play: tongue (maribou state, holly walker)

-• temporarily kidnapped •-

I feel this man has a thing for dark places. Like his eyes, almost black with a hint of brown, the moonlight reveals just the slightest of the night, not to give him away, but to lure you in. And for some strange stupid reasons, I always find myself drawn to him, not willingly, definitely not intentionally, but through the trick of a time, beguiled by the circumstances.

My wrists twist in his steel grip, and a scream bubbles from the depths of my chest, the sound muffled by the thick, cold barrier pressed against my mouth. My eyes narrow in slits, and I feel my blood boil at the thought of being held captive by someone my eldest brother intends to keep a secret.

"Easy, Princess, easy," he whispers, his lilt lazy, with a twinge of danger, the rich timbre spoken softly, in a voice lower than my breathing.

I don't obey, neither do I stop fighting to free myself from his overbearing presence. He watches me, almost bored, and cracks his neck, releasing a pop sound. My eyes almost jump out of their sockets at his audacity.

"I'll let you go if you promise to not scream," he looks down at me firmly.

I nod hurriedly.

"You scream and I'll tie you to that fucking bed with your mouth taped and hands cuffed, all helpless until someone finds you in the morning." He threatens and he means it.

I swallow the remaining of resistance left in my feminine ass and nod again. Slowly, like a warning, a message that cuts through my senses and impales my flight or fight mode, he lowers his hand from my mouth, willing to go through with his threat if I so much as move a muscle in my neck to do more than breathe. My forced obedience earns me a huge sadistic grin, one that I can't see, but reflects in his dark eyes. He's so fucking pleased with my submission. And I absolutely loathe the satisfaction on his face.

What a fucking psycho. No wonder my brother wants to keep him a secret. I would want him to be one too, preferably in a fucking grave.

My hand itches to rip off the scarf concealing half of his face. I wish he does it himself. But he doesn't, he just shifts back a little to take a good look at me. I feel uncomfortable trapped between him and the door, but it's not like I can do much, he's stronger than me, resilient than me, and definitely stubborn than me by a long shot. I prefer not taking the risk.

A howling wind gusts through the window and timidly lifts the side of his scarf, revealing a jawline so sharp it could give paper a paper cut. He fixes the scarf without taking his eyes off me. I take that chance to slip away from him and the door. That elicits a chuckle out of his lips as he steps forward and turns, leaning against the door, still watching me shamelessly.

"What do you want?" I ask softly, hiding my trembling fingers on my back.

"Fun," he answers. "I haven't had fun is so many years now."

I narrow my eyes at him as a flurry of immoral activities flash through my head hearing his answer.

"Excuse me? I'm not a prostitute!"

He freezes for a moment, then shifts his gaze to my feet, coming back up slowly until he finally reaches my eyes again. A slow laugh rumbles from his chest and he shakes his head.

"Little girl, don't get so ahead of yourself. You're not my type." The amusement returns in his tone. I flush red in embarrassment.

Wait! Did he just call me little girl!?

"I'm seventeen!"

"Sixteen."

"I'll be seventeen in a month!" I justify.

"Still a sixteen."

I huff out in frustration and nod at him. "If that saves me from pimping myself out to you."

His eyes speak a lot than I give them credit for. "You'd never have to pimp yourself out to me. Even if you were a woman, you're still not my type."

For some reason, I feel humiliated. Of course, I don't want to be sexually objectified by a man clearly older than me, but I also don't want to be put down so crudely.

Anyway, how old is he? He clearly doesn't look a man in his thirties. Not even in the late twenties. Maybe twenty one? Twenty two? He's impossibly tall, and his body is somewhat similar to someone I've seen before, it's his eyes that express a lot more than I'm capable of confronting. They are framed with thick lashes, hooded like a Wolf's gaze, eerily attractive. I shake the thoughts away.

"How old are you?"

He chuckles. "Are you trying to check whether the age difference is legal? You're a minor in India."

"For my age, any age difference is illegal." I snort.

"I'm eighteen."

No way.

He looks like a grown ass man.

"Why am I here?" I look around the dark room. Even with the luxurious amenities offered, I feel suffocated in here. I'm hanging by a thin hope that this man will not murder me considering my eldest and hopefully most mature brother of all is adamant on keeping this man's existence a secret.

"Told you, for fun."

