Page 16 of Bought By Sin

No.

Not—

What?

The beginning wisps of panic curled within my mind again as I tried to deny that mental image that came out of nowhere.

But he wasn’t helping at all. He raised his hand and slid his finger under the strap of my tank top. My bra, too. The slow drag of his rough fingertip caressed the curve of my shoulder as he urged the fabric to fall.

“Too filthy in this,” he said.

Breathing harder and faster, I tried to stay calm.

He was so slow as he traced his finger down the hem of my shirt, stroking over the skin above my breasts. Too slow. Unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to do as he pleased with me. Like time obeyed him, not the other way around. Blood raced through me, making my heart pump faster as I tried to imagine what he wanted to do with me. To me.

For me?

I closed my teeth tight together at the thought of that.

The only thing he’ll give me are instructions. And through them, a chance to devise my escape.

“Too filthy to stay in this,” he added as hooked his finger at the valley of my hem. One tug down ripped the threadbare fabric.

I held my breath at the rush of cool air on my skin. On the top swells of my breasts that the bra couldn’t contain. The bareness of my flat stomach where too many scars remained. My shirt was shredded in half, hanging open like an unintended vest. It curled from pilling, and I hated that he was practically stripping me. The beige shirt hung over the outer sides of my breasts. He didn’t hold back from admiring what he unwrapped. His brown gaze turned darker as he eyed me. No other expression showed on his face as he moved his hand over me, nearly rubbing my breast, almost pushing against the hard bud of my nipple that perked under the heat of his gaze.

I sucked in another breath, sharp and sweet, as I considered I had my answer now.

He wanted me to be that kind of a slave.

One without clothes on. Taking his dick and letting him pound me raw. He saw me as a purchased toy, to fill my holes with his cum.

Ten years had slithered by in captivity, but I’d only been subjected to this brand of hell once. I’d been serving as a functional smuggler, a runner, not a whore.

As he inched his hand further, I realized that he had other things in mind.

“I bet I could think of something for you to do when you’re not so filthy.” His voice had dropped to a lower, gruffer growl. He had yet to look up at my face. Standing this close as he set his hand on the inside of my ripped shirt, placing it on my side, he dug his fingers in slightly.

Possessive.

Needy, even.

He slid his hand down my side until he gripped my waist.

Do. Not. Panic.

Don’t…

Don’t…

I couldn’t think. I couldn’t latch on to one warning. Because that panic had gotten twisted with something else as he kept his hand on my side, standing in my space and looking down at my body, his lips set together with impatience, his scents surrounding me and tempting me to want.

I did.

I could struggle to repeat a mantra not to panic, but my body was already going down another path of instinct.

An ache settled between my legs. Blood rushed there, making me throb. Wet arousal dampened my panties. And if he brought his hand back to my breasts, he would be able to feel the solid tips of my nipples peaking under my bra.

Dammit.