Willing Captive

© 2023 by Sara Leanne Adams

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Warning: this book contains sexual content not suitable for persons under 18 years of age.

Blair

I slid across my pink satin sheets, reaching blindly for my phone while I yanked up my sleep mask.

Eleven!

I should be asleep for at least another hour.

“Well, I’m awake now,” I announced to my empty bedroom. “Might as well start the day right.”

I leaned over the side of the bed, grabbing the pink, furry box that contained my vast collection of toys.

“Good morning, sexy,” I whispered, kicking off the sheet.

I grinned at my naked body, reflected in the large mirror mounted to the wall at the end of my bed.

My nipples hardened, standing proudly on my perfect breasts. I was blessed with a natural set of tits that other girls could only dream of having. The kind of boobs that the Hollywood chicks paid good money for.

I gave each of my nipple rings a gentle tug, moaning as the juices flowed from my pussy.

I spread my legs wide, parting my lips with my thumb and index finger. My jewellery sparkled in the sunlight. Matching labia rings lined with tiny pink diamonds, and a bubble pearl pressure ball clit hood piercing. Also pink.

My nipple rings consisted of steel bars with dangling chains holding pink butterflies.

And last but not least, my belly button was currently sporting dangling pink steel tags, one with a pink kitty and one with the words, here kitty, kitty.

I squirted some lube on my lady parts, but not because I needed the moisture. It was more about the warm burn from that particular brand than lubrication. Then I grabbed my pink rabbit from my toy box and went to work.

Work?

Sure, girly.

You’ve never worked a day in your life.

I closed my eyes, conjuring up an image of the tattoo artist who did my pussy ink. The guy was oozing sex appeal. His hard, sexy body checked off all my boxes.

Tall.

Muscular.

Tattooed.

Not clean-shaven.

Not rich.

Not a stuck-up stick in the mud.

The latter three described my date for my father’s wedding.

Picture the tattoo artist, not the boring financial advisor.

I pushed my vibrator inside, flicking the speed up while I worked my clit with the rabbit ears

“Oh yeah,” I moaned. “That’s it, sexy tattoo guy. Give it to me good.”

I never had any trouble getting myself off when that hot piece of man meat was on the brain. He’d been number one in my spank bank for the past three years, and he hadn’t failed me yet.

“Fuuuuck!” I yelled, my pussy tightening around Mr. Rabbit while I soaked up the waves of pleasure.

I flopped back on my pillow, staring at the ceiling while my vibrator continued to buzz unattended in my vajayjay. It had been too long since I’d had a real dick in my pussy.

It’s only been a month, slut.

I grabbed my phone, firing off a text to Poppy, the morning kitchen assistant.

Pops, can you mix me up a creamy mango smoothie?

Did you shit the bed, Blair?

I chuckled.

Poppy had worked for us for ten years. She knew I rarely rolled out of bed before noon. I loved her blunt sassiness. It was a refreshing change from the rest of our house staff, most of whom thought kissing my ass was the ticket to staying in my demanding father’s good graces.

After I cleaned my vibrator, I threw on some workout clothes and headed downstairs.

“Good morning, Miss Winslow,” the housekeeper said. “Do you need your bedding changed today?”

“Yes, Ramona. Thank you.”

“I’ll get it done right away, ma’am.”

I rolled my eyes when she scurried away like an overeager fool.

Poppy handed me my smoothie as soon as I stepped into the kitchen. “Your father has a visitor,” she whispered.

“Okay,” I said slowly before taking a sip of my drink.

“He’s hot.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Tall, dark and handsome.”

“Is he wearing a suit?”

“Nope. A t-shirt and tight jeans.”

“Interesting.”

“He’s covered in tattoos. Showed up on a motorcycle.”

“Really?”

“You betcha.”

“I may need to check that out,” I said. “Are they in Dad’s office?”

“Yep.”

I crept down the hall toward my father’s study. The door was closed, of course. As if that would stop me from eavesdropping.

I slipped into the library next door, grabbing a glass from the bar.

