He grinned. “Mine.”
Then with one powerful thrust, he seated himself to the hilt within her. She cried out. Despite her prior orgasm, she was still tight, and he stretched her to the max. No warning or preamble, just his cock inside of her, filling her to completion.
Her walls clenched around him as he slowly pulled out and then quickly drove inward. Once, twice, three times. Each pull brought her right back to that razor-thin edge she had been hovering on earlier. Even though she had just come, her body was primed and desperate for him.
“Ready for me again already?” he asked.
“So close,” she admitted as he bottomed out in her again and a wave of pleasure shot through her core. “So very close.”
“Not yet,” he commanded.
She forced herself to hold back even as he drove into her again and again. She could wait. Oh God, she could wait.
Then his rhythm changed from methodical to relentless. He set his own course to owning and claiming her body. Reclaiming everything that they’d lost in his one moment of weakness. In her one moment of panic.
She could see in his eyes what that loss had cost him. The toll it had taken on him, how he would never forgive himself for giving in to his urges, for finally relinquishing control. His eyes said he’d never do it again. In them was a promise.
“Becks, come with me,” she cried, finally reaching for that strong jaw to bring his lips down to hers for one more kiss.
Their lips collided as he owned her body where he refused to own her blood. Taking everything she would give him but not everything he wanted. Not everythingshewanted.
Their eyes met, both so close. She was on the precipice and knew they would finish together.
…
Reyna woke up screaming.
She jolted upright in her plush king-size bed with its too many pillows and too much softness. Her hair was plastered to her face. Sweat coated her body, soaking through the thin white shirt she’d worn to bed.
Her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, and she looked around the small room. Everything was in place. Nothing had changed. Not a damn thing.
Beckham wasn’t here.
It had been a dream. A sick dream. A desperate, horrible dream.
Her hand moved to her cotton panties and found the slick wetnesswasreal. The ache still building in her lower half from lack of release. The aftereffects of the dream.
It had felt so real. So very real. She had felt him moving inside of her. She had seen the love in his eyes. She had known his remorse.
That was her imagination at work. Conjuring his face just to torture her with his absence. She ached to see him one more time, to remember the feel of his body and the love in his eyes, only to twist the knife deeper when she remembered that he hadn’t found her and she hadn’t escaped.
It had been fifty-five days since she’d last seen his face. Reyna made a mark in the notebook next to the bed.
Fifty-six.
Chapter Two
As if it wasn’t bad enough that she had woken up from that dream, it had to be a Thursday, too. A fucking Thursday.
On Thursdays she had to give blood.
Reyna shucked the covers off of her legs and stalked to the adjoining bathroom. She still didn’t consider itherroom. She hoped that she would never think of it like that. It might have a jetted tub, waterfall shower, an enormous bed, and a library to make any bookworm jealous, but that didn’t make it anything other than what it was—a prison cell.
She may have everything she could ever need, but she had nothing she actually wanted. No access to the outside world. No news of Beckham. No news of her brothers, not that she’d dare ask. The last thing she wanted was to bring attention to them.
And, of course, she didn’t have her freedom.
Beckham had offered that to her with a ten-million-dollar check in a brown leather folder. She hadn’t taken it, because she’d thought it was a trap. A way for Beckham to keep her indebted to him for life. She couldn’t have been more wrong.