I release a breath of frustration. "Look, initially I thought my brother's into you, but considering you're just eighteen, that's off the list now. So I'm really struggling to cope up with this bullshit, but you're not helping the case. Before I faint and my over protective brother that's sleeping upstairs comes storming in to destroy your handsome face, I suggest you quietly let me go."

"You think I'm handsome?" He smirks. I can't see it, but Good lord can I feel the narcissism rolling off him in waves.

"What do you want? Why are you everywhere I go!?" I demand hoarsely.

"I like chasing you. Hunting is my favourite game. And you happen to be my favourite prey." He chuckles. "For now." And adds casually.

"You're infuriating," I hiss through my clenched teeth.

"You get riled up so easily."

"I wonder why?" I smile sarcastically.

"Why?" He plays innocent.

"Maybe because you've locked me up in this forsaken room without my consent!" I snap in agitation.

And I thought no one can get on my nerves as faster as Agastya can do. But no, this man right here just barged in from the dark and got me anger issues in less than a second.

"Princess," he prowls closer and cups my jaw. I freeze when the wall blocks my back, restraining my escape from this monster. I look up at him fearfully, blood rushes to my head and terror numbs my entire body. "I like your smart mouth, but that tone? Nah," he shakes his head, "Keep it low." His voice never goes above a husky whisper or a grunt. It never reveals what he actually sounds like. "Understood?"

I nod meekly.

He taps my cheek twice, as if praising me for listening to him so well and moves to his initial position stealthily, with a grace and agility of a cheetah.

"May I please go back to my bedroom?" I request softly. "I won't tell anyone where I was."

"The last time you did, your brother almost bit my head off for playing with you a little."

I swallow thickly. "I thought you were a murderer." I still do. I keep that piece of information to myself. "What do you want from me? There must be a reason why we keep crossing paths. So tell me, what is it? And if it's just some sick game where you get off on thrill, then please keep me out of this. I adore the normal in my life."

"Relax," he murmurs. "We'll get to it eventually."

"Well, I don't have enough time." I try my best to not raise my voice. But my temporary kidnapper makes it so damn hard. "If Agastya realises I'm no longer in the room, he'll go berserk!"

"Right now, he's snoring so loud if the walls weren't sound proof you would have heard him. So stop getting anxious over nothing. Go and sit down there." He points towards the bed. I eye it apprehensively, choosing the sofa across from it instead and sit down with my legs pulled together and hands tucked between my knees.

He releases a sigh at that and sits on the edge of the bed, straight in my line of vision. I distract myself by looking around. The walls are beige, lack any lustre and the interiors seem imported from all across the world. It's smaller compared to the room given to me but I don't think it belongs to anyone. The dust settled on the lamp covers and desk surface stand witness for the time it hasn't been used.

"How do you know my brother?" I start a conversation. In an attempt to keep his actions expectant and to dissipate the awkwardness lingering between us.

"You don't need to know that." He replies.

"Fine then, but in my version, you two are lovers." I warn him.

There he goes again, expressing himself through his eyes, the mirth sparkling in his ebony chasms.

"Who often meet for secret rendezvous," I add to gouge his next reaction. His face remains impassive, eyes don't lose their shine.

Oh c'mon, any man will react when his sexuality is questioned. He's seriously not going to explain himself?

"Can I see your face?" I refer to the scarf hiding him from my eyes.

"No, you can't."

"Can you speak a little high?"

"No,"

"Are you a psychopath?"

"You should never ask a psychopath if he's a psychopath."

"I'm still speculating," I shrug.

"So what if I'm a psychopath?"

"I knew it." I nod.

"It doesn't change anything?"

"My perspective of you? No, it's already shit. At least you being a psychopath explains it."

He smirks.

I look down his body, analysing how relaxed he is, the ease in his posture and the little bent of spine as he regards me with a nonchalant look. Mentally, I calculate the distance between me and the door. Can I make it out before he realises what I'm planning? Maybe I can. Once I go out, I'll scream fucking loud. Someone will definitely hear. And the moment Agastya notices my absence, he won't stop until he finds me.

I shake my knee absentmindedly and take a deep breath to calm myself. The door is easily two jumps away. All I've to do is get up and scram.