Ruth Hoover, Spy Extraordinaire, was still on the fifth shelf, where it had remained since I read it when I was eight. I learned a few tricks from the Victorian era teenage spy. The hole I drilled in the wall was still there, covered in plastic wrap.

I smiled at the memory of my eight-year-old self using a drill. There were so many ways that could’ve gone wrong. I was a fearless rebel as a child, and that never changed when I grew up.

When did you grow up?

You’re twenty-six-years-old, and you still live at home, with no job, and Daddy’s credit card in your purse.

And you’re still using a hole in the wall to eavesdrop on your father’s meetings.

I put the glass up to the hole and pressed my ear against it.

“The answer is no,” my father said. “I’m not legally obligated to pay for that. Your mother signed an agreement when she accepted my generous offer years ago. If she didn’t invest it properly, that’s not my problem.”

“How can you be so cold?”

Ooh.

That is one deep, sexy voice.

“She’s a stranger.”

“That was your choice.”

“And I have no regrets.”

“You’re a horrible man, Winslow. How do you sleep at night?”

“Pretty damn good, actually. I have Egyptian cotton sheets, and the best mattress money can buy. And in a few days, I’ll have a sexy young wife in my bed.”

“There’s a special place in hell reserved for assholes like you.”

“Perhaps,” my father chuckled. “I think we’re done here. I trust you can see your way out.”

I waited until I heard the front door slam, before making a beeline out a side exit. The hunky visitor was just starting to rev his bike when I sprinted across the courtyard.

He was absolutely delicious. Thick, rich brown hair, slicked back in a man bun, with sideburns and a full beard and moustache framing sexy, kissable lips. The skin of his chin was visible, with a scruffy patch of hair in the centre. Both of his ears sported platinum hoops. Negative space and black work tattoos covered every inch of exposed skin on his forearms. His tight-fitting black t-shirt clung to his muscular chest and ripped arms.

He lifted his head, pinning me with deep, soulful brown eyes.

My clit pulsated, wetness soaking my thong while my nipples tingled.

Find out why he wants money from your father, before you jump his bones.

His eyes roamed over my body, his Adam’s Apple bobbing. I’d bet money he was sporting a semi, but I couldn’t see his crotch for the stupid handlebars and the gas tank.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“It’s not your concern.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s between me and your father, Blair.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Your father is famous,” he sighed. “It’s not a secret that Wally Winslow has a daughter.”

“Why are you here?” I demanded. “And why did you ask my father for money?”

“Mind your own business, and go back to doing whatever it is that spoiled little rich girls do. And start with putting some clothes on.”

“I was on my way to work out,” I snapped.

“Whatever,” he muttered. “Have a nice day.”

I watched his bike disappear down the driveway, a plan already formulating in my mind. Sexy tattoo guy wasn’t wrong about the spoiled part. When I wanted something, I usually got it.

And I wanted two things from the stranger who came to ask my father for money.

Information.

And cock.

Because, hello?

He checked off all of my boxes.

Tall, dark and handsome.

Rugged.

Tattooed.

Pierced.

Yum.

Instead of heading back inside to the gym, I decided to go for a run.

Right down the driveway to the gatehouse.

“Perfect,” I said, rubbing my hands together when I saw Peter through the window.

The young, horny security guard would be putty in my hands. Even if one of the older guys was on duty, I still would’ve gotten what I came for, but with a bit more work. I didn’t have time for that. I had to track down a sexy, tatted beast.

“Hey, Petey,” I drawled when I pushed open the door.

“Hi there, Blair,” he said, his eyes going straight to my tits.

“How are you?”

“Good. You?”

“I’m okay,” I sighed.

“You’re not too thrilled about your dad getting married again,” he guessed.

“It’s his life,” I said with a shrug.

“What brings you out here this fine morning, darling?”

I twirled a lock of hair around my finger. “I need a small favour, Petey.”

“Anything for you, pretty lady.”

“Can you tell me the name of my dad’s visitor?”

“The one who just left on the motorcycle?”

“Did my dad have other visitors this morning?”

