Page 5 of Hostage with Benefits

I headed straight for the basics. I got a few plain t-shirts, a pair of jeans, a pair of sweatpants, leggings, and several pairs of underwear. As I sorted through my options, I felt Mikhail’s eyes on me, tracking my every movement.

“You’re not getting anything nice?” he asked as I sorted the stuff I wanted to try on and the ones I would get without trying on.

“These are nice.”

He frowned. “I meant something…” he gestured vaguely, “ not sweatpants.”

“I don’t need cocktail dresses. I’m a hostage.”

His frown deepened, but he didn’t argue. I headed for the changing rooms. Mikhail settled into a chair outside, looking comically out of place among the bored boyfriends and husbands.

I tried everything on quickly, but when I emerged with my selections, Mikhail had disappeared. I found him across the store, walking towards me with a white and blue flower-patterned sundress in his hands.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Something that isn’t sweatpants.” He handed me the bag. The blue color almost matched his eyes.

“I don’t need?—”

“Try it on.”

It wasn’t a request. I sighed and returned to the changing room, slipping into the dress. It fit perfectly… how did he even know what size to get? I barely knew what to pick out for myself.

When I stepped out, his expression changed to one of hunger as he took me in.

“Turn,” he said, voice low.

I turned, the dress swishing below my knees.

He moved behind me, his hands finding my shoulders. “The zipper is caught.”

His fingers worked the zipper, deliberately slow, his breath warm on my neck. We were hidden from the main walkway but still in public.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, but he wasn’t looking at the dress. His eyes met mine in the mirror.

Something reckless stirred in me. Here we were, as if he hadn’t kidnapped me, as if I hadn’t spent the morning snooping through his office, as if last night hadn’t happened.

I turned to face him. “I need to try to take it off. Help me with this?”

His eyes darkened further as I guided his hands to the bow at the back of the dress. Once loosened, I let it fall.

“Perhaps I should assist you in the changing room,” he whispered.

“Perhaps you should.”

We barely made it inside. He closed the curtain, and before I could realize what was going on, his mouth was on mine, hungry and demanding. I backed against the wall, pulling him with me, my hands already working at his belt.

“What are you doing?” he asked against my lips.

“Thanking you for the shopping trip and last night.” I sank to my knees, looking up at him. “Unless you want me to stop?”

His answer was to tangle his fingers in my hair, guiding me forward. I freed his cock, which was already hard and straining against his boxers. I took him in my mouth, savoring the way his breath hitched, the way his control slipped with each stroke of my tongue on the underside of his length .

For a man who’d kidnapped me, who’d upended my life without warning, making him lose this precious control felt like reclaiming some of my own power.

He tried to stay quiet; we were both painfully aware of the people outside, but when I took him deeper, I felt the tremor in his thighs and heard the whispered Russian curses above me.

“Natalia,” he groaned, the warning clear in his tone.

I didn’t stop. I wanted this; I wanted to make him come apart, wanted to know I could affect him as much as he affected me. I wanted to see how fast I could make this restrained man come.

He didn’t even last a minute of me taking him down my throat. He didn’t push in even once, just let me do my thing as he bit into his fist while his thighs trembled.

When he came, it was with a shudder and a gasp. The hot pulse of him down my throat made me press my own thighs together, suddenly aware of how wet my panties were.

I sat back on my heels, oddly satisfied with myself, licking my lips and then lapping up the still-leaking cum from his head.

He pulled me to my feet at once, his expression almost reverent as he tucked his cock away. “You continue to surprise me.”

“Good. I’d hate to be predictable.”

“If you want something, it’s yours; no need for this, but I’m not complaining.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want things.”

“What do you want, then?”

“I want you to return the favor tonight.”

His eyes darkened with promise. “I’ll have you chained to my bed, writhing with pleasure until you pass out, then.”

I blinked. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“You haven’t seen what I can do with my mouth yet.” He straightened my dress. “I think I’m appropriately dramatic. And I’m getting the dress.”

