The Idol's Captive Bride

Prologue “Open your eyes!” he commands, and I have no choice but to obey. I hear him breathe a sigh of relief, as I look up at him, feeling my strength returning, as if all I need for strength and life is his presence. I gaze into his golden eyes, lit with desire and desperation as he lifts me from the bed. Safe in his arms, I savour his strength, knowing he could crush me if he chose to, and yet he holds me so tenderly. I reach my hand up to caress his tanned cheek, feeling the slight roughness of stubble under my fingers. “Ji-Ho, I was afraid you'd never find me....I was so afraid...” He silences me with a kiss, and I melt into his chest, twining my fingers into his silky hair as he pulls me closer. He is striding to the lift, carrying me away from this awful place. “Rosa” he says, so low only I can hear him, “Rosa, you know I will never stop looking until I find you.” I answer him with my own passionate kiss, as I feel the hunger for him burn in my belly. The scent of him is so strong, and so sweet, I feel drunk with it. Sweet sandalwood, spice, and a hint of roses. I inhale, burying my face in his neck as if I can drink him in, and never lose this moment. I thought I was lost to him forever. He holds me so tight, I can feel he thought the same. The wind whips my thin, soiled nightdress around me as he steps out of the lift onto the roof of the building. I raise my head slightly, and see the source of the wind; his golden helicopter is awaiting us, and I bury my face in his neck again, sighing heavily as he carries me away from the nightmare. I can hear the blood sing in his veins, singing of his love and lust for me. I know now that my blood sings to him, but far more sweetly and strongly, and the only thing stronger is his love for me. The love that holds him back, and gives him patience to wait, and hope, that one day I will be ready to give all to be with him. He leaps into the helicopter, and nestles into the corner of a seat with me, still refusing to let me go, just as I will not let him go. My stomach dives as the golden machine leaps into the air, carrying us away from the hell I have just endured. I must have slept in his arms, as when I awake we are in his penthouse. I am so very tired, but I want to look at him more, so I open my eyes. He is still holding me, seated on the edge of the giant marble spa with me in his lap. I trace his cheekbone with a fingertip, he is shining and perfect to me as always, so close I feel his breathe on my cheek. In one motion he tears my nightdress from collar to hem, but so gently I only feel the fabric fall away from my aching, filthy body. With no regard for the expensive Italian wool, he shreds his own Armani suit with one hand, throws his shoes across the room, still holding me close in the other arm. I am glad, I am not ready to let him go yet. He steps into the swirling, shimmering water, and slowly lowers himself, and me, as I gasp in pain as the perfumed water caresses my bruised and wounded body. “Shhh, love, shhh Rosa, we'll fix that all soon.” I gaze up at him hungrily, and lick my lips in anticipation. I relax against his body in the water, feeling every part of me melt into his hard, smoothly muscled form. He wraps both arms around me, and pulls me tightly to him, kissing me passionately. I answer his kiss with equal hunger, my tongue tasting his, seeking to devour him as he devours me. His hands are exploring my body under the water, caressing and stroking, gentle so as not to hurt my bruised ribs and back. I press my breasts against his chest, the feeling of hard muscle and his belly on mine arousing me with a fiery intensity I couldn't hold back if I tried. The rush of heat makes me moan, as I feel the longing for his c**k grow with every touch of his hand. I can feel it against my thigh, hardening as his hands reach between my legs.  I kiss him again, hungrily, as his hands stroke gently against my lips, and up to my hardened c**t. So lightly, he rubs the way he knows will drive me wild, and my back arches with an uncontrollable spasm of desire for him. I smell the spice and roses of his skin, and cling to him, wrapping my legs around his waist as he plunges two long, hard fingers inside me. I grind my p***y on his hand, gripping his waist with my thighs and exquisitely aware of his hard c**k pressing against my ass cheeks as I ride his fingers faster and faster. Suddenly, he lifts his wrist to his mouth, and, looking at me with those incredible eyes, aflame with lust and hunger, he bites down hard. I smell his blood even before I see it well from the wound, and moan helplessly. The smell of roses and cinnamon...I open my mouth to him, clenching my thighs against muscular hips as his fingers move deeper inside me, the heel of his hand pushing against my c**t with each hard stroke. I feel myself groan deeply as he pushes me to climax, and the wave of heat and pleasure builds in my belly until he thrusts his dripping wrist into my panting mouth, and I lick and suck and moan as I lose all control, and become lost to all but my desire for him. As I slowly subside, and droop against his chest all worn out from the joy of his taste and his touch, I become more painfully aware of the hard c**k pushing against my swollen p***y as he slides his fingers from inside me and his wrist from my mouth. The water