What the actual fuck?

  Was he planning on keeping her here for days? Weeks?

  She had thought the kidnapping was only a joke to teach her a lesson or maybe to toy with her a bit, but at no time she had thought the kidnapping was real. Maybe she should have tried to be more pleasant or submissive.

  It wasn’t the way she was but to avoid a few days of torture she would do anything. Any-fucking-thing.

  But nope she had decided to run her mouth again and her dumb ass had made the situation even worse.

  Way to go Rose!

  She was so so screwed.

  Chapter 7

  When life hangs by a thread

  “What do you want?” Rose asked again.

  “Oh, Sunshine, I want so many things.” He chuckled darkly. “But none of it includes what you have in mind.”

  She could have guessed that without any problem. It wasn’t hard to guess that the bastard didn’t want to be eviscerated. Who would anyway?

  He was deranged for sure, but not so deranged that he wished to die like this.

  “That doesn’t tell me what is it that you plan to do with me, or to me,” Rose grumbled almost to herself. “And how long are you going to keep me here? People will start to wonder where I am, especially if I don’t show up at work tomorrow morning. They might wonder already since I sent an SOS message to my friend when your gorillas caught me.”

  “Are you trying to lie to me or to yourself, Sunshine? No one is coming for you, you didn’t send any message before we got you, I know you didn’t.” He dangled a phone between his fingers. Her phone. And it was unlocked and opened to a thread of messages. “As for your pathetic job, they already know you won’t be there tomorrow and graciously said that you deserved your day off,” he paused, admiring the work of his letter opener under his fingernail, “it’s too bad you won’t even get to enjoy your day off.”

  Another rope appeared and this time it took its sweet time to tie each of the knots. Starting around her waist, they canvassed her stomach and – she could only guess – her back.

  “What, pray tell, am I going to be doing?” Rose asked with a saccharine voice and a smile way too tight to be right.

  “This and that,” Cupid answered, “You don’t like my ropes?”

  “I would prefer them away from my body,” Rose sniggered as she watched the rope keep coursing over her skin, loosening, tying an elaborate knot, then tightening and starting the process again.

  Rose could say anything about wanting those ropes far away from herself, but she was mesmerized all the same, and she would never admit it out loud, and even less to the only other person in this room, but it almost felt good.

  So good, that she had all but forgotten about the cold temperature of the room. Or maybe she hadn’t forgotten and the temperature had actually risen and she hadn’t noticed.

  She would never bet on Cupid letting the temperature rise no matter if it was natural or if he had turned on some magical heater, no, he wouldn’t be considerate, so Rose only had to guess that the constriction of the rope against her body was the reason why she wasn’t bothered by the cold anymore.

  “I hate them,” Rose finally answered after what felt like an eternity.

  “Well, you’re not the one in charge,” he said in a dreamy voice. Rose didn’t think he realized how much he let on about the fascination he had for the knotting work that was happening under his eyes. His work. Because Rose did not doubt it, it was his magic that wielded the ropes and bit her tender skin through her clothes. And maybe he was as skilled with his hands as he was with his magic.

  The thought sent a shrill excitement through Rose’s body. Where the hell did that come from?

  The madman was toying with her and she found it… exciting? almost enjoyable?

  Who was she and what had she done to the original Rose?

  Rose felt the rope create indents on the cheeks of her butt, drawing squares and diamonds she couldn’t even see. She felt it softly swipe along the crack of her ass and then retract as if it had hesitated and decided against it. As if Cupid had hesitated and decided against it.

  As if he thought he needed authorization for this or he thought she wasn’t ready for it.

  “What do I need to do in this house to get water and food?” Rose finally blurted out. Not that she was really hungry, she wasn’t even sure that she swallow anything solid without wanting it out right away with all that canvas on her stomach. The food she couldn’t do, but water, she needed.

  Her throat was starting to get itchy and her mouth was completely dry.

  “What do you propose?” Cupid seemed profoundly amazed by the situation and the idea of having her at his mercy.

  Rose just wanted to go home. She was tired, grouchy, and a little bit impatient. Yes, she found the pattern – now reaching down to her knees – gorgeous and she was a tiny bit impressed at the work but mostly she wanted to hide under a blanket and sleep.

  “I’d have proposed a handjob, but as you can see my hands are tied,” she paused for dramatics and then added, “but I don’t do assholes, so you’ve ruled yourself out already anyway.”

  “Your mouth is still available,” he said in a voice that was full of dark promises, and the shivers coursed Rose’s skin again, “At least you wouldn’t be able to say a thing with it so full of my cock.”

  Fuck. He had purposefully left out the asshole part of Rose’s sentence, but that wasn’t what hit Rose in this instant.

  No.

  What hit her, was what his words brought to her mind and the fact that her body had reacted as if she wanted this too.

  Nope, no, there was no way. Her body – the traitorous bitch who had decided to go wet at his words – might want what he promised, but her mind was pretty much in command and there was no way she would let that happen. Never.

