Prisoner (Criminals & Captives #1)(46)

I know my breasts are bare, but it’s wonderful in the darkness. I’m dimly aware that he’s kissing them, touching me. Rough hands on my thigh make me move and squeeze my legs together, and I think how wonderful it is to have things feel amazing. I’m trying to stay aware—I don’t want him to think I’m not paying attention, but I go somewhere off in the floaty distance, and when I come back to him, I realize I’m totally naked, and I can move and feel and be with him.

I sigh at the sudden sensation between my legs, the sparks of his fingers. I kiss some nearby skin, and the feeling in my belly builds with stars, and I move like a snake against his warmth.

His breath sounds sharp, in little starts and stops, which seems funny when everything else is so slow and easy.

He says my name, and kisses me all over my face. I feel good, and I laugh.

“What is it, baby?” he whispers.

“I don’t know,” I say, because how am I supposed to know? And maybe I only imagined laughing, because my attention has moved on, and I realize his fingers are actually inside me now, and the second I realize that, the entire universe explodes in a dazzle of color. I ride that, on and on, and then all I feel is him pushing my legs apart, and I don’t like it, because he’s away from me, but like magic he’s back, inside me, pushing into me.

“Yes,” I whisper.

He’s in me; he’s through me. As if he’s light and I’m air. My brain is split apart with walls where pathways should go. I’m wandering through a maze in my own mind. There’s an answer, somewhere here. What’s happening? But all I can see is the brick wall right in front of me, over me, between my legs, pushing me down into oblivion, holding me like walls, making me want to stay.





Chapter Twenty-Six




Grayson


She’s soft underneath me. It’s like f*cking a cloud, if a cloud could clench tight and wet around my cock. In the dim light I can see the curves of her breasts, the hollow of her throat. Her expression is dazed.

Because she’s drugged.

“This is so f*cked up,” I mutter, the mantra in my head. She is f*cked and I am f*cked, but I don’t stop. I’ve never been so turned on in my life, and she’s barely conscious.

Abby, Abby. She’s not even Ms. Winslow anymore. Ms. Winslow is buttoned-up and careful. Ms. Winslow is safe—but I’m not even sure that girl was real. This girl in my arms rocks her hips against mine and moans until I’m so worked up I growl against her neck.

I could have driven away with Stone. I could have put a goddamned bullet in her brain. Instead I thrust into her swollen cunt and hope it never ends.

“Please.”

My cock flexes inside, hearing her beg. But I stop and pull out. I dig around in the drawer by the side table until I find what I’m looking for.

“Please,” she mumbles, her hands grasping. Does she even know what she wants?

I tear the condom package and sheath myself quickly. This is part of taking care of her. Part of owning her. Then I press back inside, all the way to heaven.

Her lips part. Her lids lower. She’s going to drop right out of awareness, asleep and pulsing around my dick. I tighten my grip on her hips, and I slam into her hard enough to wake her up again. Her eyes open wide as she whimpers. Her eyes roll back, but it’s not the drug this time.

It’s pleasure.

I’ve found the place inside her that makes her body jerk and her thighs quake. She can’t even help it. I plunge my dick inside her, again and again, finding that spot, battering it. There, there, there. Her mouth opens around a choked cry. I don’t think she could form words if she wanted to. She can’t ask me to stop, and that’s just as well, because I’m not going to.

Her eyes fill with anxiety. Even in her confused state, she knows the orgasm is coming. I almost feel bad for her.

Almost.

I know what it feels like for your body to betray you. I know what it feels like to climax when you’re being ripped apart. I know what it is to hate yourself. I hang there, with the tip of my cock parting her flesh, holding my breath.

Her eyes focus on mine. “Don’t stop,” she says, slurred and urgent.

I tear into two pieces. The one who wants this girl and the one who’s taking her. Then I slam into her and find home, find my release in a blur of shadows and light.

I stay inside her when I’m done, resting on her—not so heavy as to crush her, but she didn’t seem to like it when I pulled away before.

That’s how this thing works. She’s mine to care for. Mine to have. Nate understood it all too well.

Her breath evens out—not fake even but real even. Sleeping. I brush a strand out of her eyes. There’s a kind of furrow in her brow I don’t like; maybe she’s having a bad dream or something.

“Shhh,” I whisper. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Anyone else, that is.

Still that furrow. Is she having a bad dream? I stroke my fingers along her forehead, smoothing out the skin, showing how I want it, and she seems to like that, because she shifts and then the furrow disappears.

I wonder if I’ve chased some shit dream away. It gets me hard that I could do that. Literally. I’m still inside her, and I realize with a sort of weary surprise that I could f*ck her again. What is it about this girl? I move in and out, working up a little steam, testing it.