My eyes move to him and I find him already looking at me. Unlike Atharva, who makes me feel butterflies inside my belly, this man twists and turns my stomach into painful knots. I clutch the edge of the couch and inhale deeply.

Alright, let's count to three.

One.

I bite my lower lip in anticipation of my own actions. If I fail, I'm either getting mauled or if I'm lucky, then tied to that bed or if I'm extremely unlucky, then both.

Two.

Maybe he won't do anything to me. He's still acquainted with my brother, isn't he? Not for the reasons I suspected but surely for something else. Either for business reasons, or personal reasons, but the point being, he is. And that should definitely work in my favour.

After all, who wants Yuvraaj Singh Chauhan as their enemy?

Three.

I take the chance and leap off the couch, almost in reach of the door when two strong arms wrap themselves around my waist and flings me to the sofa chair. His hand comes down on my mouth to clamp it shut, his knee dangerously close to my core as he traps my legs with his, and his free arm blocks me on the chest, rendering my arms incapable of anything but awkward flail and flounder.

My breath comes out in rough pants as I glare at him openly. He looks furious, the hint of brown in his eyes almost disappearing, his pupils blown wide, his raging gaze darker than night, yet glows brighter than an inferno.

"I thought you know better than to disobey me," he tilts his head to the side mockingly.

I spit in his hand.

The muscles below his ear flex, probably clenched his jaw too hard. He leans in, his face an inch away from mine before he uses the hand to smother my saliva on my face. I whimper in disgust and pain. Then he roughly grips my jaw and lifts my face so our eyes meet. "I'm not one of your brothers, Taranya. Don't compel me to use unkind methods." He growls out. "I'm a fucking bastard who's not above teaching you a lesson or two so you learn not to cross me."

I grit my teeth tightly to stop myself from bursting out in tears. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. When he leans back, I relax a little. He grips the front of my shirt, startling me for a moment before I realise he's using it to wipe his hand clean.

Once he gets off me, I clean my face and pull up my knees as I sit hugging them to my chest. He settles on the coffee table in front of me, the ends of his veiny arms lacing through the gaps, resting in between his knees.

I look up at the ceiling to hold back my tears. My eyes burn and I blink them hastily. Feeling my jaw tremble, I breath through my mouth to stabilise my erratic emotions.

He disregards my almost teary gaze and reaches inside the pocket of his trousers. I frown when he pulls out a syringe and a vial. I fly into a panic mode.

"Relax," he commands, his gaze stretching to mine. "It's not for you."

As if I believe you.

"What is it for then?"

"Practice," he sighs and tears open the packet, removing the syringe from inside. "Watch," he instructs and I look down at his hands as they move effortlessly swift with the medical apparatus, almost as if he has done this a hundred times before. He tilts the vial to a certain angle, pushes the needle through the opening until the tip touches the liquid and withdraws the plunge until the the syringe is halfway filled. Then he pushes the plunge forward, sputtering out a little liquid that has me flinching back in surprise. He puts them aside and produces a new one from his another pocket. "Do it."

"M-Me?"

"Yes." Comes his curt response.

I take the things hesitantly and copy his actions. It was fairly easy, but I was trembling throughout the process.

He gets up from the coffee table and walks over to the nightstand. I watch him pull open the drawer before he brings back another syringe and vial. He hands them to me. I take them reluctantly.

"Tomorrow after breakfast, the Chairman will take you to Shourya's room once again. Five minutes later, he'll receive a call. He'll excuse himself and step out. You'll have a minute to empty this syringe into the drip."

My jaw drops in horror and I put the syringe and the vial aside. "I'm - I'm not killing anyone!"

He pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "You're not killing anyone. In fact, you're helping him."

My brows pinch together in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"This is to help him." He points to the syringe.

"I'm not dumb. I've seen how much the Chairman loves his grandson. If there's a way to help the boy, he wouldn't be behind trying it." I snap.

"Didn't your brothers tell you to not trust anyone here? That their shiny outward appearances and kind smiles are nothing but a faux?" He looks at me steadily whereas my gaze flickers from right to left. "Trust me, I'm helping your little boyfriend."

I scoff at him. "He's not my boyfriend!"

Why is everyone so hell bent on fixing me with that creepy boy?

"Whatever he is," the beautiful ebony eyes roll heavenward. "Take this and obey me," he slaps the syringe and vial in my hands. "Do you think your brother will help a murderer?"

