Six(17)

I stared at the screen in complete and total horror.

Kidnapped.

Hostage.

And I was the number one suspect for the crimes my captor committed.

“There are others after you now. Not just the police,” he said next to me, then he sighed. “This’s going to make things harder.”

I turned to him. “Harder?” My arm swung back then forward, connecting with his chest. “I hate you! I hate you!” I pounded my fists against him. “They think I killed them! Why didn’t you just kill me? Bastard!"

A few hits was all I got in before he took hold of my wrists, stopping me. "Do you want to die?"

I struggled against his grip, wanting to bash his skull in and get away. "No, but if I'm going to die, I'd rather it be by anyone but you! I was actually happy that night. I thought you were something real, but you’re just a lunatic murderer!”

His lip curled up into a snarl. He pulled my arm high while his other hand grabbed the back of my neck, pulling me to him. When his lips pressed against mine, tongue slipping across, forcing it deeper, I thought I could hold my own. I thought I’d be disgusted.

I was wrong.

Just like that night that seemed like a lifetime ago versus less than forty-eight hours, I melted into him. All the hatred for him disappeared as our bodies mashed together. A moan crawled its way out of me, and as soon as the vibration hit him, he stopped.

His breath was harsh when he stepped back. Our eyes met, and the force of his glare made me flinch. He stepped forward and pushed against my chest, sending me falling onto the bed.

He stood over me, and the blood that pumped furiously through my veins fell from my face. He pulled his shirt up and over his head, tossing it to the ground, before crawling onto the bed.

I drew in a shaky breath, pushing back as he forced my legs open and caged me against the bed with his arms. My eyes were wide as I reached up and placed my palms on his chest.

"I've been pretty f*cking nice to you, Paisley, wouldn't you agree?"

"Y-Yes," I managed to stutter out between my shaking lips.

He reached between us, his hand skimming across my stomach until he reached my panties. Grabbing them and twisting, he pulled them until they tore away from me.

"Then I'll make you hate me even more. You’re nothing but a f*cking beader. I'm going to use you, f*ck you, and there’s nothing you can do about it."

I whimpered, my body shaking as he shifted his weight, popping open his jeans. My body tensed and I tried to crawl back, but he held my hip down on the mattress with the force of his weight.

The tip pressed against me, bare, but I didn’t care about a condom any longer. I was going to die, so what did it matter?

He grunted when he thrust his hips forward, pressing his cock into me.

I gasped, my mind going blank, moaning when he pulled out and pushed all the way back in. Everything that happened evaporated, except my body remembering his.

And he felt even better bare. Skin-to-skin delicious friction.

Every logical thought said to be appalled and frightened. To scream and curse at him. To tell him no and push against him. Something, anything, that indicated I didn’t want what he was doing.

Instead, my heels pressed into the mattress as my hips rocked up to meet his.

I was scared. I was turned on. Every emotion in me was on the fritz to the point I didn’t know what to feel. Confusion laced with desire and an edge of fear topped off with a gorgeous body slamming a big cock into me.

“Your * is squeezing my cock. You aren’t supposed to be enjoying this.” He hissed into my ear as he grabbed on to my throat. His breath was hot against my neck. “Then again, I’m sure your body remembers the other night. I bet you felt me all day long.” He snickered. The lack of air increased the intensity of everything I was feeling, my * clenching down tighter around him. “Have you been horny, waiting for me to press my body against you, shove my cock in your *?”

My back arched, and I whimpered.

“Tell me, Paisley, do you like my cock in you?” He relaxed his grip on my neck.

I drew in a shuddering breath, my eyes fluttering. “Yes.”

“Are you about to come? Too bad.” His voice was strained at the end, muscles coiled tight as his hips jerked with so much force he had to grab onto my shoulders to keep me still, his cock twitching with each spurt inside me.

I wanted to cry, the conflicting emotions in me tearing me up from the inside. He was trying to rape me, and I’d been so close to coming. I wanted to come. It was the only pleasure I was going to get before I died. Why did he have to deny me?

He pulled out, gaze locked on my *, which was practically begging his cock to come back in for another round. Reaching down, he grabbed my hair and twisted my body around.

“Clean me up.”

It wasn’t a request.

The juice covered tip of his cock hovered above my lips. One hand still in my hair, he used the other to angle his dick down and between my lips.

Jizz and my own juices covered the hot head and slipped down into my mouth as my tongue worked circles around his still hard cock.

He pushed his hips forward, forcing past my gag reflex. “Relax, baby. I’ve been down your throat before, you can do it again.”

My gag reflex kicked in, my throat trying to evict his finally-starting-to-soften dick. Little moans from him turned me on, to my own self-disgust. A little slap to my clit, and I moaned around him.