Page 3 of Hostage with Benefits

I should have been mortified. I should have yanked my hand out of my pants and apologized or made some excuse. That’s what a normal person would have done.

But something had short-circuited in my brain over the course of this endless Tuesday. Maybe it was the stress, the fear, or the absurdity of my situation. Maybe it was just that I’d finally reached the limit of how many fucks I could give in one day and had simply run out.

So instead of stopping, I held his gaze and moved my hand deliberately beneath the fabric. My whole body woke up, and goosebumps covered my skin all over.

His pupils dilated instantly, darkening those blue eyes. I heard the slight catch in his breath and saw the tightening of his jaw. He hadn’t expected that.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, with deliberate slowness, he closed the door behind him, locked it from the inside, and turned to me fully.

He crossed the room in two steps, never breaking eye contact.

My heart hammered against my ribs, but I didn’t stop and moved my fingers again. Some distant part of my brain was screaming that this was insane and dangerous, but my body wasn’t listening anymore .

He looked down at me, his expression unreadable.

“This is a very bad idea.”

“I’ve been having a lot of those lately,” I said, my voice huskier than I’d intended. “Join the club.”

“I could hurt you.”

“You said you weren’t planning to.”

“This is different.” He sat on the edge of the bed but didn’t touch me. “There are many ways to hurt someone.”

I stilled my hand but didn’t remove it. “I’m a big girl. I can make my own bad decisions.”

“Is that what this is?”

“Isn’t it?”

His hand moved to my wrist, where it disappeared down my jeans. “If we do this, there are rules.”

“Of course there are,” I said, unable to keep the edge from my voice. “You seem like a man who likes rules.”

“You can say stop at any time. You can change your mind. You can?—”

“Are you going to keep talking, or are you going to fuck me?”

Something flashed in his eyes—irritation, amusement, desire, all tangled together. Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine, so gently it was barely a kiss at all.

I’d expected force and demand. This tenderness caught me off guard more than any aggression could have. He kissed me like I was made of glass, like I might shatter if he pressed too hard.

When he pulled back, his expression had softened. He brushed a strand of hair from my face.

“Is this how you treat all your hostages?” I asked, because silence felt dangerous.

“Only the ones that get on my nerves.” His hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled my hand out of my jeans.

With his other hand, he cupped my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone.

And it was nice, objectively. He clearly knew what he was doing. But after the day I’d had of being kidnapped, confronting my useless father, having my life turned inside out, this careful treatment felt inadequate.

I reached up, took his hand from my face, and placed it firmly on my breast, pressing his fingers until he got the message and squeezed.

His eyebrows rose slightly. “Not as fragile as you look, are you?”

“Nope. Never have been.”

His expression shifted, and his grip tightened. I arched into it, encouraging him to continue. His other hand slid under my shirt, but he was still too cautious.

I rose and tugged at his belt. “Too many clothes.”

He helped me undress him, revealing scars scattered across tanned skin and muscles built for function rather than show. I ran my fingers over a puckered mark near his shoulder that could only have been a bullet wound.

He undressed me with the same deliberate care that was starting to drive me insane, his eyes darkening further as each piece of clothing fell away.

When I was naked beneath him, he paused, looking down at me so intensely that under any other circumstance, I would have been self-conscious, but somehow right now, I wasn’t.

His hands explored me slowly, mapping each curve and hollow with maddening thoroughness.

It felt good, of course it did, but I was wound too tight for this gentle exploration.

I needed release, catharsis, something to break the tension that had been building since he’d thrown me over his shoulder hours ago.

I guided his hand between my legs, showing him how I liked to be touched.

He was a quick learner, his fingers finding a rhythm that had me gasping, slipping in and out, making obscene wet sounds and flicking my clit with his thumb.

But each time I approached the edge, he’d slow down, draw back, keeping me suspended in pleasure without release.

“Please,” I finally said, frustration making my voice rough.

“Please what, Natalia?” His accent thickened when he was aroused, rolling my name on his tongue just so.

“Harder,” I said, then when he still held back: “Stop treating me like I’ll break and fuck me.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against my neck where his lips pressed into my skin a second later. “You Americans, always in such a hurry.”

“This American is going to lose her mind if you don’t—” I guided his other hand to my ass, making him grab it roughly. “Like that. God, just— fuck me like you hate me .”

He went still. For a moment, I thought I’d gone too far, crossed some invisible line. Then he pulled back to look at me, his expression suddenly intense in a very serious way.

“I don’t hate you,” he said quietly.

“It’s just an expression?—”

“But if that’s what my hostage needs,” he cut me off, his voice dropping to a register that made my pulse jump, “then that’s what she’ll get.”

The shift was immediate and electric. His fingers dug into my skin. His mouth found mine in a kiss that was all demand and hunger. He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand, the other gripping my hip hard enough to leave marks.

“Is this what you want?” he murmured into my ear. “To be taken like this?”

“Yes,” I gasped as his teeth grazed my neck.

He positioned himself between my thighs, the blunt pressure of his cock against me making me arch upward. “Say it again, you want it like this?”

“Yes.”

He pushed into me slowly, the stretch and fullness making me gasp. Once fully seated, he stilled, his breath coming hard against my neck.

