No, no, no.
Such a sweet virgin pussy, all for me.
I can’t breathe.
Sayplease. Convince me you’re worth it.
Specks of white blur my vision.
I hear acrunch, then a grunt. My legs give out, and I collapse on the ground, inhaling sharp pulls of air. My hands fly to my neck, where I can still feel the asshole’s hold like an iron clamp burning into my throat.
My eyes dart around the dark alley.
Another grunt, a muffled curse, this time right behind me. A body hits the ground.
Still dizzy, I’m about to turn around when a pair of strong hands lock around my waist and pull me to my feet.
Breathing hard, my gaze slowly focuses on warm whiskey.
Holy shit.
“Move,” Easton commands, yanking me forward with him. I push myself without thinking, each step fog-like and surreal as I try to keep up with his pace. We’re almost to the end of the alley when I look over my shoulder.
My attacker’s pulling himself to his feet. He spits on the pavement, wipes his mouth, and looks right at me.
My stomach churns.
Easton’s hand gives mine a slight squeeze. I tear my gaze off the asshole to focus on our surroundings. Narrow walls become streetlamps, darkness blends with bright headlights. We’re about to reach the bus stop, but Easton veers left, leading me to an abandoned parking lot. He fishes keys out of his pocket, I hear abeep, then we’re at his black Audi.
We’re both out of breath when he opens the passenger door, gently easing me inside before making his way to the driver’s seat. He locks the doors, checks the windows, and starts the engine. Then, he reaches across the center console, cups my cheeks with large warm palms, and searches my face. One hand slides down my neck. His brows are furrowed in concentration as he rakes his eyes over me.
I gape at him, the quick rise and fall of my chest the only movement I can make.
“Are you okay?” His voice is low. Fire against a cold breeze. “Did he hurt you?”
His hands burn against my cheek, my throat. My pulse thumps against his fingers. Three years I’ve wanted him to touch me. To reach for me. But not like this. I can practically see my reflection in his attentive eyes, and it hardens the flames to ice within me.
I’ve worked so hard to get him to stop seeing me like a broken little girl, and one night ruins it.
“I’m fine.” I jerk my head out of his grasp and pull my seat belt on, focusing hard on the buckle. “Come on. Let’s go.”
He pushes out a breath, then I hear him shift and fasten his own seat belt.
After putting the car in drive, he tears out of the lot, his grip tight around the steering wheel. My gaze slips back to him of its own accord, but I try not to make it obvious.
My fingers itch with the need to run through the tousled waves of his dark hair. There’s something still boyish about his face even though he’s the size of an NFL linebacker. Easy, gentle. It’s the kind of face that could make a girl spill all of her secrets without ever realizing he’d stolen them. But as much as he embodies nonchalance, anyone paying attention can see how attentive he really is.
His finger raps on the steering wheel. And his eyes run miles deep, laser sharp and sparkling with a rough and restrained edge.
I shift in my seat.
A muscle in his jaw twitches once, twice.
The air is thick with tension, each breath more difficult to inhale.
He won’t look at me, but I can’t look away.
I scan his torn bottom lip, the bruise forming on his cheek, and his hard expression.
