Brazil
Two days later…
Sighing, I drop my short blonde wig on the lush snow-white carpet of our hotel suite. There is plenty of space here. It’s like I have an apartment all to myself, complete with a living room area, a fancy kitchen with Top Chef appliances, and marble bathrooms. But I’m still confined to this luxurious suite. Hunter has all the doors locked from the outside. I can’t even go out on the balcony and enjoy the breathtaking view of this private island we’re on. Everything’s been private and very discreet thus far. After that amazing night with Hunter he suddenly left and came back with a short blonde wig and fake passports. We boarded a private jet soon after. He didn’t tell me where we were going, but I knew we were somewhere in Brazil once we landed. We rode through the thriving streets of Rio de Janeiro and then boarded a sleek boat built for speed. After a long while of flying through the open sea, we came upon a large island complete with a functioning luxury hotel and staff. All the natives speak Portuguese and Spanish. I don’t know exactly where we are. I know we’re off the coast of Brazil.
This is our second day here on this stunning island. Everything outside of the pristine floor-to-ceiling windows is lush and green with jungle-like vegetation. The ocean is crystal blue, reminding me of Hunter’s eyes. And the sand looks like white powdered sugar. I would give anything to curl my toes in the sand and feel the spray of the cool sea on my skin. I even miss the warmth of the sun. A flock of white birds spew from green treetops, flying over the beach. The only thing I can do is touch the perfectly painted picture of it on the glass of my window.
I reach up and touch the metal collar around my neck. I am a caged pet. Blowing out a frustrated breath, I begin to cook. I don’t want to watch TV. Or sleep. I’m restless and cooking is going to keep me busy. Cooking is going to distract me. The fridge is stocked. There’s enough seafood here to have a seafood feast, and that’s what I’m going to do. I cut slim slices off a lemon and watch avidly as the clear juice seeps out and stains the wood on the cutting board. I can take on a new character as well. Here, in this moment, I don’t have to be Isabel Waters held captive by Hunter Knight. I can be Chloe Miller. Chloe Miller is on her honeymoon with her husband Cody Miller. Cody Miller has a risky job as a mob boss with people always after him and that puts his newly wife in danger. Cody prohibited her from venturing out to keep her safe while he attends to business. The mob boss never gets a break, crime never sleeps. Snorting a laugh, I watch the crab boil. I’m just as fucked in the head as Hunter.
The sky is deep blue with streaks of coral pink and orange as the sun dips behind the green mountains of this island. The food has gone cold and the candles have completed melted. I sit at the polished mahogany table, tried and feeling abandon when Hunter finally comes through the door. He wears his frustration on his face as he kicks off his boots and glances at the table. Whatever he has been doing all day has taken its toll on him. He looks tired and pissed.
I don’t say a word. I simply sip from my glass and silently thank God the fridge held a very good selection of wine.
His eyes travel over the table, taking in the uneaten food and little glass jars of burning wax. “What’s all this?”
“My husband doesn’t love me,” I weep, playing the role of Chloe Miller. “He takes me away to this beautiful island and leaves me in a locked room to rot.”
His eyebrows furrow and his eyes narrow. He’s silently asking the unvoiced question. Have you lost your mind for real this time?
Holding his gaze, I continue. “My husband leaves me when I need him. I love my husband very much. He’s the sweetest man I know.”
Hunter’s face is now severe. His blue eyes are cold shards of glacial ice. “If this is a game you’re playing it, then drop the act. This isn’t remotely funny. I’ve had a long day. I’m not in the mood.”
“My husband is so mean to me, so cruel, so cold. I love him anyway,” I reply, feeling way too good to stop my word vomit. Antagonizing Hunter may not work in my favor. If you poke a grouchy bear with a stick, the chances are you’re going to get bit. Brutally . I’m buzzing from the rich wine and I feel invincible right now. Nothing that Hunter could ever do will hurt me.
He has me captive.
I’m he’s whether I want to be or not.
I have no choice.
That leaves me no choice.
Hunter scratches his brow and snorts a humorless laugh, helping himself to a glass of wine. He pours the blood-red wine in the fine crystal goblet and sets it precisely on the edge of the table. His darkened eyes shift to me and he smiles malevolently. “Wife, come here.”
I swallow nervously and my heart flips with that direct order. Lifting myself from my chair, I make my way over to him, pouting like a real brat. He pushes my back against the table and grasps my jaw, staring down into my eyes with more intent than I’m comfortable with.
“I love my wife.” His warm lips press to the corner of my mouth, his nails from his clenched fingers on my chin biting into my skin. I shudder from the gravity of his words and the solemn way he says them. “I love my wife. I would never deliberately neglect her. I’ve had a bad day. The worst. But now that I’m home, I’m willing to express my appreciation.” He drops his hand from my face and begins to unfasten the row of white buttons from my blouse. My heart is beating wildly in my chest when he slowly removes my shirt, tossing it on a floor. “I don’t want my wife to doubt my love for her. I don’t want my wife to feel unappreciated.” In move too fast for my eyes to process, he grasps my hips and lifts me onto the top of the table. Hunter’s eyes are blue fire flames when he stares at me. His heated gaze is as tangible as his powerful touch. He hands me the half-filled glass of wine he poured. “Drink, wife. Talk to me. Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“I’m lonely.”