“Well, no,” he chuckled, scratching his temple. “Why do you want to know?”

“It’s not important, Peter. Just get me the information.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I had strict instructions from your father not to tell anyone about the visit.”

“I’m not just anyone.”

“I’m sorry, Blair.”

I sauntered across the small room, reaching between his legs. “I’m sure there’s something I can do to change your mind.”

“Uh,” he stuttered, his eyes going wide when I reached for his belt buckle.

“That’s what I thought, Petey,” I whispered, dropping to my knees.

Redondo Beach was one of the nicer suburbs of LA. It was a gorgeous day for a drive down the coast in my convertible. Just me and the California sunshine, the ocean next to me, my hair blowing in the warm breeze.

My GPS led me to a commercial area a few blocks from the beach. I found a parking spot right across the street from the address Peter gave me, but it wasn’t a house or an apartment building.

Inked, Pierced, or Both.

Why did sexy tattoo guy give the address of a tattoo shop?

He would’ve had to show identification to get past our gate.

I glanced upward. The tattoo joint was on the first floor of a two-storey building.

Did he live above the tattoo shop?

I climbed out of my car and crossed the street, my heeled sandals clicking on the concrete.

Maybe I could get a tattoo while I was there. It would have to be somewhere that wasn’t visible. My new stepmother would have a fit if I showed up at her wedding with a bandage visible.

I didn’t want to be a bridesmaid. We weren’t friends. Not for lack of trying, on her part anyway. I had no interest in being BFFs with some chick my age, who was fucking my sixty-year-old father.

Why did girls do that?

There were other ways to get rich and famous.

I pulled open the door, glancing around the waiting room of the immaculate shop. It definitely wasn’t your typical tattoo parlour.

Bright blue walls with white trim. Tasteful artwork displayed in driftwood frames. Hardwood flooring. Beach chairs. And a giant fake palm tree in the corner!

Wave sounds played overhead, with the occasional squawk of a seagull.

“Can I help you?”

I stared at the woman who emerged from the back of the shop. At five-eight, I was considered a tall girl, but this chick made me look vertically challenged. She had to be well over six-feet, and built. I definitely wouldn’t want to meet her in a dark alley. Muscles, tattoos, and boobs that could knock you unconscious.

I couldn’t imagine walking around with giant boulders strapped to my chest. I’d be making an appointment for a breast reduction.

“I’m looking for Emmett,” I announced.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No. I’m not here for a tattoo. I just want to speak with him, please.”

“He’s in with a client, but he’s almost finished. Have a seat.”

I sat in one of the beach chairs, pulling up their website on my phone. They offered full tattooing services and piercing.

Nice.

I clicked on the About Us tab.

Emmett owned the shop. Well, co-owned, with the scary chick. Her name was Katie.

I snuck a peek at her out of the corner of my eye. She definitely wasn’t a Katie. That name was reserved for sweet, dainty girls. Not women who could flatten you in ten seconds.

I looked up when I heard male voices. A skinny dude with enormous red glasses appeared from the back of the shop. Emmett followed behind, joining him at the counter while he paid. He had his back to me, giving me the perfect opportunity to ogle his ass.

And oh what an ass it was.

Round, firm and muscular.

I was jealous of his tight jeans.

Katie leaned across the counter, whispering something in his ear. He turned around, his sexy brown eyes triggering a gusher from my pussy. The nerdy customer followed his stare, licking his pale, thin lips while he gawked at my chest.

“Okay, Donald,” Katie said. “We’ll see you next week to finish your tattoo.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Bye, Emmett.”

“Bye, Don.”

Emmett crossed the room, stopping in front of me with his arms folded over his massive chest. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re Emmett Mahoney.”

“How did you find out my name?”

“I’m very resourceful.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know who you are.”

“Did your father tell you?”

“No. I got your name and address from the security guard. Your mother was my nanny when I was a little girl.”

“Who told you that?”

“Nobody. I remember you.”

“Great,” he muttered with an impatient sigh. “But that doesn’t explain why you drove all the way down here.”

“Why are you trying to extort money from my father?”

