Page 213 of Captive Ruin

“I love Lukas,” I tell him, “but it’s Van Wyk who fucks me.” And not gently. Never that.

He spins me, facing me to the steps and giving me a little push. “On the lounger,” he orders, voice low with need.

“You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I don’t care.”

“But if we wait, you’ll be able to do it again, and again.”

“I will anyway,” he growls. “Make no mistake, Little Stray, after that declaration, nothing will prevent me from pinning you down and forcing my cock inside you.”

My eyes close as my arousal spikes, my body clenching with need, legs turning weak. I’m grateful for the support of the water as I wade through to the steps.

But there I pause. He’s right behind me, and I take my time climbing, swaying my hips more than necessary, arching my back and pushing my ass toward him. The groan he can’t help is my reward.

The loungers are right there, five of them near the windows. Yet I don’t want those; they’re not sturdy enough for what I have in mind.

And as soon as I clear the steps, I flee.

His laugh follows me. “Run then, Little Stray. I will always find what’s mine.”

Forty-Six

Amelia

It’s not my plan to hide. Our bedroom is my destination.

The chase is because I want him as worked up as I can get him. I hope I’m not pushing him too much, that he doesn’t do himself an injury with what’s to come.

Assuming I get my way.

He marauds through the house after me, his tread heavy, banging doors open. “Little Stray? Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

In all the time I’ve known him, this is the only occasion he hasn’t been stealthy. It’s the exhilaration of being hunted; playing out a fantasy with the man who is my fantasy.

My heart races, the blood pounding through my veins, my breath shallow, heat climbing my throat. The thrill of fear. He won’t harm me, but he does have that list. This will hurt, and I want it to. My breasts need his touch so bad they ache, and I’m so wet it’s embarrassing.

My steps are silent because I don’t want to tip him off too soon, and I reach the bedroom well ahead of him. I’m lying on the bed when he walks in, my fingers entwined around the bars of the headboard, one knee raised.

An offering to him.

He pauses in the doorway to run his gaze over me, and lets loose a low growl of promise. If I wasn’t already wet, I would be from hearing that. And from seeing his cock, heavy and thick.

He leaves me waiting, crossing to the dresser instead and digging beneath the clothes in a drawer. He pulls out a pair of cuffs.

I was certain he didn’t have any of those. I should’ve known better.

“Turn over,” he commands.

I stretch lazily. “Make me.”

He’s on me before I can question the wisdom of my choices, his hand around my throat, holding me, the cuffs loose on the sheets. His eyes watch mine for a long moment, and then he smiles. It’s not predatory or vicious, it’s soft, gentle. Full of love.

And the fingers of his other hand slap down on my breast, right over my nipple.

Heat flares through me and I gasp, high and sharp. My eyes flutter closed, but I force them open, wanting to watch him. My skin stings, but he smooths it away with the back of his hand, tilting his head as he regards me. “Turn over?”

“No.”