Prisoner (Criminals & Captives #1)(47)

But then I pull out. The whole point here was to get some rest. I need rest. She needs rest.

*

I wake up with a pounding headache…and a light tugging on my ankle. With effort, I keep my body relaxed but not unnaturally still; that’s the trick to pretending to sleep. I learned it early on as a kid, not that it did me much good.

The bed shifts slightly as Abby sits up. She pushes the covers aside. The slightest tug and a whisper of air tell me she’s trying to untie the string. I stay very still and let her do it. The string tickles my skin as her end of it falls to the bed.

She makes it to the door before I spring up and push her from behind, pressing her into the wall with my body—not hard enough to hurt her. Just hard enough to send a message. I clench my fist in her hair and pull back.

I wrap my free hand around her neck and squeeze gently, to get her attention.

“Good morning,” I whisper in her ear.





Chapter Twenty-Seven




Abigail


My mind is like one of those old film reels, black-and-white stills flashing in front of me, out of sync with the music. And there’s static. So much static in my own brain that it scares me. Did I bump my head? Am I hallucinating? But one fact registers in the onslaught of imagery: I’m naked.

“Let go of me.”

His fist tightens in my hair. His other hand presses against my neck. I feel a puff of warmth against my skin. “I think I like where I’m at.”

I struggle, kicking away from the wall and jerking my head in his hold. He doesn’t ease up. No, he leans against me, using his weight to press me against the wall. My cheek flattens against the smooth, cool surface. I’m panting, and so is he—but for different reasons, I think. His breathing is labored…and aroused.

Then I realize something else: he’s naked too.

His cock is hard against my butt. The image fills me with raw heat, flames licking my body from the inside. And anger.

He’s touched me with more than his cock. And I don’t remember undressing. In fact, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have agreed to that.

I would have lost.

“What happened last night?” I’m near tears, but I fight them. I can’t look weak now. Power is the language he speaks, and the waver in my voice is already a disadvantage. A single tear would be surrender.

He sighs like I’m overreacting. I want to kick him in the balls.

“What did you do to me?” I demand again, louder. Almost hysterical, really, and I hate how much I sound like my mother in her crazy moments.

“I didn’t hurt you,” he says.

A chill runs down my spine. Did he touch me when he undressed me? Then a steel door slams down on my thoughts. Of course he touched me. I don’t want to know what happened after that.

Except I can guess, especially when my thighs brush together, a little sticky. A little wet. More wet than I’ve ever been when having sex. It doesn’t make sense that I’d have been turned on. It also doesn’t make sense that I would still be turned on, after sleeping for hours.

But I know that’s what happened.

Humiliation runs through me like a river, filling every empty space inside me, reflecting light on places better left dark. How could I have been turned on by him? Embarrassment swells to fury, and I twist my head violently. My hair would pull right out of my scalp if he didn’t let go—but he does. He releases me, and I snap at him with my teeth. I wish I had fangs to sink into his neck, right where the scruff fades to nothing.

He laughs. “You’re a little wild. I’m not letting you near my dick with that mouth.”

I go crazy, hitting and punching like a maniac. I think I’m hurting myself more than him. Everything hurts, but I can’t stop. Stopping means I’m okay with what happened, that I enjoyed it. “You’re a f*cking caveman. You’re barely even human!”

He picks me up and suddenly I’m spinning, then sailing through the air. I land on the bed with a bounce. I roll away and push up but the sheets tangle around my ankle, and I fall back onto the bed, limbs uncoordinated. I could hear the horses on the way into the house yesterday, and this is how it must feel, being born and expected to stand right away.

Grayson’s on top of me, yanking my wrists up over my head and pinning them beneath his hand.

He straddles my chest. I’m helpless, and he’s looming over me. A kind of pleasure roils deep in my belly—my body betraying me. “I hate you,” I say, and a hot tear slides down my cheek. Surrender. Now he knows how scared I am, and I hate myself a little for giving it away.

The bed creaks as he leans down. Is he going to do it again? Have sex with me? Of course he’s going to do it again. But he just places a kiss on my forehead, chaste and almost sweet.

“Calm down,” he murmurs.

I’m the opposite of calm. I’m naked and crying, and with Grayson that’s almost the same thing—both vulnerable and broken.

He caresses my arms, my sides. “Shh, no one’s going to hurt you. Not as long as I’m with you.”

“Don’t lie to me,” I snap. I’d rather he threaten to kill me again. I want him to be a monster.

“Am I lying?” He sounds amused. “Are you hurt right now?”

“Yes!” I say because now that I’m still, I can feel the twinge deep inside me, the slight ache that means he had sex with me.