around us is tinted rose pink from his blood, and I start to move against him slowly, watching him lick his wrist to help the wound close. He still hasn't taken his eyes off my face...he has watched every moment of my pleasure hungrily, the desire to take me still unquenched. I open my mouth to kiss him as my desire builds, tasting cinnamon and rose again as I start to grind more demandingly against his long, hard c**k. He smiles as I kiss him, and pulls away to watch my face again, as I moan and look pleadingly at him. I cup his face in my hands, enjoying the contrast between smooth skin and rougher stubble, and beg... “Please, f**k me baby, please....I need it so badly...” he shakes his head, smiling, and moves his c**k cruelly against my p***y, making me moan and writhe again with need. “Not here my Rosa.” He wraps his arms around me, and suddenly lifts me, thighs still clamped around his hips as I slide my p***y desperately against him, begging in whispered moans to be taken. He pushes back wet hair from my face and kisses me with a dangerous, fierce hunger that I am only too aware he is holding back with difficulty. Dripping water, he steps out of the bath, and digs his fingers into my buttocks, making me moan with pain and pleasure as he carries me to the bedroom. I am suddenly convinced in my deepest soul that I am about to be taken, completely and utterly by Ji-Ho, and that nothing will ever be the same again. But I am skipping ahead, dear reader. Before I tell you the rest, I must take you back to the beginning, so you can learn who I am....and how this strange story began. Chapter 1: Unexpected Connection I can't find it. I've looked everywhere, and I can't find it, so now I'm panicking. I flop down on the couch in despair, and my cavoodle Muttley joyously leaps on my back, covering me with white, curly hairs. “No, down Muttley, I can't play right now!” Avoiding his enthusiastic embrace, I plod into the kitchen and start brushing down the black blazer, immaculate until a moment ago. Today is not going well. Today, the day I need to go well, is quickly becoming the usual disorganised nightmare I was trying to avoid. I have a great opportunity to really get somewhere with my career, and as usual I am making a mess of things before I even leave my apartment. I carefully remove the last of Muttley's fur from my elbow, and decide to make a cup of tea and open a window. My mother swears by this, so I may as well give it a try. While I wait for the tea to brew, I gaze thoughtfully at my makeup kit, packed and ready by the door....all except for one thing. My favourite lip brush, the one thing I rely on. The first decent piece of kit I bought myself as a student, and now I can't find it. I have other brushes of course, but this is my favourite one, my lucky charm. I never got to go to the big expensive makeup schools, just a local college, and most of my work is done around the Sunshine coast, within an hour of my home. So far, the most exciting job I've had was a Chinese couple visiting for a lavish destination wedding. Pulling that off made me think I could actually be a good makeup artist one day. This job is something different; terrifying, exciting, and a chance I never thought I would get. Last night, my best friend Gloria had called me, panicking and sounding horribly ill. Gloria is my role model; she works all around the globe, the kind of jobs I could never do. Gloria and I have been friends since our first day at school, but we have very different lives. Her mother started an app to help people find cheap petrol, sold it to Google, and made a ridiculous amount of money. She knew she wanted to work in the beauty industry, so her mother sent her to New York, and the rest is history. But without Gloria, I wouldn't have had the courage to start studying two years ago. It was Gloria who encouraged me not to give up, advised me on what products and skills to invest time and money into, and now it was Gloria calling me, offering me the best opportunity I had ever had. I couldn't let her down. I focused grimly on the mess in front of me. An empty pizza box lay sadly on the couch, which was already festooned with several sweaters, a grubby throw rug, and of course Muttley looking at me happily from the middle. A forest of plants grew around the window that overlooked the ocean, my desk beside it was covered with letters, magazines, and sample swatches I had been studying all night. My desk....that's where I last saw it! I plunked the mug in the sink and raced to the desk. I started sorting through the mess, making piles on the floor to keep things together, until finally I uncovered it...my missing lip brush. I ran to the bathroom and quickly swirled the brush through some lip cleaner, then checked my kit one last time. In contrast to my untidy apartment, my kit was pristine. Everything in its place, the foundations and concealers to match the client's skin tone, all my product, all my brushes. I place my lip brush with everything else, then zip everything up. One last check in the mirror and I can go. My face, pale and worried, stares back at me. Brown eyes, short dark hair, and a touch of makeup to look professional without being conspicuous. I'm average height, with pale, easily freckled skin, and a slender shape without much to attract attention. And to be honest, I prefer it