  “No,” She said with ice in her tone.

  “Just no? No explanation? No word vomit to explain to me in three parts why it won’t happen?” he asked, faking interest.

  “I don’t need to explain myself. It’s just no,” She replied.

  “You’re sure?” His words seemed full of finality and Rose didn’t try to read too much about it.

  “Sure, Stu.”

  As if Rose’s words had given Cupid the green light for something, he moved his hand and the ropes tightened over her whole body and she felt herself float. Float???

  When the world tilted, she realized that Cupid was handling her the same way he had done with the ropes and she found herself facing him, head at eye level, but her whole body in a horizontal position.

  Something cold touched her skin between her shoulder blades and at the top of her butt and pulled. The floating feeling disappeared altogether and she felt her weight settle in the harness made of ropes that canvassed her body.

  “What are you doing?” She asked, a small amount of panic seeping through her voice.

  His magic tied her hands to her feet, making her weight move slightly more on the hook – it must be a hook – that was settled at her butt.

  “I told you I would have you pinned to my wall, didn’t I?” He seemed to think about it and then added, “you’re tied to my ceiling, but it’s all the same.”

  He chuckled – a dark and ominous chuckle – and then left the room.

  Chapter 8

  When the heroine would do anything for it to stop

  He had left her suspended to the ceiling. He had freaking left her! And then, he used the pointy part of the feather against the side of her ankle. It was still clad in her tights but she could feel everything. She could feel every dip and stroke of the quill against her body, she could feel it as it moved from her ankle to her calf, to her knee, to the outside of her thigh, to her butt cheek. When it reached the top of her butt, she felt him move on the other side but the feather stayed suspended in the air until he resumed the path of the feather from her butt cheek to her other ankle, turning her into a wet mess and rendering her breath shallow.

  The knots that she had so highly appreciated when she was standing on her own two feet had turned into torture.

  A kind of torture that she would never say that she enjoyed.

  The ropes were biting her skin and making her feel as if, hanging there, they were trying to make core with her and melt with her body.

  It felt strangely good and if she tried to move just even a bit she could feel the push of the rope against her flesh and heat her skin in a way she would have never expected.

  It never chafed though.

  The knots were so tight and the canvas so very uniform, that it couldn’t really move, only bite her skin some more.

  In a way it was pleasant, but in another way, it was pure agony.

  Not because it hurt, and yeah it hurt a bit, but because she was so turned on with what he had done to her that it was painful.

  She was stuck, like a fly in a spider web and all she could think about was the fact that her hands were tied too and she couldn’t relieve herself from the ache throbbing deep inside her pussy.

  She would have relieved herself, if she could have, right here right now, even though she was pretty sure there was at least one camera spying on her. She hadn’t found where it was, from her point of view it wasn’t an easy task, but an over-controlling man like Cupid would never leave someone hooked from the ceiling of his own place without a way to watch and know what was going on. He wouldn’t accept something happening to his prey without it being planned by himself.

  She didn’t really know the man, but it was obvious, and she hated him for the situation he had put her in.

  If she was honest with herself she hated herself a bit too. Without her stubbornness and her witty mouth, she wouldn’t be up there. She wanted to go home, break out her vibrator and then sleep…

  How long was he going to leave her alone in this room? Time was feeling so very long.

  Rose had started to lose all hope and believed she was going to spend the night strung like a bow dangling from the ceiling — how ironic — when the door opened.

  “How are you holding up, Sunshine?” Cupid asked as he entered the room, his gait betraying how joyful the situation made him. He looked like he hadn’t had as much fun in a really long time.

  The bastard.

  “Rethinking my whole life choices and such,” Rose answered in what she tried to pass as a bored and unaffected voice. From how his smile grew, she could only guess that she had failed.

  “Regretting being a bitch with me on my day?” He asked, the lilt at the end of his sentence the only proof of his interest in the answer.

  “Nope, still regretting meeting you though,” she muttered under her breath. Then his words registered. “Your day?”

  “What would you call it?” He didn’t wait for her to answer and kept talking, “that’s the day I’m celebrated, so yes, it’s my day.”

  “For the poor work you do, no one should celebrate you, you should be cursed or thrown to the fire.” Rose spat the words in his face, waiting for the blow to register on his face. But nothing came. He was either very good at hiding his emotions or very used to receiving that kind of compliment.

  Rose was pretty sure it was the latter, having been on the receiving hand of his ire on Valentine’s Day. She knew without a doubt that he wasn’t good at hiding his anger.

  “Get me down,” she commanded him. If she had been on the ground, she would have most likely stomped her feet on the ground with the order.

  “Or what?” He took a feather that had been laying on his desk and approached her slowly.

  What was he thinking? She had been okay so far, keeping her dirty thoughts out of her mind, hiding behind her anger for him, but if he touched her, even with just a feather, she had no idea how her body would hold up.

  As if she had conjured it, he stroked the tip of the feather against her cheek.