His fingers idly play with the button of my denim shorts until it pops free. “And?”
I sip the wine and drain it to calm my anxiety. Hunter is showing me that he’s willing to play along. This is backfiring. “Scared. I need love. I want to be loved. And I don’t like it when you leave me alone for long periods of time. I feel like I’m just your play thing, a pet you amuse yourself with when you’re in a generous mood.” Which is the truth.
Hunter’s fingers grips the waistband of my shorts, pulling them down along with my panties. He unhooks my bra and flings it off. Hunter unapologetically strips me nude. All of my clothes lay crumbled on the floor and I stand naked in front of a fully clothed Hunter.
Once again I’ve put myself in a vulnerable position. Once again I’ve laid myself bare for him to feast on. Once again I’ve asked for it.
His lips are feather-lighter as they spread soft kisses across my collarbone and down the center of my chest. I shiver, groaning when his tongue touches the erratic pulse behind my ear. With a trembling hand, I reach out and grab a fistful of Hunter’s blond locks, wrenching his head back. My gaze roams over his severe face that’s strained with potent passion and lust. I’m stunned when our eyes meet. The penetrating look in his enigmatic gaze is enough to overwhelm me and drown me. I’m going under fast. He hides the power, control, and influence he wields over me so carelessly.
My other hand is badly shaking and I’m in danger of dropping this empty wineglass until he takes it from me, placing it back on the table. His supple lips move along the edge of my jaw to the shell of my ear. “Tell me what you want, wife.”
I have to stifle a moan when his hand forcefully cups the back of my neck, squeezing firmly. “I want to be loved.”
He gives my neck another squeeze. His touch is covetous and possessive. His stormy eyes level with mine, his expression grave and chiseled from stone. “Good. Now tell me what you need.”
His clamped fingers around my neck have a profound effect on me. I feel that touch everywhere. “I need you.”
“You need me?”
“Yes,” I confess in a soft whisper.
Hunter leans down and presses a gentle kiss on my open lips, pulling back before I can reciprocate. “Then you shall have me, wife.” He shoves my legs apart, then slips a finger into me and circles my nipples with my arousal, taking his leisurely time licking it off.
His hand tightens on my throat when I whimper and move. “I want you still.”
“Okay.”
Hunter trails kisses of fire down my stomach. When his hot mouth is on me, I screw my eyes shut and begin to moan, wanting to cry because I hate myself for wanting him this way, for needing him this way. I try to suppress my orgasm for as long as I can, but Hunter nips my clit with a sharp bite of his teeth and harshly shoves two fingers inside of me simultaneously, forcing me to convulse and climax.
I almost roll off the table but he holds me in place, flipping me flat on my belly. My cheek is pressed against the cold wooden surface of the dining table and his hand is wrapped fully around the back of my neck, keeping me anchored.
My heart soars when I hear the zipper of his pants go down. It seems as loud as gunshot. He grazes his heated erection down my slit and I groan, clamping my shaky legs together. He prevents this and wedges a demanding knee between my thighs and spreads me wide, keeping me open to receive whatever he deals out. He presses the tip of himself into me while he keeps me bound and pinned to the table by my neck.
“Hunter,” I whimper, trembling from pure need.
“I own you. That means I can do whatever impulses that pleases me. You are my pet, a play thing I amuse myself with when I’m in a generous mood. You are mine to break and mine to put together again. Who owns you, Isabel?”
“Please, Hunter.”
He adds more pressure to my neck, thrusting ruthlessly into me and then eases back out in the same swift movement, leaving me empty. “Who owns you?”
“Please.”
My breath is cut short when he surges into me again, ramming into me so hard that the entire table pushes forward, the wooden legs screeching against the floor, and the air leaves my body. He withholds himself from me. It’s causing my mind to go in a frantic state of desire. “Who owns you, baby?”
“You, Hunter,” I admit in a soft cry.
He pushes back in and eases out over and over again until my face is wet and I’m blabbering nonsense. I dig my nails into the polished edge of wooden table and draw in a shaky breath. “Hunter. Please.”
He places his thick erection into me and begins to steadily thrust in an unforgiving rhythm that seems to loosen my joints. “Who owns you? Say it again.”
“You own me,” I whisper, feeling myself getting slicker. This is sick. Something’s wrong with me.
“I own you. I will always own you. Forever and completely. Tell me who you belong to, who you love, whose body is this?”
“I’m yours. I love you. I’m yours.”
“Yeah,” he grunts cockily, removing his hand from neck only to place it between my soaked thighs. His expert fingers find my clit, rubbing vicious circles until my hips buckle. I come so hard my back spasms.
