“Don’t do it, Julian,” Beth says, laughing. “She’s fast. She was quick before, but now she’s like a fucking rocket.”
“Oh yeah?” He lifts one eyebrow at me. “A fucking rocket, huh?”
“That’s right.” I give him a challenging look. “Want to race, or are you too chicken?”
Beth begins to make clucking noises, and Julian grins, throwing a piece of bread at her. “Shut up, you traitor.”
Laughing at their antics, I throw a piece of bread at Julian, and Beth scolds both of us. “I’m the one who has to clean up this whole mess,” she grumbles, and Julian promises to help her with the bread crumbs, soothing her temper with one of his megawatt smiles.
When he’s like this, his charm is like a living thing, drawing me in, making me forget the truth about my situation. On the back of my mind, I know that none of this is real—that this sense of connection, this camaraderie is nothing more than a mirage—but with each day that passes, it starts to matter less and less. In a strange way, I feel like I’m two people: the woman who’s falling in love with the gorgeous, ruthless killer sitting at the breakfast table and the one who’s observing the whole thing with a sense of horror and disbelief.
After breakfast, I change into my running clothes—a pair of shorts and a sports bra—and go read a book on the porch, so I can digest my food before the run. Julian goes into his office as usual. His business doesn’t wait just because he’s on the island; an illegal arms empire requires constant attention.
While Julian rarely talks about his work, I’ve managed to glean a few things over the past several months. From what I understand, my captor is the head of an international operation specializing in the manufacture and distribution of cutting-edge weapons and certain types of electronics. His clients are those organizations and individuals who cannot obtain weapons by legitimate means.
“He deals with some really dangerous motherfuckers,” Beth told me once. “Psychopaths, many of them. I wouldn’t trust them as far as I can throw them.”
“So why does he do this?” I asked. “He’s so rich. I’m sure he doesn’t need the money . . .”
“It’s not about the money,” Beth explained. “It’s about the thrill of it, the challenge. Men like Julian thrive on that.”
I wonder sometimes if that’s what Julian likes about me—the challenge of making me bend to his will, of shaping me to become whatever it is he thinks he needs. Does he find it thrilling, the knowledge that I’m his captive and that he can do whatever he wants with me? Does the illegal aspect of the whole thing excite him?
“Ready to go?” Julian’s voice interrupts my thoughts, and I look up from my book to see him standing there, dressed in only a pair of black running shorts and sneakers. His naked torso ripples with thick, perfectly defined muscles, and his smooth golden skin gleams in the sunlight, making me want to touch him all over.
“Um, yeah.” I get up, putting down my book and begin to stretch, watching Julian doing the same out of the corner of my eye. His body is incredible, and I wonder what he does to keep in shape. I’ve never seen him working out here on the island.
“Do you do some kind of exercise when you go on your trips?” I ask, shamelessly staring as he bends over and touches his toes with surprising flexibility. “How do you stay so fit?”
He straightens and grins at me. “I train with my men when I can. I guess you could call it exercise.”
“Your men?” I immediately think of the thug who had beaten up Jake. The memory makes me sick, and I push it away, not wanting to think about such dark matters now. I have to do this sometimes, to separate this new life of mine into neat little sections, keeping the good times apart from the bad. It’s my own patented coping mechanism.
“My bodyguards and certain other employees,” Julian explains as we head out toward the beach, walking fast to warm up. “Some of them are former Navy SEALs, and training with them is no picnic, believe me.”
“You train with Navy SEALs?” I stop and give Julian a hard look. “You were just kidding earlier, weren’t you? About not being able to beat me in a race?”
His lips curve in a slightly mischievous—and utterly seductive—smile. “I don’t know, my pet,” he says softly. “Was I? Why don’t you race me and see?”
“All right,” I say, determined to give it my best shot. “Let’s do this.”
We start our race near a tree that I marked specifically for this purpose. On the other side of the island, there is another tree that serves as the finish line. If we run on the sand, along the ocean, it’s exactly three miles from here to that point.
Julian counts to five, I set my stopwatch, and we’re off, each starting at a reasonably fast pace that’s not our top speed. As I run, I feel my muscles easing into the rhythm of the movement, and I gradually pick up the pace, pushing myself harder than I usually do at this point in the run. Julian runs beside me, his longer stride enabling him to keep up with me with ease.
We run silently, not talking, and I keep sneaking glances at Julian out of the corner of my eye. We’re halfway through the course, and I’m sweating and breathing hard, but my gorgeous captor seems to be barely exerting himself. He’s in phenomenal shape, his smooth muscles glistening with light drops of perspiration, bunching and releasing with every movement. He runs lightly, landing on the balls of his feet, and I envy his easy stride, wishing that I had even a quarter of his obvious strength and endurance.
As we get into the last half-mile, I put on a burst of speed, determined to try to beat him despite the obvious futility of the effort. He’s not even winded yet, and I’m already gasping for breath. He picks up his speed too, and no matter how hard I run, I can’t put any distance between us. He’s practically glued to my side.
By the time we get within a hundred yards of the tree, I am dripping with sweat and every muscle in my body is screaming for oxygen. I’m on the verge of collapse and I know it, but I make one last heroic attempt and sprint for the finish line.
And just as my hand is about to touch the tree, marking me the race winner, Julian’s palm slaps the bark, literally a second before mine.
Frustrated, I whirl around and find myself with my back pressed against the tree and Julian leaning over me. “Gotcha,” he says, his eyes gleaming, and I see that he’s breathing almost normally.
Gasping for air, I push at him, but he doesn’t back away. Instead, he steps closer, and his knee wedges between my thighs. At the same time, his hands grab the backs of my knees, lifting me up against him, my thighs spread wide as he grinds his erection against my pelvis.
Our little race apparently turned him on.
Panting, I stare up at him, my hands grabbing at his shoulders. I can barely remain upright, and he wants to fuck?
The answer is obviously yes, because he sets me down on my feet for a second, pulls down my shorts and underwear, and then does the same thing to his own clothes. I sway on my feet, my legs shaking from the exertion. I can’t believe this is happening. Who fucks right after a race? All I want to do is lie down and drink a gallon of water.
But Julian has other ideas. “Get on your knees,” he orders hoarsely, pushing me down before I have a chance to comply.
I land on my knees heavily and brace myself with my hands. The position actually helps me regain my breath somewhat, and I gratefully suck in air. My head is spinning from the heat outside—and from the aftermath of a hard run—and I hope I don’t end up passing out.
A hard, muscular arm slides under my hips, holding me in place, and then I feel his cock pressing against my buttocks. Dizzy and trembling, I wait for the thrust that will join us together, my treacherous sex wet and throbbing with anticipation. My body’s response to Julian is insane, ridiculous, given my overall physical state.