“No, Caleb,” she murmured into the bedding. “Not like that.”

“Not like what?”

“I know what you want.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I want it to hurt,” she whispered.

Her hair was matted to her forehead. Her body was flushed, and her eyes were closed. She didn’t acknowledge my tense reaction. She didn’t open her eyes to take in the moment. She seemed afloat in her bliss despite asking me to hurt her. Who the hell are you?

“You want me to hurt you?” I whispered.

She was quiet for a moment.

“I trust you, Caleb.”

“But…”

“Shhh,” she cooed. “Don’t analyze it. Just do it.”

With more than a small amount of trepidation, I did. I pressed into her ass in miniscule degrees. I could hear her breathing, deep breaths, in and out. She was willing me into her body through her submission. She kept herself open and ready.

My heart beat with enough force to leave a bruise in my chest. I didn’t understand. She wanted me to change. She wanted someone different. Didn’t she? Why was she baiting me? Part of me didn’t care. I wanted it too much to care. I focused on my shallow thrusts. I focused on the pressure surrounding me and the dull scrape of every hard-earned inch I buried.

Livvie whimpered. It was a sound born of pain. I held myself perfectly still.

“More,” she whispered. I obeyed.

There were tears in her eyes by the time I was fully inside. I was almost afraid to move, but equally as determined to take what Livvie had so boldly offered. My mind was befuddled—my body was not.

“Last chance,” I said. I pressed my lips to her cheek and they came away wet. I licked my lips to ingest her tears. I had tasted her sadness. I had tasted her joy. I wondered what kind of tears I tasted in that moment.

“Please,” and her rocking hips were her response.

I was so tangled up inside, it was a relief to let my body take over. I let myself fall: into a rhythm, into the void, into Livvie. I let her moans, whimpers, and cries into my ears. I answered them with groans, grunts, and hisses of breath. As my pace increased, the sound of our bodies slamming together joined in the chorus.

Livvie writhed beneath me. Sometimes she urged me deeper, harder, and faster. Other times, her sounds and movements begged me to go slower and pull back. There was no stop. Stop was unacceptable to us both.

When I couldn’t take the heat, I pulled Livvie up onto her knees. She pushed back against me, burying me inside. She cried out, coming and riding me hard. My world tilted on its axis. Mine!

“I’m going to come,” I warned.

Livvie was panting hard.

“Tell me you love me,” she said.

“You first!” I yelled and spilled inside her.

We didn’t discuss any of it afterward. Neither of us was willing to cede any further emotional territory.

CHAPTER TEN

By the time early January reared its head, Livvie and I were starting to settle into being a couple. Granted, we weren’t your average couple, but we were getting comfortable with who we were. The nightmares became less frequent and we attacked each other less often. Livvie let me put it in her ass sometimes (grin).

Naturally, I had to try my best to fuck it all up.

Okay, before I even go on, please let me say I am not proud of what I did next. I was bored and insatiably curious. Also, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not your typical boyfriend material.

It was the first time I’d ever been in Livvie’s apartment alone. She had classes during the day but didn’t have to work in the evening. She asked if I’d be there when she came home and I said yes because it beat being in my hotel room.

The sun flooded Livvie’s apartment. I lay in her bed, smothered in throw pillows of various colors and shapes (Seriously ladies, what the fuck with all the pillows?). I felt especially dirty jerking off in her frilly bed. I was sure to wipe up my come with a fuzzy pink pillow. I hoped it would prompt Livvie to throw the damn thing away.

Afterward, I took a shower, made myself a bowl of Cocoa Puffs, and perused the stack of movies Livvie had rented and left on the coffee table. I’d never been the type of man who liked to eat cereal, let alone kid cereal, but Livvie loved the stuff and it was often the only thing I could find in her kitchen. I knew she could cook when she wanted to, but it seemed the mood rarely struck her. Some nights we ate cereal for dinner.

I decided not to watch the movies without Livvie since she seemed to enjoy regaling me with random movie factoids as we watched. I made the mistake of asking why we were watching “Episode IV” instead of starting from the beginning, and what followed was a diatribe about George Lucas and how he ruined Star Wars when he released three prequels. I didn’t much care, but I enjoyed watching Livvie rant about things that weren’t me. What I didn’t much enjoy was the way she stared at me the entire time I watched the movie to gauge my response during “awesome” scenes.

As I sat on the couch eating my cereal, my eyes landed on Livvie’s laptop. It was just sitting on the coffee table—daring me! Livvie was on the thing whenever she had time. I desperately wanted to know what Livvie had been writing and why she was keeping it from me. I remembered the way Livvie had snapped at Claudia to be quiet. Then the way she’d avoided the topic in Paris. It only made me more curious. I determined fairly quickly it had to be about me, us, or better—her.

I shoveled the remainder of my cereal into my mouth and set the bowl on the table. I scooped up the laptop and opened it. A smile curved my lips when I saw her screensaver. It was a picture of me asleep on her couch on Thanksgiving. I was wearing pants, but the photograph focused on my face and naked chest. What a little pervert, taking pictures of me while I’m helpless.

I was prompted for a password. Why did she need a password? Didn’t she trust me? I hope you’re smiling, because I know I am.

