottle. I toss it into the trash can in the room’s corner and study the mess. It’s too cold to leave her in damp clothing, but I can’t turn up the heat just because she spat all over us.
Her jeans are in the worst shape. She sits in a puddle.
I sigh and disconnect her feet from the footboard but keep her ankles lashed together. She presses against my chest and leans away from me, but I push her bound hands away and scoop her up into a cradle hold.
“What are you doing?”
Her husky voice travels straight to my half-hard cock. I ignore her and turn sideways through the bathroom door before setting her on her feet.
“You’re wet, mia caramellina.”
“What?”
Her horrified tone steals my breath and fills me with mirth. With my words hanging in the air, I realize how suggestive they are. Her response piques my curiosity. I crowd her, wrapping my arm behind her when her tied ankles steal her balance, and capture her fists in my hand before she can swing at me.
“You’ve soaked your jeans, mia caramellina,” I purr against her temple.
She pushes against me and shakes her head.
“Stop calling me that; I’m not your little caramel or your sweetie. And my jeans are fine. Don’t touch me.”
I chuckle, kick the door closed behind her, press her up against the wood, and hook her roped forearms over the coat rack.
“Be still, mia caramellina. Wouldn’t want that blindfold to slip while I’m on my knees at your feet,” I rumble.
She closes her hands into fists and grinds her teeth. Her feistiness turns me on. I shouldn’t be playing with her, but she brings out the worst in me.
I long to hear her string of curses without the gag muffling them, but although she trembles from head to toe, she doesn’t move when I step away. With her arms over her head, a strip of her midriff shows between her jeans and the bottom hem of her hoodie. My mouth waters. I want to kiss and nip the soft roundness of her belly and the wide flare of her hips.
Silently cursing myself for my wayward thoughts, I turn to the bag I left on the counter and rifle through until I find a pair of clean sweats. With a grimace, I realize it’s the pair I lost the tie for, but the elastic waistband still holds its form, so I shrug and place them on the edge of the counter.
When I turn back toward her, she’s absolutely fuming. If she were a cartoon character, steam would pour from her ears.
Realizing she’d happily kick out my teeth if given the chance, I wrap my fingers around her throat and tease my thumb over the lobe of her ear.
“If you kick or knee me, I’m taking your panties, too. Capisci, mia caramellina?”
Her throat moves in my grip as she swallows. When she nods, it’s not enough.
“Use your words, principessa.”
Her entire countenance changes, just like it did the last time I used the endearment. I wasn’t sure in the dark alley, but with the bright bulbs above the mirror shining down on her, there’s no mistaking her reaction this time.
Whereas mia caramellina makes her hot, principessa freezes her to the core.
Which is not the attitude I want her to have the first time I undress her, but the added emotional distance ensures I won’t cross the line. Hopefully.
“I understand,” she responds through gritted teeth.
I hum in mock disapproval and tighten my grip on her throat, enjoying the way her pulse leaps against my fingers before slipping my hand down her body. Trailing my knuckles between her breasts and over her stomach, I can’t resist testing the flesh above her belt. She squirms when I ghost my fingertips over her side. A muscle ticks in her jaw. She grinds her teeth in fury.
I unbuckle her belt, unbutton her jeans, and pull down her zipper. My balls throb as the white fabric of her panties peaks through the opening.
A part of me expected something bold, like black or red, but just the thought of her in an innocent color like white tests my control. I close my eyes and pull my purposes tight around me, leaning into the detached persona I slip into when I torture information out of a rat.
I hook my tattooed fingers into her waistband and peel her jeans down to her ankle bindings. With deft fingers, I untie the knot but wrap one hand above her knees before taking the rope off her legs, ensuring she can’t kick me without warning.
After working her jeans off her left foot, I fix her sock, move my hand to her naked knee, then remove her jeans from her right foot.
When I toss her pants onto the counter, the sock from her right foot slaps onto the floor. With a long-suffering sigh, I pick it up, press my hip against the leg bearing her weight so she can’t kick me, and lift her naked foot off the floor. Her neatly trimmed and unpainted toenails are undeniably feminine and cute, but the moleskin and blisters covering the rest of her foot look agonizing.
“Is the other foot this bad?”
She stiffens and tries to pull her foot away, but I prop her heel on my thigh and slip the sock back on without a word.
I didn’t mean to ask, but with my question hanging in the air, my curiosity is too much. She doesn’t fight, but she also doesn’t help me when I shuffle around and lift her other foot.
Trimmed toenails. Overall clean. Covered in blisters.
Helpless fury roars through me. She tugs against my grip. I tsk and fit her sock into place, biting back several unhelpful retorts until I remember yanking her shoes off her feet.