“Go back to Malibu, Blair,” he ordered. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“I might be able to help you.”

“No, thanks,” he said, storming off to the back of the shop.

“That went well,” I sighed.

“Emmett doesn’t like to ask for help,” Katie explained. “But he really needs it. If you can do anything to convince your father to change his mind, it would mean the world to a lot of people.”

“What does he need the money for?”

“Let me go talk to him,” she suggested with a kind smile.

I didn’t have a glass, or a hole in the wall to eavesdrop through, so I flopped back down in the beach chair and waited.

Emmett reappeared a few minutes later. “Let’s go,” he said gruffly, gesturing toward the back of the shop.

I followed him down a long hallway that led to the rear exit.

“Where are we going?” I asked when he gestured for me to go ahead of him outside. A narrow outdoor staircase led up to the second storey of the building.

“Up to my place,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder as he took the stairs two at a time. “Unless you’re not comfortable being alone with me.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Emmett.”

I climbed the stairs, checking out his ass before he reached the landing.

Oh yeah.

That is one sexy butt.

Emmett’s apartment was immaculate, with bare white walls and hardwood flooring. A black leather recliner was the only piece of furniture in the living room, facing a massive television mounted to the wall. There was no kitchen table, just a couple of stools at the breakfast bar. I glanced toward the hallway, but both doors were closed.

He pulled out a stool. “Have a seat. I’d offer you a drink, but I don’t have Berg on hand, just Great Value, or good old tap water. And I’m assuming you drove yourself here, so I’m not going to give you a beer.”

“Why do you need money?”

“You don’t mess around, do you, Blair?”

“Nope.”

“You remember my mother?”

“Of course,” I said. “How could I forget Edie? She was my nanny.”

“You were only seven when we left.”

“I remember that day well. I cried for hours. Your mom promised to keep in touch, but she never did.”

“She wanted to,” he said. “She cried for days. But your father forbade her from having any contact with you.”

“Why did you guys leave so suddenly?”

He walked to the window. “Is that your pink convertible?” he snorted.

“Yes.”

“You think you’re Malibu Barbie or something?”

“No,” I huffed. “Pink just happens to be my favourite colour.”

“I thought redheads weren’t supposed to wear pink?”

“If you’re done insulting me, can you get on with your story?”

“You have a nice, comfortable life,” he muttered.

“How did she convince you to talk to me?” I asked.

“Who?”

“Your business partner.”

“I respect her opinion. She’s never steered me wrong yet. And she knows how important this is to me.”

“Is she your girlfriend?”

“Ex-wife.”

“Oh. It’s nice that you still get along, I guess.”

“We were young and foolish. Eloped to Vegas two days after we met. Never talked once about what we wanted out of life. We didn’t talk much at all, if you get my drift.”

“You fucked each other’s brains out.”

“Pretty much,” he chuckled. “Anyways, we soon learned we didn’t have compatible goals. She wanted the white picket fence and two-point-five kids. And I did not. End of marriage.”

“There’s no way that chick downstairs wants to sing nursery rhymes and drive a minivan to soccer games. You’re full of shit.”

“She is the proud mother of two little girls, Blair. And she’s happily married to a lawyer, and lives in a two-storey house in Rolling Hills. You really shouldn’t make judgements based on people’s appearances.”

“I wasn’t judging her.”

“Yes, you were. You assumed a woman who is covered in tattoos, and works in a tattoo parlour, couldn’t possibly be living a respectable life.”

“If respectable and boring are the same things,” I muttered.

“This was a big mistake. You can’t help me, so I think it’s time for you to jump in your Barbie car, and head back to Malibu, where you belong.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me why you asked my father for money.”

He sucked his lips between his teeth, clenching his fists while he tried to scare me with his angry glare.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Blair.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were a stubborn little girl. And spoiled. Not a great combination. You were a handful.”

“Why did your mother leave?”

“Do you really want to hear this, Blair?”

“Yes.”

“Your father was having an affair with my mother. We left because my mother was pregnant. You have an eighteen-year-old half sister.”