“I’ve already told you.” His palm smacks my ass once more. “You’re the only serious relationship I’ve had. You’re the only one.”
Heat spreads like wildfire across my skin and my nipples tighten. “You’re gonna make me come.”
“You want it soft while I tell you how much I love you?” His teeth graze my earlobe. “Or you want it hard and I’ll show you?”
I meet his thrusts. “Hard. I wanna feel you tomorrow.”
“That’s my girl.” He shifts his hips and quickens the pace, hitting my G-spot harder, fucking me deeper. One hand pins my wrists over my head and the other clasps my nape, giving me the restraint I crave while his body drives me into the mattress.
I come with blinding intensity, crying out and pulsing around his cock.
My gushing orgasm triggers his, and he follows me over the edge with a growled, “Mmm, fuck,” his forehead dropping to my temple.
He stays buried inside me and collapses next to me. He tucks me into his chest, his heart thundering against my back, and that’s how we drift off, sleeping soundly until someone beats at the door.
Chapter 21
Lucas
Alow groan drags me from the darkness, agony the first sensation I comprehend. My face is throbbing, and my throat is raw.
My head is tipped back, resting on a solid wall, my legs stretched out in front of me, my shoes missing. Dried blood crusts my chin, itching and cracking as I roll my tender lips.
Black spots dance in my peripheral vision, and I struggle to remain awake. I attempt to lean forward, and intense pain shoots down my spine.
My memories resurface, bringing with them panic-inducing fear. I twist and wrench my wrists against the binds behind my back until my arms shake and my shoulders scream in protest. Blood drips from my fingers, and I blink in and out of consciousness.
I wake, cursing myself. I’m an idiot, an absolute fucking idiot. I was in a rush, distracted by thoughts of getting railed by two men, and ended up instead stuffed in a trunk.
Maybe Jackson was right; I’m nothing more than a police academy dropout.
He doesn’t think that. He wouldn’t have offered you a job working security if he did.
I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the headache, and my mind drifts. I never went to a police academy, but I bet they teach their officers how to avoid being kidnapped in an alleyway during broad daylight.
Crap, I parked illegally behind Ethan’s apartment building. Jackson’s Land Rover must’ve been impounded or stolen by now. That tank disguised as an SUV probably cost a couple hundred thousand, if not half a million. Few civilians own military-grade protection vehicles. I wonder whether Jax or Kyle purchased it. Did the perps who jumped me track the GPS? Can Jax?
Not important at the moment. You’re delirious. How about you focus on staying alive?
What do I know? I’m caged in some sort of cellar. A musty smell clings to the back of my parched throat. Dim light creeps through a discolored, cracked window set high in a cinderblock wall. A train rumbles approximately every half-hour, the clickety-clack of the wheels echoing in the bitter silence.
I’m underground near the LA Metro.
Everything after I stepped out of the car is a blur. Ambushed from behind, I landed face-first on the concrete, smashing my forehead. Dazed, I flipped over and kicked out, connecting with an attacker’s nose. Another assailant retaliated with a boot to my cheek and temple. Despite the brutal pounding in my skull and my eyes watering, I kept fighting until a final blow to the head knocked me out.
I got complacent in my cushy new life and let my guard down, leaving my weapons and gear behind. It was careless and reckless.
You should’ve let Dante kill every intruder. Dead men can’t talk. You wouldn’t be in this situation.
This has to be related to the case. Why else would I be kept alive in a decrepit basement besides ransom?
They may seek to trade me for Jax or Aurora, a pointless endeavor, or they may demand the freedom of their imprisoned colleagues—also unlikely, given the excessive red tape and bureaucracy involved.
Hopefully, this isn’t revenge, and I’m not about to be used and sold off for sex. I’m in a cell similar to the picture Hugo sent to Jackson.
Either way, I’m fucked.
The thought sends a fresh wave of panic splintering through my chest, and my fingers tremble. I suck in a breath, my nostrils filling with dank, moldy air, and tug my hands with all my strength.