It must have hurt, but she didn’t cry out in pain.
The shoes were new.
Which explains the blisters. Her days are so long and active, it’s no wonder her feet are in such bad shape. The wordless anger loosens its grip on my chest. Knowing she doesn’t constantly walk around with battered feet helps calm the beast raging within my soul.
I set her socked foot down and cup her ankle. Intending to warn her against attacking me while I reach for the sweatpants, I curse my wayward hand as it caresses up her calf, teases the back of her knee, and slips around to mirror my grip on her other thigh.
The scent of her arousal fills my mouth with saliva. I rub my thumbs back and forth over her soft flesh, unable to peel my eyes from the juncture of her thighs.
I never imagined full-coverage white cotton briefs could be so tantalizing, but she fills them out so well all thoughts flee from my mind and need pulses at the base of my spine. She morphs a utilitarian garment into pornographic material. I want to taste her. She smells so sweet.
My cock hardens to steel, testing the seams of my sweats.
It nearly kills me, but I close my eyes and fill my lungs with her musk instead of leaning forward and closing my mouth over her clothed pussy.
When I bite the inside of my cheek, forgetting about the bruise forming from where she headbutted me, the sharp pain pulls me away from the edge of insanity.
Despite wanting to steal a lick, I grab my sweats off the counter and guide first one, then her other leg into the pants before pulling them up to her waist.
The fabric pulls tight around her ass and hips but hangs loose everywhere else. I train my focus on her face as I fix the pockets, my fingertips way too close to her pussy but nowhere near where I want them, then wrap the rope around her ankles, careful to keep my sweats as a barrier to protect her delicate flesh.
With her properly dressed and trussed, I step back and allow myself a moment to enjoy the view.
The angry, flustered blush on her cheeks brings out the worst in me.
“I thought nudity wasn’t a big thing for nurses, but you’re as red as an apple,” I goad.
When she stiffens, I realize my mistake. She doesn’t know I stalked her all day, or that I’m hunting the man she treated last night, so I shouldn’t know she’s a nurse. From her point of view, I’m just some back-alley murderer she caught while walking home from work.
Needing to distract her and already addicted to her haughty responses, I step forward, trap her bound ankles to the door with my shin, wedge my knee between her thighs, and brace my forearms on either side of her raised arms, caging her in with my bulk.
“Maybe I should call you mia mela caramellata and take a bite every time you blush. You look and smell so sweet, but how do you taste?”
Her breasts brush against my chest with her furious breaths, and when she squirms, my leg slips higher between her thighs. She turns her head when I lean closer, tucking her face against her arm.
“Don’t touch me,” she snarls.
I brush my lips over her temple, teasing the edge of her blindfold, and breathe in her sweetness.
With her thoroughly pissed off—and my cock fully hard—I press my front to hers, enjoying the way her breasts flatten against my chest, and unhook her wrists from the door. She stiffly accepts my manhandling as I scoop her into a cradle hold and carry her into the bedroom.
Her stomach rumbles. Instead of placing her on the bed, I set her in the apartment’s only chair, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder before crossing the room to the kitchenette.
“Any food allergies?” I ask.
I wouldn’t have asked a month ago, but the boss lady, formerly Aurora Achilles and now Giorgio Vivaldi’s wife, has a blood disorder. While she doesn’t have food allergies, what she eats can drastically affect her health.
“No, no food allergies,” the nurse says.
I peel open a cup of instant noodles, fill it to the line with water, pop it in the microwave, and snag a water bottle from the mini fridge.
She drinks half the water without hesitation, and this time, I manage not to drench her.
The microwave dings. I cap the bottle and set it on the tiny table before retrieving a plastic fork and the instant noodles.
It’s not the most nutritious meal, but it’s better than going to bed hungry.
I have a busy day tomorrow. In fact, I should be out chasing leads tonight, but I can’t leave her here alone. Plus, Narciso will probably spend a few days holed up in his safe house licking his wounds.
Wounds this tempting little nurse treated.
I prop my hip on the table and perform the stir-and-blow process on the steaming noodles, studying my captive as she curls and uncurls her fists in her lap.
I twirl a few noodles onto the fork and blow a few times before squatting in front of her.
“Open up, mia caramellina. Careful, it’s hot. Capisci?”
Her brows scrunch. She clenches her teeth and nods before opening her mouth.
Even though I only scooped up a few noodles, the bite overflows her mouth. She squeaks and tilts her head back, blindly trying to save everything. I reach out, catch a rogue noodle before it falls off her chin, and stick it in my mouth without thought.
My cock pulses in my sweats.
Even with the blindfold covering her eyes she sits frozen in shock, no doubt understanding what I did from the sound of me sucking the broth off my finger. She digs her nails into her palms and starts chewing as though she can forget the last few seconds if she just finishes this meal.