I shake my head.

"Then trust him if not me," he curls my fingers into a fist, his frozen touch scorching through my skin.

"Who are you anyway? Why do you want to help Shourya?" I ask curiously.

"Because I'm helping myself through him," he replies. "Go,"

I blink, left perplexed at his sudden command.

Now that I know what I have to do, I suddenly don't want to leave this room.

"Can't I say no?" I ask softly.

He looks straight into my eyes, as if he has the confidence of the world, as if he's not the one hiding behind a piece of fabric. How can such contradiction exist in one man? An open mystery, just there for you to explore, only if you are brave enough dive in. But when has dark ever felt safe?

"You don't want to," he shakes his head at me.

"Is that a warning?"

"An advice," he states.

I gulp the nervousness down my throat. "Why am I always doing people's dirty work?" I almost cry.

"You're innocent," unexpectedly, he answers. I look at him in surprise, having caught off guard by the choice of his words. "And innocence is scary."

"Why?"

"Because people are afraid to taint it, with doubts, with blames, with rage, with anything that's not pure. Even if you burn down the whole world, people will protect you the first but suspect you the last."

"If I'm doing this for a guy who kidnapped me, I'm really not that innocent." I counter.

"When did I say you've to be innocent to act innocent?" He tilts his head to the side. "And I didn't kidnap you." He snorts.

"I beg to differ," I retort sharply.

"If I had to commit a crime, it wouldn't be this lousy." He wags a finger around the room.

I sigh and look down at the syringe and the vial. "Will he wake up with this?"

He nods.

I frown. I'm having second doubts now. I mean, I definitely don't want Shourya to remain bed ridden for the rest of his life, but I also don't want to help him recover, especially if that means the creep will be behind me. Not that my brothers will ever allow him close. But if the Chairman really has so much influence that he can make Yuvraaj marry someone unwillingly, then I'm setting myself up for a trap later in the future.

"What's wrong?" He chuckles, hooking his palm under his chin, his fingers curled beneath his lower lip. "Not want him to live anymore?"

I fidget in my seat anxiously. "He wants to marry me in the future. Of course, I don't want the creep to wake up."

The playfulness in his eyes drop. "Don't worry about it."

"How can I not?"

"Your brother will never allow it." He states coldly.

I nod, believing his words. Not that I've a choice anyway. All I can do is trust the time. If it has taken away so much from me, it has also returned me more than I deserved. A new family.

"This will not have an immediate side effect, right?" I ask him, an edge to my voice.

He shakes his head. "He'll be peacefully asleep."

I nod in response. "Alright then, I'll go." I slide forward on the seat to get up, it's a habit, one that I regret when I come face to face with the mystery man. His eyes drop low, watching as my throat bobs while I swallow and snaps back to meet my blue ones.

"Get off my face. You reek of saliva."

Embarrassed to the core, I launch out of the sofa with a gasp. He stays seated, nonchalant to my humiliation as he rolls the thick gold band around his ring finger, not bothered about me screaming for help anymore.

He told you to leave, Tara. I don't think you need to scream anymore.

Right.

"Keep your mouth shut until you're done with the task," he commands, spreading his thick thighs as he flattens his hands on the glass and leans back to look up at me. His ring clinks with the glass surface, strangely fascinating to hear something more than a breathy tone from this man.

I nod in reply.

"Go," he looks away from me.

I turn to leave, but for some reason, my feet don't move. "You never told me your name," I'm not sure whether it's curiousity or an excuse.

"You don't need to know,"

"What do I call you then?"

"What do you call me in your head?"

"Mystery man," I cringe.

"Such originality, Taranya," he comments. "Keep calling me that."

I sigh in defeat but hesitate again. One more question and then I'll be out of here.

"Are we meeting again?"

He looks at me intensely. "Are you trying to legalise that age gap, Princess?"

I gasp. "No! All I want is to be careful in the future. It's not a regular occurrence someone kidnaps me temporarily!"

He chuckles. "You're blushing."

I clear my throat. "Just answer me. It's not that hard. Are we meeting again or not?"

He nods, the action lethargic. And for some reason, sexy.

Snap the fuck out of it, Tara!

"Often, Taranya," he meets my eyes, lazy but alert. "We're meeting often."

No, why is he so hot 😭

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