The drive back was charged with anticipation. I sat beside Mikhail in the back of the SUV, a respectable distance between us. Dmitri drove, occasionally glancing at us in the rearview mirror .

Back at the mansion, Galina met us at the door, eyeing the bags with approval. “Good. Now you have proper clothes. Dinner in one hour.”

Mikhail nodded. “We’ll be there.”

“We?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Unless you prefer to eat alone?”

“No, it’s just… Is this gonna be a daily thing?”

“Yes.” He carried my bags upstairs, depositing them in my room. “One hour. Wear the dress.”

It was an order, not a request. Oddly, I didn’t mind.

After he left, I sorted through my new wardrobe, still bewildered by what had happened today.

My kidnapper had taken me shopping, let me blow him in a changing room, and now we were having a semi-formal dinner together.

This was beyond Stockholm syndrome; this was a whole new psychological disorder.

I changed into the blue dress anyway.

Dinner was an elaborate affair, complete with wine and candles. Galina had outdone herself, presenting course after course with obvious pride. She kept giving me knowing looks every time she served a course, as if we shared a secret. We didn’t.

Mikhail watched me eat with that same satisfaction from breakfast, occasionally reaching across to refill my wine glass.

It was strange how easy and natural it felt, as if we were on a date, not hostage and mafioso playing house.

“Your father,” he said eventually. The shift in topic was jarring. “You truly have no relationship with him?”

I set down my fork. “None worth mentioning. The last time I heard from him was on my birthday eight months ago.”

“And yet, when I called him about you, he seemed concerned.”

“Concerned about what you’d do to me? I doubt that. I think he’s just concerned you know that he stole it and are coming for him.”

Mikhail studied me. “You are very perceptive. ”

“I’ve had a lifetime of practice reading people who might hurt me.”

His eyes softened. “You know I would not hurt you, Natalia. I said so last night.”

I took a sip of wine, gathering courage. “What did he steal from you, Mikhail?”

His expression closed off. “That is not your concern.”

“We’ve been over this. It became my concern when you threw me over your shoulder in a parking lot.”

“It was a shipment. Valuable. That is all you need to know.”

“How valuable?”

“Very.”

“He hasn’t returned it yet?”

“Yes,” he replied way too fast.

“Would you like dessert?” Galina’s voice broke the moment as she entered with a tray.

“No. We’re finished here.”

The look he gave me made it clear dinner might be over, but the night was just beginning.

He led me not to my room but to his. It was a larger, darker version of mine with the same expensive minimalism. The massive bed dominated the space, with dark sheets on the bed instead of the white ones in my room.

“Last chance to change your mind,” he said, his voice rough with desire.

I answered by reaching for the zipper of my dress.

He stopped me, his hands replacing mine. “Let me.”

He pulled the zipper down slowly, his knuckles brushing my spine. When the dress pooled at my feet, he stepped back, his gaze traveling over my body with undisguised hunger.

“On the bed,” he ordered.

I complied and positioned myself in the center of his bed. He removed his tie, then methodically unbuttoned his shirt.

“Arms above your head.”

I raised my arms, watching as he removed his belt. Instead of discarding it, he approached the bed, the leather dangling from his fingers.

“Do you trust me, Natalia?”

The question hung between us.

“Enough for this,” I said finally.

He nodded, understanding the line I had drawn. With deliberate movements, he wrapped the belt around my wrists, binding them together above my head.

“Too tight?”

I tested the restraint. “No.”

“Good.” He finished undressing, his body all lean muscle and scars in the dim light. When he joined me on the bed, he didn’t immediately cover me with his body. Instead, he knelt between my legs, his hands skimming up my thighs.

“I made you a promise,” he said, hooking his fingers in the waistband of my underwear and drawing them down slowly. “About having you writhing until you pass out.”

“That seems medically concerning.”

His laugh was low and genuine. “Always with the humor, even now.”

“It’s how I cope with stress.”