He pulls out, swiftly turning me on my back. We’re face-to-face when he sinks fully into me. Hunter shuts his eyes and bows his head once embedded in my heat. His beautiful muscles in his thickly corded arms are strained and bathed in a sheen of sweat. His damp blond waves dangle around his visually stunning face. Hunter is undeniably beautiful. How could anything be so effortlessly gorgeous and so fluently cruel?
His heavy breathing comes out in rapid grunts that he releases directly in my ear. I feel myself clench around his hardness just to assure that I’m not dreaming. When his stormy eyes fly open, I’m mesmerized by their intensity. He stares into my eyes, slanting his head to the side. I’m unsure what he finds in my gaze, but he gives me a grin so conceited and dominant that I feel my core tighten from it.
“You’re mine, Isabel.” He slides in and out of me, leisurely taking his time and savoring everything. “You’re mine whether you like it or not.” He is simply enjoying the feel of me. I know I should be ashamed of the soft, squelching sound I can hear from how wet I am. I could never deny him of anything. I know this. He knows this. He knows that I know this.
Hunter’s thrusts are deep and long and very pleasurable. He bends his head and bites my nipple and underneath the sides of my breasts. Sharp pain ripples down my spine and swirls low in my abdomen. “I love you, my sweet Isabel.” He presses his full lips to mine and gives me a gentle kiss, rocking evenly against me, slowing the molten orgasm that threatens to overwhelm me take me over. He pauses a moment to stare into my eyes. The brutal intensity with his gaze is more than I can conceive. “I love you. So much.”
My trembling hands reach out and brace on his strong shoulders, trying pathetically to shove him away. It’s like trying to shove a statue. Hunter’s all solid muscle. This is too much. Hunter is too much. Fierce anger swells in my chest as I watch a tiny arrogant smirk on his lips. He has me just where he wants me. Hunter wins this round. Hunter wins every round. But I have one weapon I can use against him that will surely hurt Hunter. “I love Max. Not you, Hunter.”
His expression changes from overly confident to uncontrolled fury. His unforgiving eyes narrow, scolding me in the process. He doesn’t verbally respond, but his body does. Hunter speeds his brutal thrusts hitting a sweet spot inside of me that I’ve never felt before. He bites at my neck and breasts and presses his punishing mouth and teeth all over me. My body blossoms and comes to life, receiving everything he gives. Pain turns into pleasure, pleasure into intense pain. My body is stunned when my orgasm rips out of me. It’s painfully pleasing.
I don’t have time to take in a breath when he turns me over again, pushing into me in a vicious pace. “You’re just so fucking wet, Isabel. I can just glide right into your pussy. You love this cock, don’t you?”
“No,” I pant, helplessly on my belly, feeling like an abused sex toy. I’m lying. I know it and he knows it.
“Yes,” he snarls, reaching between my legs to pinch my clit. “Come. Now.”
My abdomen tightens and I come again and again. He curls a firm hand in my hair, sorely gripping a fistful and wrenching my head back to expose my throat. “Your pussy is milking the hell out of me, baby. Whose body is this?”
“Yours,” I mumble through silent sobs.
“That’s right,” he growls between thrusts, capturing my wails in his mouth. His hands slide down the curves of my sides, grasping my hips. His fingers will discolor my skin with marks of ownership. “You’re fucking mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.” His final thrust is so powerful I know I’m going to be bruised from it for days. We both collapse on the floor, sweaty and out of breath.
“I’m hungry. I can definitely eat now,” he laughs through his labored breathing. I know that this should be disbursing, so I don’t understand why I’m laughing softly when he cuddles me into his body.
Rolling out of his embrace, I stand and grab his cold plate off the table. I sit in the floor across from him and set the food in front of him. He sits upright and begins to earnestly eat. I’m helpless to stop a giggle escaping my mouth as I watch him dig in with his fingers. He’s eating like it’s his last meal of the year.
His amused eyes gradually lift from the plate in his lap to mine. I wipe pieces of crab off his mouth with my hand. Hunter smiles, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “You spoil me.”
“It’s nothing new when it comes to you, Hunter.”
He holds my gaze steadily and blinks, his brilliant smile boarding. “I love you.”
My heart flutters and I have to swallow twice before I can speak. “I love you more.”
His expression is one of elation and relief.
The love we have for each other is addictive and explosive. I just gave him a dose of my affection, which is like a dose of pure heroin in Hunter’s case. We get high on love and drunk on hate. It’s an abusive cycle. And like addicts alike, we come back to score again and again, never achieving fulfillment and true satisfaction. Hunter and I are gluttons for the love, intensity, and chaotic madness we feed each other. The more we suffer for each other, the more pleasure we get. There will never be a time where we will have enough of one other. There is no point of saturation for us. No point of retreat. However, there are times of peaceful remission. But the bliss of remission isn’t long enough to ever recover.
Threading my fingers through his soft hair at the nape of his neck, I settle between his long legs, feeling like this is just where I am meant to be, like I was born to be at his side.
His strong arms come around me, placing tender kisses across my naked shoulder. I close my eyes, releasing a pleasurable sigh.
Relapse has never felt so good.