that way. I don't like attention, it distracts me from what I do best; creating perfection in my client. I truly adore seeing the transformation in how people see themselves that makeup can create. While some people see it as a frivolous thing, covering people's real selves with an illusion of perfection, I disagree. I like to think of my job as allowing people to see themselves the way their loved ones see them. Rather than changing their faces, I love bringing out their beauty. Highlighting pretty eyes, drawing attention to gorgeous cheekbones, illuminating flawless skin. Each person has beauty, and I get to show them their beauty. My phone beeps an alarm...time to leave! I take a deep breath, grab my things and dash out the door. Jumping into my car, I go over the brief in my head for the hundredth time. The client is a well established Korean pop idol, Park Ji-Ho. According to the brief Gloria sent, he prefers being called J, has no allergies, and favours his left side in photographs. J started out as a singer in the Idol group, Blue Sky, and after a few years he transitioned into acting and modelling. According to Wikipedia, two years ago he launched his own recording label and production company, which now handles several top ranking idol groups, several solo artists, and has contracts with Netflix as well as some Korean language feature films under production. So...a pretty big deal. Not something I want to screw up. I feel myself beginning to panic, and fumble in my bag for my puffer as I drive up to the shoot location. I park, and take a few minutes to use my puffer, drink some water and calm down. I gather my courage and get out, painfully aware that my elderly Corolla is extremely out of place in the lush surroundings. Tall tree ferns are bedecked with fairy lights in a lush tropical garden. Orchids spill over glossy ginger leaves, bird of paradise plants line the white pebble pathways that lead up to the most exclusive resort on the coast. Beautifully carved timber pillars, thatched Balinese style awnings, and expensively dressed staff welcome the wealthy and famous to the Rainforest Retreat. I walk quickly away from my car, handing the key to the valet who is clearly used to better things, and find the reception desk. I'm not running late, but I would have liked to be earlier than I am. I would have liked a few minutes to have a cup of tea and calm down. I wheel my case after the concierge; I am being escorted personally, so can at least relax about finding my way in this massive place. Everywhere I look, well groomed people in expensive clothing are being attended to by staff. I spot a few TV celebrities and some sports stars. This is terrifying, and I can see a dog hair on my sleeve that I'm too embarrassed to brush off in front of the concierge. Finally we reach the innermost sanctum of the resort; a luxurious stand alone building styled after a Balinese temple. Fountains splash, and colourful fish swim lazily underneath the small bridge we cross to reach the carved front door. As we enter the hushed, cool silence within, a fragrance of sandalwood, spice, and a hint of rose envelopes me, and I feel strangely convinced that I have entered another world, never to return to the pizza boxes and dog hair. The concierge announces me; “Mr Park, the makeup artist Rosa Corbyn.” A woman strides forward to meet me, extending her hand in greeting. “Miss Corbyn, I'm Geraldine Hanwright, the photographer on the shoot. Please make yourself at home, Mr Park will be ready for makeup shortly.” I mumble a thank you and look around the room, searching for a place I will fit. It is a spacious, dark timbered living room, and everyone in it is focused on the tall man seated in an ornately carved armchair overlooking the private pool outside. A thin blonde man is intently manicuring already immaculate hair. A woman in the resort uniform is offering him a fruit platter, while the stylist frowns as they hold up a selection of silk shirts. The man himself sits completely, perfectly still, as if carved from the same expensive timber as the chair. I shuffle myself off to a corner, and start preparing my kit, glancing at the group. I see Mr Park raise his hand and beckon in my direction. “Here goes nothing!” I think, as the stylist bears down on me, and starts discussing colours and clothing changes. I try to listen, as we walk towards Mr Park, but the entrancing scent is growing stronger, distracting my thought processes. It is clearly emanating from Mr Park, and is the most delicious cologne I had ever smelt on a man. I must have looked like I was paying attention, as the stylist finishes their monologue and retreats to the steamer and clothes rack. As Mr Park turns slowly towards me, my breath catches in my throat. I had seen photographs of him, and knew he was attractive, so what is wrong with me? I am not an innocent schoolgirl who has never touched a man, so why do I feel so strange? The scent is distractingly powerful, but luckily Mr Park turns away again, so I can gather myself and remember how to breathe. I manage to walk in front of the chair, and am surprised to hear my own voice calmly introducing myself to him. I cannot put into words how fascinating he is to me in this moment, as he looks into my eyes for the first time. Tawny, golden brown eyes, lit from within by a strange look that