“Move,” I urged, trying to shift my hips.

“Demanding, even now.” But he began to move, setting a pace that was still too controlled for my liking.

I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him deeper. “More.”

His rhythm faltered, before resuming. “So greedy,” he growled. “Demanding what you want.”

He groaned, his control slipping further. “What more do you need, Natalia?”

“Nothing,” I gasped as he hit a spot that made me see stars behind my eyes. “Just like this.”

His movements grew more forceful, less controlled. “You like being fucked by the man who kidnapped you?”

The words sent a shameful thrill through me. “Yes.”

“Fuck.” Next, he growled something in Russian that my brain couldn’t register, even though I knew the language. But his rhythm grew erratic, and I was close— so close —hovering on the edge.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze. And just like that, I was hypnotized. I couldn’t look away as pleasure built to an unbearable peak, a spiral coiling tightly in my core.

“Come for me, Natalia,” he growled. “Let me feel what that’s like.”

The command, or maybe just the way he said my name, pushed me over the edge. Release crashed through me in wave after wave, my walls clenching around him as I cried out with a hoarse voice. I was never this vocal usually, but fuck if this wasn’t unusual sex.

His rhythm stuttered, then his breathing grew harsher as his own orgasm followed, his cock throbbing, pumping me full of his cum.

He pressed his face into my neck, a string of Russian words I couldn’t translate fast enough in my mind falling from his lips.

As our breathing slowed, he made no move to withdraw. Instead, one hand moved between us, his fingers finding where we were still joined.

“Stay still,” he hummed against my ear. “Let your body drink every last drop of it.”

The possessive tone in his voice sent an unexpected aftershock of pleasure through me. I should have found it weird, maybe even concerning. Instead, I felt my walls tightening around him again, my body responding to his command.

He made a sound of approval, his lips brushing my temple. “Good fucking girl. You’re maddening.”

The weight of him on top of me like this should’ve been uncomfortable, but somehow wasn’t. Instead, I felt… present in my body in a way I hadn’t been in a long time. Like he was an emotional support weighted blanket.

Finally, he shifted, withdrawing carefully and moving to lie beside me. I expected him to get up to leave. Instead, he pulled me against him, arranging us so my back was to his chest, his arm draped over my waist.

We lay in silence for a while, the reality of what we’d just done slowly seeping back in. I’d had sex with my kidnapper. Really good sex. The kind of sex that made you forget your own name for a few minutes. And now we were… cuddling?

He released me a minute later and got up, gathering his clothes from the floor. I watched him dress, noting the deliberate way he avoided looking at me now.

“Your laptop,” he said eventually. “The password is on a sticky paper inside.”

“Thanks,” I said, my voice carefully neutral.

He paused at the door, his back to me. For a moment, I thought he might say something else, something to acknowledge what had just happened between us. Instead, he simply nodded and left, the door closing behind him and the lock clicking into place.

I lay there for a few minutes, processing. My body felt used in the best possible way. My mind, however, was a riot of conflicting thoughts.

Eventually, I got up, wrapped myself in a blanket, and retrieved the laptop from the bag. True to his word, the Wi-Fi password was on a sticky note inside.

I set up at the small desk, logged in, and opened the design files I needed to finish .

Work had always been my refuge; I buried myself in it when life got too complicated. Now, as I lost myself in color palettes and typography, I tried not to think about what I’d just done. About Mikhail’s hands on my body, the sound of his voice in my ear, the way he’d looked at me when?—

No. Work now. Existential crisis about sleeping with my kidnapper later.

I was deep in my flow state hours later when the door opened again. I’d expected it to be Galina, but it was Mikhail who entered, carrying a tray.

“You need to eat if you’re gonna be working through the night,” he said, setting it down beside my laptop.

“Thanks.” I saved my work but didn’t look up at him.

He didn’t leave. Instead, he stood there, watching me work for a moment.

“Is it all good?” he asked, nodding at the screen.

“Sure.” I wasn’t sure if he was genuinely interested or just making awkward conversation.

“Your client will be satisfied?”

“My client is never satisfied. But he’ll pay.”

He made a sound that might have been amusement.

I finally looked up at him. He’d showered; his hair was still damp at the temples. He’d changed into a black t-shirt that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the size of hisarms.

“Any word from my father?” I asked, because it seemed safer than commenting on how good he looked.

His expression darkened. “Yes. There is… a complication.”

“What kind of complication?”

“The kind that means you will be here longer than expected.”

Our eyes met, and something unspoken passed between us. What had happened between us had just become more complicated by an order of magnitude.

“I see,” I said. “Good thing you let me use the Wi-Fi, then.”

His lips twitched, almost a smile. “Yes. Good thing.”

He turned to leave .

I turned back to my laptop, but the design on the screen seemed less important somehow. I thought about the consequences of what we’d done. About the man who’d kidnapped me, then fucked me, and then brought me food.

Stockholm syndrome , my rational brain supplied. But it felt like something else, something more complicated than that.

I shook my head and focused on the screen. One problem at a time:

Finish the design.

Meet the deadline.

Figure out what my father had stolen.

Deal with the fact that I’d just had the best sex of my life with a Russian criminal… later.