“Am I stressing you?” His mouth pressed against my inner thigh, making me shiver.

“In the best possible way.”

His hands pushed my thighs wider, his grip firm enough to bruise. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Before I could react, his mouth was there , hot and insistent. I gasped, arching into the contact. He held me open, his forearms creating bruising pressure on my inner thighs as he devoured my pussy with single-minded focus.

Every swipe of his tongue, every sucking kiss drove me higher. I strained against the belt as pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak.

When he slid two fingers inside me, curling them in perfect counterpoint to his tongue, I came with a cry that probably echoed through the entire mansion. But he didn’t stop. He worked me through that orgasm and immediately started building toward another, relentless in his attention to my clit.

“Mikhail,” I gasped, “I can’t?—”

“You can.” His breath ghosted my cunt. “Be a good girl for me and give me one more.”

He slowed his pace deliberately, bringing me to the edge and then backing off. His tongue traced lazy circles around my clit without quite touching it, his fingers pumping shallowly in and out of my cunt.

Each time I neared the peak, he would ease back, keeping me suspended in that exquisite space between pleasure and release.

“Please,” I begged, my hips bucking against his grip.

He looked up at me, his eyes dark with hunger. “Say you’re mine and I’ll let you cum.”

“I’m yours,” I gasped without hesitation. I was beyond caring about the implications. I needed this. “Please, Mikhail.”

He rewarded me by sucking my clit between his lips, his fingers finding that perfect spot.

The sensation was so intense it bordered on pain; my nerves were firing all at once.

His other arm pressed harder across my thigh as he held me open, refusing to let me escape the orgasm he was determined to wring from my body.

His tongue flattened against my clit, providing the perfect pressure as his fingers worked faster, deeper. I felt myself teetering on the edge, desperate for release but almost afraid of its intensity.

“Let go,” he commanded against my skin. “Come for me.”

The second orgasm hit so much harder than the first, leaving me trembling and incoherent. Still, he continued, adding a third finger, stretching me in preparation for what I hoped would come next.

By the time he finally moved up my body, I was a limp, quivering mess. He untied my wrists, rubbing the marks gently before positioning himself between my thighs.

“Look at me,” he commanded as he pushed his cock inside.

I forced my heavy eyelids open, meeting his gaze as he filled me completely. There was something in his eyes beyond lust, a kind reverence and vulnerability I didn’t expect.

He started moving with deliberate strokes, his thick cock hitting spots that sent aftershocks of pleasure through my oversensitized body. When I wrapped my legs around him, urging him deeper, his control began to slip.

“Natalia,” he groaned, his rhythm faltering. “You feel?—”

Whatever I felt like was lost as he captured my mouth in a bruising kiss. I tasted myself on his lips, the sheer obscenity of it making me clench around him.

He broke the kiss with a curse, his movements growing more erratic. I felt myself building toward a third impossible peak, my body responding to his as if we’d been made for exactly this.

“You’re going to come again,” he growled in my ear, reaching between us to circle my clit. “This cunt is mine, and I need her to milk me for all I’ve got.”

The command in his voice, the pleasure bordering on pain, the look in his eyes, the smell of his cologne drowning out every thought in my mind, all of it combined to push me over the edge once more.

I’d forgotten how to breathe. I came, gasping for air, my pussy clenching around his cock, and he followed right after, spilling his cum deep inside.

He collapsed beside me, pulling me against his chest. For a long while, we lay in silence, our breathing gradually slowing.

The skin between my thighs was sticky with a mixture of cum from both of us, but he wouldn’t let me leave the bed.

His hand traced patterns on my back, occasionally pausing, then following up with a kiss.

As I was falling sleep, I heard him murmur something in Russian against my hair. I couldn’t quite catch the words though.

My last coherent thought before sleep claimed me was that my therapist would have a field day with this. Why was I finding comfort in the arms of my kidnapper? But then again, therapy had never felt as good as three orgasms in a night.