Prisoner (Criminals & Captives #1)(84)

But it’s more than that—seeing her in her library room so worried and wound up, she reminded me of the girl I saw in the prison waiting room that day, and it felt all wrong in my gut. Not beautiful and smart like I know she is, but timid. Too composed. Hiding from everything like she isn’t worth anything. Like she can’t let people see her.

If I was a good man, I’d let her hide. I’d let her look out the window while I f*cked her, the view pretty and vacant. Her skirt is flipped up, exposing her bare ass. I could jack myself off inside her cunt and then let her get back to her journal. But I’m not a good man, and I’m not going to let her hide.

It doesn’t matter that she’d rather look at the sky so she wouldn’t have to face me. I flip her over against the desk—I want to see her eyes when I take her. She’s my sky, and I’ll watch her as I come.

She fights against me a little, and I grip her hard. I touch her the way that makes her boneless.

“Grayson…” Her breath speeds up, and her eyes fill with desire behind her glasses.

That look brings me to my knees. I kneel and press a kiss in the center of her cunt, right where it’s open and wet. She sucks in a breath. I know she wants more, but she won’t ask for it. I slide my tongue through her folds, learning the shape of her like I do every time. She shudders beneath me, quivering on the tip of my tongue.

Until I lick her clit. Then her whole body goes rigid. She moans something like my name. So I lick her again, and again, until I hear her clearly. Grayson, please. Grayson, please.

“What do you need, baby?”

She makes a sound like a tortured animal. I nip at her clit with the front edge of my teeth. She had to know this was coming, but she still cries out in surprise.

She likes me to nip her, to bite her, to hurt her a little—to make her feel. Her mom ignored and neglected her, but I’m the opposite; I can never get enough of her, and she knows it. Her cries echo through the room, through the open window, through the neighborhood of wrecked, unruly buildings.

My dick is hard, punching through denim. I pull myself free and clamp down on her thighs, positioning her, controlling her. I always move her body just how I want it, so I can f*ck her how I want to. I used to hate when she called me a caveman, but not anymore. Yeah, I dragged her by her hair into my cave, and I’m not letting her go. I plunge inside—and f*ck, yeah, it’s sweet relief.

She pulses around me, reeling from the intensity.

She whimpers. “Grayson…”

Blood thunders in my ears as I suck air through my nostrils. It’s all too much, and the only way I can bring myself back down is to lick and suck and bite at her breasts, leaving them pink.

“More,” she grates out.

I shake my head with her nipple still caught lightly between my teeth. I’m holding on like an animal with its prey. She can never get free from me. And she can never hide from me, not in her journal or her books. Not anywhere.

My balls draw up. I’m seconds away from coming. I won’t be able to hold back, so I make the most of it. I grasp her hips and she wraps her legs around me. Then I lift and rock her hips in both my hands, jacking myself off with her cunt in the coldest, rudest way possible.

She’s spasming around me. Her cunt is milking my dick. Her arms are clawing me, holding me tight. Even her mouth has latched on to the skin at my neck, sucking me—and I’m not even sure she knows it. She’s a feral thing in my arms, drawing me into her pleasure, drowning me in it. I shout as my cock releases into her, mixing with her wetness. I grasp her ass even tighter and use her body to wring the last drops of come and pleasure from my body.

I collapse over her, planting sloppy kisses on her neck, her ear. Then I pull myself up and look down at her.

She hated me once, but it’s not hate I see in her eyes now. Not even fear.

It’s love.

I don’t deserve her love, but I have it anyway. I don’t deserve her at all, but she’s mine. Beautiful, smart. And so f*cking strong.

It’s like the universe gave her to me to make up for all the other shit. And I think if I had to go through it again, knowing she’d be there at the end, she’d be my prize, I’d do it. I’d do anything to have her look at me that way.

My breathing slows. “I know you’re trying to figure out your piece for the journal. But I had to f*ck you.” The simple truth.

She sits up and shoves her hand in my hair, looking at me with those brown eyes. “I know.”

“I don’t want to stop you from finishing.”

Her gaze softens. “It’s okay. I know the piece I’ll put in now.”

“You were thinking about the journal while I was f*cking you?”

Her smile is a little wicked. Full of fire. My favorite kind of smile on her. “Just a tiny bit.”

Her glasses are still on. Sometimes I like to take them away. Sometimes I like to break them, and we have to get new ones. But other times I like her to wear them. They’re tilted after what we just did. I straighten them, the same way I arrange her hair and her body. I like moving her around. I like touching her. “Which piece?”

“This part I wrote of us in the car, right after the break out, when you touched my cheek. You touched me because you wanted to. Because you could.”

“Always,” I say.

“That’s the one I’ll put in. The day you escaped.”