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CHAPTER TEN

“ S o,” he looks down at me. “What do you want?”

My face is dead level with his cock. His cock that I know to be thick and hard. It pulsed and swelled, pushing through my soft toweling robe only a few moments ago. I’m trying to stop gaping at the way that it’s shoving the front of his pants, poking and thickening like it’s trying to point at me.

While I try to cleanse my mind, I blink and peer up at him.

I have the distinct impression, and also going by what the Warrior told me, that my Past Self has some history, with him at least. By the sounds of it, I probably have some connection with all of them. And that could mean absolutely anything. Knowing nothing about it all puts me at a hopeless disadvantage.

They could be my cousins. The three of them might be my bosses. Or my past or present lovers. I could be a secretary, an attorney, a mistress or their whore.

The attorney is the only one of those options I’m ready to discount, and I don’t even feel certain about that. Given the ways my body reacts to all of them, the most likely explanations are that I’m either the mistress or the whore.

“For breakfast,” he says. “What do you want? I came in here to pour you coffee and to see what you’d like for breakfast.”

Holding the saucer demurely under the coffee cup, I hold his eyes as I take a sip. Then press my lips together as I carefully and deliberately put the cup and saucer back neatly on the tray. I stand too, and move near to him.

The robe is closed but loose. I’m near enough to feel the hard thickness of his thigh. I step mine around his.

“Maybe I should try some sausage.”

“Oh?” he chuckles with his teeth bared and without a trace of a smile. “Are you hankering after some hot meat?”

“Perhaps some tongue,” I tell him. “Do you have any tongue?”

“Fresh and hot.”

With one arm, he scoops me up. Pulls me to him so my lips are near enough for him to bend his head down and take them with his mouth.

His eyes flicker over my face. Then down to the tops of my swelling, heaving breasts. Then back to my mouth. Now his eyes burn into mine.

Shaking inside and out, I’m pulled in two directions. I’m excited about him, being near. Repeating that kiss. The one that I was only able to feel. The kiss that I’ve been so hungry to return. At the same time, I feel closer and closer to getting my chance to escape.

My head tips back and his lips shape to mine, my eyes drift shut as he wraps me in his arms and pulls me into his body. He smells like the filthiest version of heaven.

My arms fling themselves around his neck, pulling us tighter and closer. His tongue invades me. My back twists and rolls as my hips rock against him. My legs can’t hold back.

With one arm he holds me up with his hand cupping and gripping my squirming ass. My thighs part and I wrap myself around him so hard, running my hands up and down his back. Clawing. Breathing him greedily. My wet pussy shoves against him and shamelessly saws up and down, grinding into him.

His free hand runs through my hair, then traces my chin, the side of my neck. My throat.

Hot, wet, heaving together, we kiss and I sigh into him as his tongue explores me and we melt together.

The seconds feel like minutes, the minutes spiral off into forever and it’s all over in the snap of a finger. I stay gripped tight around him, loving the heat of his pulses and beats against mine. Pressing all my soft curves against his hard bulges. I’m breathing hard.

“Toast, then?” He says, “Scrambled eggs?”

His sarcastic eyes twinkle and shine.

I hammer my small fist against his chest.

“Bastard.”

I take another, softer kiss before I get down.

“Can I have the same thing as I had yesterday?”

“It was the day before yesterday but who’s counting? Fruit and yogurt and pastries?”

“Yes. Please. It was lovely. And pineapple. Do you have a pineapple?”

“Sure. What about the sausage?”

I grip his balls and squeeze. At least until his eyes widen.

I tell him, “Maybe I’ll have some when you get back.”

Trying to remember how long it took the Mastermind last time to get the tray of breakfast together for me, I’m hoping that chopping a pineapple will add to the time the Warrior needs to get it all ready.

That was straight after I came to, though. They could have spent a lot of time talking about it out of the room.

Whatever. I grab some canvas camo pants, an olive tee-shirt and a cotton shirt, and a jacket to match the pants. I pull on thick woolen socks and the heaviest shoes I can find. the pants are sturdy and they’ve got big pockets. They’re also way too big, but I find a belt that will keep them up. Just about.

A matching camo ball cap completes the look.

With no idea what I’m headed into, I wish I could see some gloves and a scarf, but I can’t afford to wait any longer. I don’t even know whether the windows will open yet.

Playing my Warrior for a sucker makes me feel bad but he is keeping me prisoner here. I almost forget to take my little friend from the nightstand drawer. As I slip it into the generous pants pocket, I can’t stop myself wondering how I came to be so familiar with the operation of an automatic handgun.

Stepping quickly to the windows, I noticed earlier that the ground slopes away, so I head to the near corner. Without even switching the windows from dark to clear, I try the catch. There’s a flat, rectangular button. I press it. It goes in and it feels right.

The window doesn’t move.

I feel for something to slide or disengage. Another part of the handle. While I’m squeezing and fumbling around, I realize that I’m pushing the glass the wrong way. I press and push again. The floor to ceiling window pane slides open effortlessly.

There’s a ledge a few inches wide. And I’m treated to a thick pale mist and a light shower of freezing rain.

I thought about pulling some scarves off the closets and knotting them, but I couldn’t think what to tie them to. I considered the bedsheets, too, but with the same problem. I’m just going to crouch down, swing out over the ledge, and drop to the ground.

It can’t be more than a few feet. I’ll be fine.

The ledge is wet and slippery. Looking down as I lower myself over, the drop seems a lot more scary than I expected. As I’m clambering out, keeping as firm a grip as I can on the ledge and letting myself down, I’m afraid my fingers, my hands and my arms are still too weak.

The cold rain is light, but it’s already making rivulets down my face and in past the collar of my shirt.

I was out and unconscious for too long. My body is just not physically up to this. I decide to clamber back up while I still can. I swing my leg up to get my heel on the ledge. My hand slips off. I’m swinging from one hand. Feeling like my arm is going to come out of my shoulder.

The drop looks huge now. The ground is uneven. It was less of a drop farther along. I try to catch the ledge with my free hand. I swing. And miss. I swing again. I’m panicking, looking into the lower part of the house. It’s the kitchen.

My Warrior is at the window.

He’s looking straight out at me.

My fingers slip and I drop.