devoured and claimed me, all in an instant. I was glad of my job, as I had an excuse to stare, to examine that face, without others commenting or noticing. High cheekbones, square jaw leading to the firm chin, full lips to the sensuous mouth. I reached out a hand to touch his cheek, and he let me, still looking at me with that strange look as I examined him. I stepped back, shaking my head slightly at myself, then reluctantly broke my gaze. I prepared the foundation, glancing at him occasionally as if to check my work. His eyes were still fixed on me, and I felt my cheeks grow hot as he looked. I tried desperately to think of my work, and laugh a little internally at the irony. I, who never let myself be overly attached to a man, am behaving foolishly over this celebrity. I resolve to be less ridiculous, and my resolve crumbles as I turn back to him. In smooth, sweeping strokes, I brush the foundation over the perfect skin. Thankfully he has closed his eyes, so I can regain my composure a little. I will need little contouring; just a small amount to enhance his cheekbones and jawline. I place my fingers under his chin, and feel the slight roughness of stubble as I lift his chin to contour. His shirt opens a little at the movement, and my breath catches again as I catch a glimpse of tanned, muscular chest. He must have heard, as he opens his eyes and looks into mine again; my face heats again, so I step away to my kit. “Stupid, stupid Rosa!” I scold myself internally, as I pretend to debate over eyebrow pencils. I step back to him and work as quickly as I can, outlining strong brows, lining the extraordinary almond shaped eyes, still with that disconcerting light. I try and stay as far from him as I can, the closer I get to him, the closer I want to get. A light touch of bronzer, the lips, and then I'm done. Oh bother. The lips. I have chosen a subtle peach shade, as close as my limited kit can get to his natural colour. I grab my lucky lip brush, what is left of my self esteem, and try to focus on mundane things like lipstick shades, and not the lips of this delicious stranger. His lips part, and I swear his eyes look like he is laughing at me. I flush a little, with anger this time, and step closer to him, holding my lip brush between us like a talisman. I carefully outline the delicate lines and curves, concentrating hard on not letting my hand shake. Nearly there. With the tip of my finger I lightly caress his mouth, blurring the outlines of the lipstick so it blends perfectly with the skin beneath. I bite my own lip hard in concentration, so hard I taste blood, and this time he is the one who catches his breath. Surprised, I raise my eyes to his. His eyes are on my mouth, I inhale sharply, breathing in his scent, and find myself completely unable to move. For a long moment we stay frozen in place, my finger on his lips, until he drags his eyes away from my mouth to meet mine, and finally he speaks. “Thank you, Rosa, that will be all.” I snatch my hand away as if burnt, and, face flaming, I scuttle back to my kit in the corner as the stylist and photographer swoop forward to claim him. I am shaken and feel slightly dizzy, as if I am drunk or drugged. I spot a carafe of water in the corner and manage to gulp down a couple of glasses. The photographer comes over to me, smiling. ''That's exactly what I wanted, thank you. I will admit, I was very upset when Gloria couldn't make it, but she assured my you were excellent.” I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank goodness I planned ahead with the product selections, I would have been completely lost. I thank the photographer, and step forward to thank Mr Park, but he has already been ushered into the next room to change his clothes. I feel both deeply wounded and immensely relieved. What must he think of me, behaving in such a way? While it seems the rest of the group have either not noticed or politely overlooked my discomposure, it was clear he had. I gather my things and beat a hasty retreat. Back at my apartment, I call Gloria who I know is waiting impatiently to see how I went. She crows victoriously when I tell her what the photographer said, and tells me this would be the start of great things for me. I still feel so shaken, I cannot help wondering if this is true. After telling her to go back to bed, and concentrate on getting better, I grab Muttley's leash and hurl myself along the beach with him for an hour. The salty, cool breeze helps clear my head a little, and his joyous antics with the seagulls make my heart happy. By the time I get back home with some fish and chips, I feel as though the luxurious resort and strange experience of Mr Park are floating out to sea with the tide. I sit on the verandah, feeding Muttley chips and watch the clouds turn slowly purple as the sun goes down behind us. I am just about to go inside, when my phone rings. It is a number I don't know, so I reluctantly answer. A man's voice asks for a Miss Rosa Corbyn, then advises that Mr Park Ji-Ho would like to engage my services the following evening, and my heart does this strange thing where it both leaps and falls at the same time. I hear myself calmly agree to the terms, and request an emailed brief, before the call ends and I am staring stupidly at the phone in the gathering dark, wondering what the hell I just got myself into.