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A heavy sigh passes between us before she settles a heated stare on me again. “Will you please put my pants back on?”

“Yes. I can do that for you.” I sink down to grab her clothing that’s bunched up and pull her panties free first. Slowly, I drag them up her legs, enjoying the trail of goose pimples that rise as I slide them over her thighs.

There’s a heat coming from her body, and I take a moment to inhale the sweetness of her scent. I leave the panties just at the top of her thighs and slide my middle finger through her pussy lips, grinning when my suspicions are right.

“What are you doing?” She tries to step back but gets caught up in her pants. I wrap my arm around her legs to steady her, which brings her even closer to me.

Without a word, I continue my exploration, dipping my fingers between her pussy lips and dragging the wetness I find there toward her clit.

“I think you like having your arms tied up.” I say, rubbing the pad of my middle finger over her clit.

Her thighs tighten.

“I don’t.” She grits her teeth and tries to twist away, but I’m still holding her, and I’m not done playing yet.

“Your panties are wet.” I tap the gusset of her white cotton panties that’s soaked through. “Did that happen when I tied you up, or when I promised to punish you for being a bad girl?”

She groans, turning away so I can’t see her blushing. But I don’t need to see her face to know she is. Her pussy tells me everything I need to know.

“You never said that.” She finally states, jerking against my holdagain.

“No, not in those words, but your body seems to know what I meant.” I run my fingers through her pussy lips again, then bring my glistening fingertips out into the light so she can see for herself.

“I hate you.” She thrusts her chin up and looks up at the night sky.

I pop my fingers into my mouth, tasting her sweetness as I drag them over my tongue.

“If you say so.” I work her panties up over her hips, then do the same with her jeans.

Her eyes meet mine and hold steady while I zip and button her pants.

I lead her back to the car and help her get back inside before shutting the door. Once I climb in on my side I turn to her.

“Give me your hands.” I twirl my fingers so she knows what I want her to do.

“What? Why?” She asks while complying.

Without a response, I undo the belt and unwind it from her wrists. She sighs with relief and pulls her hands forward, rubbing her wrists and rolling her shoulders.

“You could have done that out there,” she accuses me as I start the car back up.

I lay the belt over my thigh.

“I could have.” I nod. “Behave yourself so I don’t have to use this again.”

I rest my hand on the thick leather strap and pull back onto the road.

“Whatever.” She curls up in her seat and rests her head against her window.

Silence falls between us, and eventually she falls into a light sleep while I drive us down the empty highway.

It’s almost midnight by the time my kidnapper pulls into the parking lot of a hotel.

I’ve been awake for the last half hour, but I’ve chosen the coward’s way out and pretended to be asleep to avoid talking with him. Or looking at him.

Or even acknowledging he’s there. Because when I do, when I glance at his hands on the wheel, my attention focuses on his fingers. On how easily they made the embers in my body burst into a category five fire just by touching me.

My panties had been wet. He wasn’t wrong about that, and he wasn’t wrong about what made them that way. But just because my body reacts one way to his neanderthal tactics doesn’t mean my brain can’t stay in control.