Anyway, it took me the better part of the morning, but I finally gained access to Livvie’s laptop. Her password gave me mixed emotions: Survival. If you’re horrified, please consider that I was fully aware Livvie would discover what I’d done. I wasn’t trying to hide my actions. I just wanted to know what the hell was on her laptop and why she chose to keep it from me.

There was a fleeting moment when I considered I might be opening Pandora’s box, but it really was fleeting. I make it my business to know what’s going on around me, and it has saved my ass more than once.

Livvie is very systematic. Her desktop was organized into a series of folders: FLM101, ENG202, HIS152, ART102, School Plan, and most alluring, Captive. One guess as to which folder I opened first? No! Not film.

There were several different documents inside the folder: Caleb, Reed, Sloan, FBI procedures, Mexico, East, Stockholm Syn, Human Traffick, Captive_D1_R2. My fingers began to shake as I hovered over each file. I wondered what I would discover. I wondered if I could process what I’d find. I wondered if I would feel different toward Livvie once I read them. If she was betraying me in some way, did I want to know? I knew already there would be no going back. Ignorance had never served me well.

I tested the waters by opening the document labeled “Sloan”. It contained a description of her appearance and a list of her mannerisms. I found Sloan interesting in a strange sort of way (free-form knitting and interpretive taxidermy? What?). I immediately moved on to the file on Reed.

Height: 6’2’’ Weight: 195? Desc: Pitch black hair that’s a little too long (surprising because of his job and his obvious anal retentiveness). It curls a little around his ears and the nape of his neck. His eyes are dark and expressive due to his dark brows. Clean shaven (very meticulously groomed aside from the hair). His lips (mmmmm). His mouth is warm and he tastes like coffee and mints. Bit of an angry shit when you kiss him unexpectedly (ha!).

Rage hit me fast and hard. Why had she kissed him? What had she really been up to when Reed had come to “check on her”?

I had to stop reading and take a few deep breaths. Livvie wouldn’t betray me. Would she? She obviously hadn’t turned me in. I forced myself to keep reading.

Livvie went on to describe Reed as good looking and sharp witted. I’m fucking good looking and sharp witted! I bet Reed only speaks one language. I’m sharp witted in five!

I moved on to my file. Surely, it had to read better than the one she had on Reed. I recalled Livvie telling me in Mexico that she hoped to write a book one day. She’d also told me the first rule of writing was to write what you know. The thought filled me with foreboding.

The document was longer than the previous two—about three pages. She’d managed a great deal of detail. The description calmed me somewhat. Livvie was very flattering, except I felt she had transformed me from a person into a character, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about being picked apart.

Height: 6’4’’ Weight: 210? Desc: blond hair, Caribbean blue eyes. A full mouth made for kissing. He has a canine tooth that is a bit sharp and slightly out of line with all of this other perfect teeth (the first time I saw him smile). Muscular, but lean—not bulky or overly muscled. His skin is tan from the sun, not a machine. He has almost invisible blond hair everywhere (kissing his back, they stood on end—super soft).

Mannerisms: Caleb always seems to think something is funny or amusing (that ridiculous smirk). His eyes can be beautiful or fucking terrifying (peaceful waters v. dark murky water). His mouth gets tense when he’s pissed and trying not to show it. He scowls a lot and sometimes he does it while he’s smiling, which usually means he’s about to do something especially cruel (that first whipping).

Livvie’s character profile went on and on about me. She wrote down pieces of things she remembered about me. She even went on to describe my dick, what I looked like when I came, and the way I laughed. Had Claudia read these notes? I knew she’d read at least part of Livvie’s story. What the fuck could she possibly have been thinking? I resented taking instant notice of how tight my lips were as I bit down on the tip of my tongue to help calm me down. I laughed bitterly.

I finally opened Captive.

Prologue:

This is not a romance. Romances are filled with valiant men and simpering damsels in distress. Romances have heroes worthy of the title. They slay dragons and climb towers to rescue beautiful princesses they immediately marry and impregnate. Romances end with a happily ever after. This is not a romance.

This is a love story. The characters are flawed to the point of being broken. The hero is beautiful, but ugly in ways that defy the ordinary imagination. The heroine isn’t trapped in a tower, but a dark and lonely room. There is no prince coming to save her. While love blooms and thrives, there is no happily ever after. Love does not always begin or end the way we wish it would.

A love story can happen to anyone. This one happened to me.

The words stirred something inside me. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind. Livvie was writing a book about us. Our story was not romance. I was not worthy of being called a hero. I was beautiful on the outside and hideous on the inside. We… didn’t have a happily ever after.

I swallowed hard. I swallowed a few times.

I’d come too far to stop. I kept reading:

I’m hurrying down the sidewalk, trying to get away from the sinister man in the car behind me, when I look up and see him. Perhaps it’s his easy stride, or the way his gaze sweeps past me instead of over me, but for whatever reason, he seems safe. I throw my arms about his waist and whisper, “Just play along, okay?”

He does, and I’m surprised when his arms wrap around me. The moment of danger seems to pass very quickly, but for some reason I don’t want to let go. I feel safe in these arms, and I’ve never really felt safe before. And he smells good, he smells the way I imagine a man should smell—like crisp, clean soap, and warm skin, and a light sweat. I think I’m taking too long to let go, so I release him as though he’s burned me. Then I stare up and acknowledge the angel in front of me. My knees almost buckle.