Kissing Cousins 7

Lara woke up not knowing where she was, when it was, how she’d gone to sleep. Was it the next day? The evening of an afternoon nap?

She was stretching for the other side of the bed. The empty bed, aside from her. She looked at her hand like it had betrayed her. What was there to reach for? Kevin? He’d been in her dream. But it wasn’t him, it was someone else, and she was someone else, and they had…

Lara drove herself off the bed like it was a trap about to spring. The soft covers suddenly seemed like a very toxic place to be. She was naked, no nightie, not even a scrap of panties, but surely she hadn’t… It’d all been a dream. It had to be. She would never do anything with Kevin, of all people…

She dragged herself to the bathroom. She felt sore, well-used, but she refused to believe that was from sex. Even the brutal sex, the sex she had to strain herself to enjoy… the best kind for her.

No, Kevin hadn’t done that to her. This was all a lack of energy. She was pushing herself too hard, not properly maintaining her athleticism. Turning on the light in her bathroom, Lara confirmed the theory with one look in the mirror.

“You look like hell,” she told herself, reaching for Ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet and a glass of water from the tap. Starting tomorrow, a full cleanse. She’d cancel all her speaking engagements, do whatever it took to get her privacy back from Kevin, and allow Winston to pamper her like he so longed to.

Lara splashed water onto her face, then scrubbed her pits of sweat. After a brief pause, she treated her womanhood to some attention too. No sign of all the… emission she remembered from the dream, so unless she’d managed to douche in her sleep—the same sleepwalking that’d brought her to bed.

Dash it all, she still couldn’t remember all the events of the day. It’d been morning, perhaps? Had she perhaps overworked herself to the point of passing out at her desk or somesuch? It seemed impossible, but maybe Kevin had thoughtfully carried her to her bed and…

That little shit, and stripped her naked? Kevin’s benefit of the doubt was rapidly running out. If she didn’t come up with a better explanation for her circumstances soon, she’d put the boots to him whether or not he was a Croft.

Lara drank another glass of water. Now that she’d shaken off the residue of the dream, her tiredness was taking over. She felt fit for another sleep, a full one this time. Hopefully with no dreams. Lara relieved herself, then took a cigarette from the stash she’d hid behind the loose shower tile. Emergency relaxation; nothing did the trick like nicotine.

She picked up an ashtray and carried it with her to the bed, where she lit up and made sure to tap away the ashes as soon as they burnt up. The Tomb Raider defying death again—she doubted she would die of smoking in bed, but if she did, maybe the fire would take out Kevin as well. Now there was a pleasing thought.

Wanting a few more moments of wakefulness before she was down to the cigarette butt, Lara checked her phone. Sam had sent a message saying she would be by tomorrow morning. Well, that would do it. Lara would let Sam take her out for whatever spas the other woman could come up with. That would get Kevin well and truly out of her system.

Then she’d find herself a nice ruin to explore and Winston, God love him, could find a way to run herd on the kid. Who knows, by then perhaps he’ll go to London and get stabbed like a good boy.

Lara tipped some ash into the tray and tried to bring the cigarette back for another puff, but her arm was so heavy and the pillow was soft enough for her to sink down into it and never… quite… stop…

***

Lara and Sam struggled with their bonds, grunting and groaning loudly despite their gags. Lara flipped herself from side to side until the blankets gave way and she managed to rise to her knees. For a moment, anyway, before she lost her balance and fell from the bed.

Sam still hadn’t gotten loose. She jerked around, trying to kick out with her legs, but all she managed was to put pressure on her wrists and ankles. With a sigh, she dropped to her side in defeat. Looked like Lara would be rescuing her again.

Lara rolled on the carpeted floor. She’d been tied thoroughly enough that the trip scraped her knees and banged her shoulders, her hips against the floor. She wanted to give up by the time she was halfway across the room, but the thought of Sam still suffering in captivity drove her on.

Sam was equally determined to get loose—incensed at the thought of Lara having to save her. She went wild, screaming against her gag to get the adrenaline flowing, then wiggling her way free of the ropes with convulsion after convulsion. The effort exhausted her. She lay still as soon as she was done, breathing heavily, hearing the thudding of her heart. Don’t give yourself a heart attack, baby. Let worrying about Lara do that.

Lara was still going, as indomitable as a tank. The bathroom was feet away. Marshalling her strength, she found her way to the bathroom door. Thankfully, their captors hadn’t shut it. Her shoulder shoved the door open. She dropped into the bathroom.

Once inside, she looked for the mirror. There was one, right above the sink. Now all she needed was something to throw.

Lara looked around. The only thing available was a toilet plunger. She reached out with her feet, caught the plunger between them, retracted her legs, wiggled around until she was facing the mirror. Leaned back as far as she could, rocking back onto her shoulder blades and trying to hold her balance. The laminated wood plunger was slippery. She couldn’t quite grip it, but if she let go, she’d be out all the effort she had already expended.

No time to be fancy, Croft. Just give it hell and hope things work out.

She kicked out, the force of her legs sending the plunger flying. It hit the mirror, which gave a gratifying crack, but stayed whole. The plunger fell. Lara’s wide eyes traced it. If it just fell to the floor again, she’d get another shot. It hit the sink—balanced precariously on the rim—then slid into the sink, no! No! No!

The sound of glass fidgeting drew Lara out of her despondency. She looked to the mirror. The cracks were spreading, widening, until—yes! More shards fell out, hitting the sink with further crashing, one falling past the sink, down to the floor.

Lara almost started for it before restraining herself. She’d have to be careful. No need to cut herself wide open in going for it.

Inching across the floor as carefully as her bonds would allow, Lara finally got her hands on the knife-like shard. She sighed in relief as she started cutting herself free—couldn’t wait to take her gag off so she could tell Sam they were alright and spare her even a few seconds of panic.

Not that Sam would panic. She had complete faith in Lara. But it was always nice for faith to be rewarded.

As she kept up the careful but hurried labor, Lara took stock of herself. Her knees, hips, and shoulders had been rubbed raw from the carpet. She had a splitting headache from the rifle butt that had rendered her unconscious and a strong sense of nausea; would probably throw up as soon as the gag was off. Her wrists and ankles were numb from the ropes, not to mention all the pressure she had put on them in getting this far.

She took a few breaks from the cutting to wiggle her fingers. They were sluggish, but Lara doubted she would lose the use of them before she got free.

Sam had gotten herself sitting up on the bed. On her knees, she found she had a few inches of slack in her bindings thanks to this new position. She worked at the knots that bound her ankles. They were tight; maybe the men who’d caught them were sailors. She doubted they were Boy Scouts.

To her shock, she felt one of the knots give. Her fingers went crazy—she broke two nails attacking the loosened knot. She huffed and she jerked and she strained until physics had had enough. Then she shrieked in fright as gravity pulled her off the bed and into a trip that quickly reached its destination.

“You okay?” Lara called to her.

She’d landed facedown. Sam scraped her jaw against the floor and found her gag coming free. “Peachy, Lara, why? Aren’t you enjoying yourself?”

“I can honestly say being tied up this way isn’t up to my standards. These ropes are far too coarse. I may fantasize about being raped, but at least by a quality rapist, not someone who buys his tools from Temu.”

Sam realized something—her head thumped down to the floor. “Lara, are you loose?”

“Yes, love. Almost. Don’t throw yourself off the bed anymore if you can help it.”

“I’ll try to resist.”