Willing Captive by Belle Aurora Page A

Nox’s things. Quick as I can, I spread it
all out and look down wide-eyed in wonder.
    How the hell did all
this fit into that small bag?
    There’s
approximately five sets of Nox’s man clothes, deodorant, new
toothbrushes and toothpaste (thank God), rope, that damn blindfold,
which I shove in my pocket, something that looks like a mini
electronic tablet, USB sticks, ski masks, the shiny black cell
phone I talked to my dad on, and my eyes widen even more when I
spot the collection of switchblades.
    Picking up the
largest one and opening it, I press my finger to the blade lightly.
It’s about eight inches long including the handle, and sharp as
hell. I don’t need to press any further to know this thing would
surely take off my finger if I tried to push any further. It looks
like a hunting knife. The blade is shiny and curved, the sharp tip
on an angle.
    Running my hand down
the back of the blade, Nox says in eerie calm, “What you got there?
Not planning to take me out, are ya, princess?”
    Eyes still trained
on the blade, I whisper, “I want you to teach me how to use
this.”
    His rumbling
laughter fills the room. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
    Eyes pleading, I
snap my head up to beg when I see Nox.
    Nox in a towel.
    Nox in a towel
stalking towards me.
    His frame is so big
that he can’t even wrap the small towel around his waist, he grips
the edges shut with a large hand. With every step he takes, I see
more of his muscular thigh. His short hair dark as night, and his
body glistens with drops of heavenly dew.
    Sweet baby Jesus. Is
it hot in here?
    I’m burning up. My
heart rate escalates. Once he reaches me, he bends down to collect
a new set of clothes and snatches the knife out of my hand. He’s so
quick with his hands that he has the knife shut and back in its
place within a second.
    I’m still staring at
his thigh when Nox utters, “Think you oughta turn around if my
nudity offends you.” Then he walks over to the bed and drops the
towel. And there’s Nox in all his naked glory. Too bad his back’s
to me. I’d kill to see the front of that hard body. Stepping into
his cotton boxers, he pulls them up and turns around. And there I
am, staring at his fabric-covered pee-pee.
    “ Like what you see?”
    Oh fuck!
    He just caught me
looking at his junk!
    Play it cool,
Lil.
    Shrugging
nonchalantly, I ignore my burning cheeks and reply, “Not really. I
thought you’d be more- more- I don’t know. More impressive.”
    The ass smiles. A
huge-ass smile from a huge ass.
    Dear God! It reminds me of Heath Ledger’s smile a la
‘ 10 Things I Hate
About You’ .
    I love that freakin’
smile. And the ass wears it well.
    My heart skips a
beat, but I remain cool as a cucumber and question, “I thought you
types were all tattooed and stuff.”
    Wiping down his
broad chest with the small towel, he responds, “I’ve got tattoos,
Lily. Just not ones you’re used to seeing.”
    My eyes widen in
interest. I love tattoos, and if Nox is sporting something I
haven’t seen before then, naturally, I want to see it. I ask
quietly, “Can I see them?”
    Nox’s face turns
passive, almost thoughtful, before he lowers the waistline to his
underwear slightly.
    Without meaning to,
I gasp aloud and cover my mouth with both hands.
    Unbelievable.
    Stepping forward
slowly, I reach out with a shaking hand to touch the skin there.
Just before I reach him, I rear back realizing what I was just
about to do. As I lower my face and try to turn away, Nox takes my
hand and presses it to the puckered and mutilated flesh just under
his waistline. It feels surprisingly soft under my fingertips.
    Given permission, I
trace the scars with my fingertips. His stomach clenches and
contracts. I’m not sure if this is in discomfort or pain, so I pull
my fingers away from the gouged and puffed scar tissue that trails
from one hip to the other.
    Suddenly tattoos
don’t appeal to me anymore.
    There are no words.
I’m speechless.
    Looking up at