With a chuckle, I ready another bite, putting the same amount on the fork just to enjoy the show.
She does not disappoint. I tease her, only putting the fork halfway in her mouth before telling her to take the bite. Noodles spill down her chin.
The urge to lean forward and steal them with my teeth and tongue almost wins, but I stop myself and ferry the escaped food into her mouth with the side of the fork.
I don’t give her a chance to argue, feeding her one bite after the other until only broth and a few vegetables remain in the cup. After testing a sip to ensure it isn’t too hot, I fit the Styrofoam cup between her bound hands.
“Finish it up, mia caramellina. Let me get you a napkin. You’re filthy.”
I relish her flush and retrieve a clean washcloth from the bathroom, waiting for the water in the sink to warm before wetting it and wringing it out. When I return, she still has a few sips left, so I wait for her to finish before taking the cup from her and placing it on the table. She tries to evade when I wipe her face, but I catch her wrists before she can push me away and caress her chin and mouth through the washcloth.
She’d look pretty with her lips wrapped around my cock. Desire leaks from my tip, creating a wet spot on my sweatpants. I close my eyes and pull the washcloth away from her face, willing my mind out of the gutter.
Swallowing my disappointment and ignoring my hard on, I stalk across the room, rinse the rag, and hang it on the towel rack to dry. As I walk back toward her, I’m glad she’s blindfolded, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off her. She’d probably fly into a rage if she saw how much she affected me, which would definitely spiral us both out of control.
I lift her into my arms and move her to the bed, but she grabs onto my shirt before I rise.
“I need the toilet.”
Her tone relays her anger over having to ask, but she doesn’t shy away from the topic. After the recent incident in the bathroom, my respect for her grows.
I pick her back up and carry her into the restroom. She gnaws on the inside of her mouth but doesn’t demand I leave or fight my grip as I hold her steady by her upper arm and cup her chin.
An odd urge to explain myself rises from my depths, but I don’t have words to express my thoughts, so I give her cheek a reassuring caress before averting my gaze and pulling both layers of fabric off her lower half, letting them slip to her ankles and guiding her to sit on the toilet using her forearms. I rip a wad of toilet paper off the roll and stick it in her fist before stepping away and offering her as much dignity as I can. Even though she can’t see me, I turn my back and wait until she tells me she’s ready to stand before helping her to her feet. I pull her clothes into place and move her to the sink without a word. Her shoulders remain stiff as I wash her hands, the slick glide of soap between our digits erotic, but when I keep my ministrations clinical, she loses some of her awkwardness.
After rinsing and drying our hands, I carry her to the bed and connect her wrists to the headboard with a bit of rope, allowing her enough slack to lie with her hands on the pillow instead of over her head.
She doesn’t move when I step away. I consider strapping her ankles to the footboard but decide the arm bindings are enough. I grab another cup of instant ramen and set it in the microwave. As it cooks, I pick her bag up off the floor and rifle through it for her wallet.
I don’t recognize her name, and I haven’t frequented the area around her apartment complex recently, so I must have confused her with someone else. I can’t have seen her before.
The microwave beeps, so I take my food to the table and slide my phone from the back corner to the front edge and settle into the chair to eat. Realizing I forgot a fork, I snatch the used one from the empty noodle cup and stir my food as it finishes cooking.
My captive’s name is Mia Rivera.
The name doesn’t suit her. I can’t place why, but as I study her, my doubts grow.
I turn on my phone and send a text message to the only group chat on my phone. Less than three minutes later, Aurora responds with the information I requested. Giorgio chimes in, asking if everything is okay. I let him know I’m handling the complications, and neither of them question me further.
As I eat, I consider my options for the night. Be the gentleman and sleep on the floor or join Mia on the bed.
I’ve never strived to be a gentleman and I won’t start now. The last few days have been physically demanding, and the future promises even more chaos. Plus, the gunshot wound on my lower back—given to me by Aurora’s uncle a few days ago—hasn’t had time to heal. Add in the bruise on my jaw from mia caramellina’s wicked headbutt and the gash on my upper arm from a stray bullet during the shootout between Giorgio and Narciso, and I’d be a fool to give up the opportunity to sleep in a bed.
Just the thought of settling beside the curvy nurse hardens my cock. I gather the trash and drop it into the receptacle before splashing cold water over my face in the bathroom.
Looking at my dripping reflection, I tell myself I can handle sleeping beside her. I won’t touch her, no matter how tempting her luscious body is or how much I enjoy her exquisite responses.
Only a few hours after meeting her for the first time, and I’m already addicted.
And I haven’t even had a proper taste of her yet.
