He throws me over his shoulder like I’m weightless, my stomach colliding with the hard plane of his back. The world flips upside down. Blood rushes to my head. I’m hanging, dangling, helpless.
The smell of him fills my nose—leather, smoke, something sharper, metallic almost. My fists beat at his back but it’s useless. He’s a wall.
Then a sharp sting lands across my ass.
I freeze, feeling the pain radiate.
He just spanked me.
The shock reverberates down my thighs, up my spine, settling low in a place it has no business being. My skirt rides up, the cool air brushing bare skin. Shame prickles hot across my body.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I cry, horrified at the way my voice shakes.
He doesn’t answer. He just does it again.
Another sharp smack.
And the traitorous jolt that follows has me gasping.
No. God, no.
I hate myself instantly, loathing the way my body reacts. The way something deep inside twists with each hit. The way heat pools traitorously in my core even as I’m terrified.
“You asshole,” I sob, fury and confusion tangling in my chest.
He laughs, low, bitter. And his palm lands again. And again.
By the time he slams me back onto the chair, I’m shaking uncontrollably, my face wet with tears. Rope bites into my wrists once more as he ties me tighter this time. My mouth is gagged with rough cloth, silencing the sobs that keep spilling out anyway.
And yet, it’s not the pain of the ropes or the gag that destroys me.
It’s the horrifying realization that part of me responded to him. That under all the terror and nausea, something else was there. Something I should never feel for some random guy who just fucking kidnapped me.
3
Miles
Ishouldn’tlikethesight of her tears, but I do. I like it when girls cry. They run down her flushed cheeks in fat, wet drops, glistening under the sick yellow bulb above, and every single one makes me feel something I’m not supposed to. She looks at me as if I’m the devil himself, and maybe I am, because the more she shakes and sobs, the harder it gets to drag my eyes away.
And I definitely should not have liked how much I spanked her as much as I did. The sound of my palm connecting with her ass still rings in my ears, sharp, filthy, wrong. Her little skirt had ridden up from being tossed over my shoulder, pleats flaring and exposing the tiniest strip of her cheerleading uniform. Navy and white. Shiny fabric clinging to her ass like it was sewn on. And beneath it, a flash of pale skin that shouldn’t be carved into my memory but is anyway.
Her chest heaves with every panicked breath, heavy breasts straining against the fitted top, the logo of Pointe High stretched across them like a taunt. She doesn’t even realize what she’s doing to me, what the sight of her writhing in that uniform does to my already fucked-up brain. I tell myself it’s just biology, a reaction I can’t control, but deep down I know better.
I wish I had her mouth. That perfect, glossy mouth that never fucking stops moving. I wish I had her warm lips wrapped around my cock instead of spitting curses and begging for freedom. The image hits me so vividly I almost groan out loud, and I have to dig my nails into my palms to stop myself from going insane.
And then my phone vibrates.
The screen lights up, flashing a name I cannot ignore.
My gut clenches. I pull away, forcing the haze from my mind. Duty before desire. Always. I glance over my shoulder at her, tied and trembling, her green eyes wide and wet. Then I look at Rico—the tattooed asshole in the vest still hovering, still watching her like she’s prey he can’t wait to sink his teeth into.
“Keep an eye on her,” I tell him, voice firm, no room for argument. “And don’t do anything stupid.”
His lips curl, tongue darting out to lick at them, and my blood pressure spikes.
I know that look. That hungry, twitchy look.
Fuck.