  “You still think you’re in control, Sunshine?” He said, his eyes glued to the tip of the feather traveling the length of her throat, then swerving up and down again, as if he was drawing a pattern on her skin. He let it reach the top of her breasts, peeling out of her cleavage, and then raised it as if he had another idea.

  She hated it, she hated him, and she hated even more that she felt breathless and that the only thing that she could think about in this instant was that she wanted to come. No, that she needed to come.

  And that asshole was toying with her. She could hide her desire all she wanted, he knew exactly what he was doing and why he was doing it.

  She would do anything for it to stop, for him to stop, to be somewhere else, out of his grasp.

  But she would stay strong and not utter a word about the growing emptiness she felt, about the way she felt her pussy clench around nothing, and about her breath getting slightly out of control.

  No, she would say nothing.

  He circled her, passing out of eyesight, and Rose could only anticipate what he was about to do. She couldn’t know exactly what was to come.

  Chapter 9

  When the heroine discovers something interesting

  Rose had to do everything she could to stay focused and not moan. She hated that asshole.

  She loved his torture.

  She hated even more that he was the one administering it.

  It felt so good and so wrong at the same time.

  She should be protesting, screaming even, but all she could do was keep her lips closed and hope that no moan would try to escape.

  It was one thing to be turned on by the sweet torture Cupid was dealing her, it was another altogether to let him know it.

  And for the love of God, she wasn’t ready for this.

  But Cupid wasn’t ready to stop either. He started again the movement of the quill against the top of her leg. One leg after the other. And then he did the same for the inside of her legs, following the line formed by the compression of her legs together. As he had done the first two times, he started at her ankles and moved along her legs.

  When she felt the feather reach the apex of her legs she wasn’t able to control what left her lips and the throaty moan resonated in the room.

  It didn’t even seem to shock Cupid, from his deep chuckle, it felt as if he had planned it, wanted it, and even expected sooner.

  “Finally,” He huffed.

  Well, yes, he had thought she would crack earlier than she did.

  At least Rose could be proud of this even if she was actually ashamed that he had managed to wring that moan out of her.

  On the brightest side of the day – night would be more accurate--, she was also still clothed and wasn’t begging him to let her orgasm.

  She was only a breath away from demanding it. She needed to get herself under control. He could never know how much he affected her.

  No, no, no, how much this affected her. Not him. Never him.

  “It’s no scream yet, but we’ll get to it,” he paused, “I did promise I would make you scream too, didn’t I?”

  Oh shit. Was he planning on keeping her here until she begged for him to take her and make her scream?

  She was so very screwed.

  Or maybe not yet actually.

  She was in deep shit in any case.

  “But I won’t do it tonight.”

  She felt herself floating again and her weight releasing from the hooks suspending her to the ceiling.

  What? He was letting her off the hook? Quite literally!

  Cupid moved her body again, letting her stand again and bringing back to life some part of her body that the ropes had put to sleep, her blood starting to flow a tiny bit better.

  When he was sure she could stand on her own he released the hold he had on her and kneeled in front of her.

  Slowly and carefully he started to unwrap the ropes that tied her ankles together, stroking the skin where the ropes had been seconds ago with his thumbs.

  Rose was dumbfounded. Who was this caring man that made sure her blood flew correctly again after hours of torture? What had he done to Cupid?

  Rose was lost in her questioning and only realized where his thumbs were heading too late.

  The first stroke of his right thumb against the inside of her thigh, less than an inch from her pussy made her moan louder than when he had played with the quill, her body all prepped up and ready to explode in a firework of orgasms.

  “That’s more like it,” Cupid said in a raw voice. If it hadn’t been him, Rose would have sworn his voice had a tint of possessiveness.

  Rose said nothing. She waited. It felt as if the only reason he was untying her and maybe letting her go was that she kept silent.

  But she couldn’t talk. She couldn’t utter a single word. Because if she did, her mouth would open and she wouldn’t be able to control the series of moans that would escape her.

  So she kept quiet, hoping for the torturous thumbs to finish their work quickly.

  When her legs were free again he looked at her from his kneeling position with a positively carnal smile.

  The smile turned downright sinful when he hooked his fingers under the lower part of the knotwork over her breasts.

  “Oh no, you’re not massaging any of this Stu,” Rose told him coldly. She was proud of herself when she didn’t sound breathless and nothing else had left her mouth than what she had intended.

  “I’m not releasing your hands, so someone needs to do it,” he told her with a smirk, “but if you prefer I can call Gary…” He let his words trail off.

  Rose didn’t know who was Gary but she guessed he was either “bald-guy” or “sunglasses-guy”, and having their hands on her appealed to Rose even less than having Cupid’s hands on her.

  She gave a sharp nod of her head and he started to work the knots and her skin.

  By the end of it, she was a hot mess and no closer to coming.

  He nudged her to move and brought her to his car. After helping her to sit, he drove in silence to her place.

 

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