Had he really been kidnapped?
First of all, rude.
He tried to blink the haze from his vision while he processed this strange, new reality.
Someone had actually managed to catch him.
Well, shit. Well done.
Connor started to sit up, then paused. Two things occurred to him at once. Three things, actually. One, it was somehow morning already. Two, he was in a bed. With some amazingly soft sheets, by the way. Damn. He was going to have to figure out what they were made of and get some for himself.
Not that he could probably afford them, but, hey, a boy could dream.
He was naked.
Connor raised an eyebrow. Huh.
He stared up at the ceiling as he took stock of his body. The soft sheets cascaded over his naked skin, making him hyper-aware of every tiny movement he made. A slow inhale made the fabric brush teasingly over his nipples, and a slight shift of his leg had the sheets drifting over his groin. Connor squeezed his legs together. Holy fuck. Much more of that and he would be a horny mess, though it was already almost too late for that.
Connor paused, wondering if his kidnappers were watching him.
He bit back a moan at the idea, then muttered a curse and shook his head. He had to focus.
Connor drew his arms out from under the sheets. He wasn’t restrained in any way. There was nothing stopping him from getting out of bed and exploring the room. And he didn’t feel pain anywhere. Other than where the needle had gone in. That still stung.
Connor rubbed the spot and slowly sat up. At least his kidnapper had been kind enough to keep the ground from punching him in the face. That would not have been fun.
He paused, then probed all over his face with his fingertips, just to be sure.
Nothing hurt there. Connor: one. Ground: zero. Ha! Take that.
Chuckling to himself, he glanced around the room, trying to guess where he might be. It looked like a normal bedroom—bed, dresser, nightstands, lamps—but way more high-end than he was used to. Spacious. Elegant. Obviously expensive, but tastefully so. And it didn’t have the rubber-stamp feel of a hotel room. Connor had seen plenty of those—from casual hookups with businessmen just passing through town—so he would know.
But this was different. This was custom. Unique. This was someone’s home.
He looked to one side and saw a pair of glass doors leading out to a balcony, the view obscured by some gauzy curtains. Across from him was an open doorway into a washroom. Connor blinked. Holy shit. Even from that angle, the washroom looked enormous, and he was sure he wasn’t even seeing half of it.
On the nightstand beside him was a small computer tablet. When Connor started to reach for it, the device detected his proximity and illuminated the screen, showing him a home control panel. There were options for room temperature, dimmed lighting, and blackout window shades, amongst other things.
Connor smirked. Don’t worry, darling. I’ll play with you later.
He grabbed the sheets, meaning to toss them aside and get out of bed so he could explore the room more thoroughly, then stopped when he heard the snap of a key in a lock.
Connor spotted the door—fancy double doors, in fact—and watched them slowly open.
He blinked stupidly and almost laughed as a butler appeared in the widening gap. An actual, real-life butler. White gloves and all.
Before Connor could voice his mirth, though, the butler stepped aside and bowed his head deferentially, revealing another man who’d been standing behind him.
The second man took a few steps into the room, glaring directly at Connor.
Connor’s jaw dropped.
Vesad Stromos. Right there. In the flesh.
He’d been kidnapped by Vesad Stromos. Forget just spying on the man through a hacked webcam. He was actually inside the famous musician’s house.
Day. Fucking. Made!