Last Breath

Seven

Regan

I DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT the breakfast he’s left for me. I can’t possibly eat, not when he says he’s going to take me back to the consulate. That can’t happen, and I need to act.

My mind is whirling a million miles a minute as Daniel relaxes on the couch and pulls the blanket over himself. He looks exhausted, and part of me feels a little bad that he’s clearly been run ragged looking for me. The panicky part of me doesn’t care though, and it’s screaming in the back of my mind. It wants me to run over to him, shake him awake, and force him to protect me from the world.

Sad how quickly Daniel has become the only safe thing in my life. Pretty sure there’s something fucked up about that.

The clothes he’s picked out are garish, in bright, touristy grandma-ish patterns that I would have laughed at back before all of this. Now, I touch the soft fabric of a cotton sundress and appreciate that it’ll cover all of my body. There are bras and panties here, too, and some boho-looking leather sandals. They don’t match the clothing, so it’s clear he was trying to find me something practical for my feet. Nice thought.

I pull out a bra and underwear, frowning at the sight of them. These are not granny-like in the slightest. These are a bit slutty. The fabric of the bra and matching panties are sheer and clearly meant for romance and not practicality. I shoot Daniel a suspicious look, but his eyes are closed and his face is relaxed as he sleeps.

Or pretends to.

I consider the lingerie. Did he buy this with an ulterior motive in mind? Or was this the only thing he could find? I don’t know the answer, but I don’t trust men anymore, so I suspect the worst. It confirms that Daniel wants me. As long as I can use it against him, I’m fine with that.

I watch his sleeping face as I slide the panties under my clothing and tug them on. They’re a little tight across the ass, but I don’t care if I have a plumber’s crack. They’re clean. That’s all that matters. I don’t leave the room to put on the bra, either; I slide my arms under my current clothing and work the clasp around my back, watching Daniel as he sleeps. I should go to the other room and change, but I don’t want to.

The thought of leaving the room kind of freaks me out. It’s like, if I leave, he’ll vanish and I’ll be alone all over again. So I stay, switching out my clothing piece by piece, pulling off tags as I do so. Daniel sleeps through all of this.

When I’m dressed, I sit down at the kitchen table and try not to panic. I’m clothed now. I’m clean and I’m clothed. I should be feeling human now, more relaxed. Instead, I’m shaking with fear, my mind whirling and chaotic. When Daniel wakes up, he’s going to take me back to the consulate. If he takes me back to the consulate, Mr. Freeze is going to find me and I’m going to end up right back where I started. If I tell Daniel, though, will he care? He’s made it clear that he’s ready for me to be out of his hair, and I only made things worse by falling to pieces last night. I could kick myself for having a sniveling sob-fest last night because I think it scared him.

Think, Regan, think.

I drum my fingers on the table, and my gaze rests on his lightweight blazer on a hook by the table. I bite my lip, look over at Daniel, and when I see he’s still sleeping, I get up and approach his jacket. I search his pockets, curious to see what I’ll find. Condoms? Bullets? Knives?

I find a wad of Brazilian dollars, a vial of some sort of white powder that looks kind of dangerous, and a cheap flip phone. A burner. All righty, that’s interesting. I flip it open quietly and hit the down arrow, looking for messages.

He’s got several, all from unlisted phone numbers. I read the most recent one.

Understand R. is retrieved. Need status update on Emperor.

Another from the same number sends me into a panic.

R. is not en route to US. Report back. I grow impatient.

My heart thumps erratically in my chest. Fuck fuck fuck. It’s clear that Daniel is on a retrieval mission for me. He’s supposed to be done with me, and someone’s unhappy he’s not. Damn it. I bet I’m not his only pick-up. He’s going to dump me at the consulate and be on his merry way unless I do something.

I gingerly snap the phone shut again, thinking. I don’t have a lot of options. I could take Daniel’s gun and escape on my own with the cash he has—but an American woman alone? I don’t feel safe. Plus, I can’t get very far because I don’t have a passport or ID on me. Going to the consulate would take care of that, except for obvious reasons. If Daniel is rescuing American girls from brothels and thinks nothing of shooting men and walking away, he’s got better connections than I do.

I think about the texts. And I think about Freeze. Daniel is good with a gun. I need to stay with him.

I need to.

I know what I must do. I swallow hard and close my eyes, bracing myself. You can do this, Regan. He’s another john. I’ve had plenty of those since I was captured, and most blur into a faceless blend of rapists. What’s one more meaningless fuck, right? My stomach is queasy at the thought, though. Daniel has been nothing but kind to me. It feels wrong to use him.

And yet, I know he wants me. I’ve seen the way he looks at me. It’s clear he thinks I’m pretty—and off-limits. Time to make myself no longer off-limits for him. If I’m his favorite fuck toy, he’ll keep me at his side and protect me.

I pull my new soft sundress off over my head and carefully fold it on the table. I fluff my hair and lick my lips, then pinch my cheeks to give them a bit of healthy color. I need to look sexy, needy with desire, and, above all, like I want it. Like I’ll die if I don’t get his cock in the next few minutes.

I can do this.

I give my nipples a hard little twist to make them point, even though the last thing I’m feeling right now is desire. More like dread. He’s going to know that as soon as he touches me and feels how dry I am. I think for a moment and then gather saliva in my mouth. When I have plenty, I coat my fingers and shove them into my panties to make myself wet. That’ll have to do. By the time he gets there, I’ll have him so hot and bothered that he won’t notice . . . or won’t care. Most men don’t care.

I quietly approach Daniel. He’s still sleeping, his breathing regular. His arms have fallen forward, no longer holding the blanket to his body, so I peel it back carefully, letting it pool at his feet. He’s wearing a belt and trousers. All right. I’ll have to rub him, get him good and aroused first, and then unbuckle him.

I kneel next to him and reach for his cock before hesitating. I need to make sure this goes smoothly. I stand up and tug my panties off, even though my mind screams for me to put them back on because panties are safe. Then I sit down and lightly place my hand on his chest, watching his face.

He stirs, but he doesn’t wake.

Gently, I rub my hand along his length, feeling it harden. A twinge of worry creeps over me because Daniel’s flaccid length is still pretty impressive. That’s going to hurt, but nothing to be done about it now. I cup my hand and continue to stroke it up and down his cock, as it grows and hardens under my ministrations.

He mumbles something and reaches for his cock, eyes closed—and finds my hand there. His fist closes around my wrist but he doesn’t move. His eyes snap open, and he gives me a vague, confused look. “…the fuck?” he mumbles, trying to sit up.

I lean in and press my mouth to his parted one, letting my tongue graze his lips. My hand remains on his cock and I push a hand on his shoulder, trying to force him back down on the couch. “I have a problem, Daniel,” I say in my sexiest voice as I keep rubbing his cock. I press my tits against his arm, too, and his girth swells thicker in my grip.

Suddenly the fog clears from his eyes. He jackknifes upright and tosses me aside, sending me reeling. “What the fuck are you doing?” he roars.

The realization of what I was just about to do—what I was doing—hits me. I’ve tried to use this man like everyone has used me. Like he was nothing.

Like he was just a body part.

Like I was just a body part.

I’m stricken with horror and I can’t pretend any longer. I struggle to my feet. “I’m sorry,” I manage to say at his forbidding stance, fists on hips, glaring at me like an angry god. “I think breakfast isn’t sitting well.”

I stumble away and barely make it to the bathroom before I puke everywhere.