Page 10 of His to Save
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, one hand sliding under my t-shirt to palm my bare ass, squeezing possessively. "Tell me you don't want this—don't want me—and I'll back off. I'll still protect you, still keep you safe, but I won't touch you again."
It's a lifeline, a way out of whatever madness this is. All I have to do is say the words. But they won't come. Because despite the fear, despite the shock of seeing those photos, despite knowing this is probably the textbook definition of Stockholm Syndrome—I want him. Want his hands on me, his body over mine, inside mine. Want to be his little girl again, praised and protected and possessed.
"I can't," I whisper, the truth spilling out before I can stop it. "I can't tell you to stop."
The smile that spreads across his face is triumphant, wolfish. He lifts me easily, setting me on the edge of the desk, stepping between my thighs.
"Then get ready,” he growls, and something inside me melts, “because I’m going to worship every inch of you.”
His mouth claims mine again, harder this time, one hand tangling in my hair to hold me in place while the other pushes my shirt up, exposing me to his hungry gaze.
I should be fighting this. Fighting him. Fighting the twisted attraction that's taking root inside me. Instead, I'm spreading my legs wider, welcoming the monster into my embrace, craving the dominance that should repel me.
What have I become in the space of one night?
And why does it feel so right?
six
. . .
Woodrow
I don’t knowhow long I hold my angel after I do what I promised: worshipped every inch of her until she fell asleep and napped in my arms like a contented little kitten.
She’s awake and stretching now, though, and there’s something I want to to do.
"Get dressed," I tell her, standing abruptly. "Something comfortable. We're going for a walk."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "A walk? Aren't we supposed to be hiding?"
"My property extends for twenty acres. All woods, all secured. We'll stay within the perimeter." I hold out my hand, helping her up. "You need fresh air. And I need to show you something."
Fifteen minutes later, she's dressed in her jeans from yesterday and another of my t-shirts, knotted at the waist. I've put on a black henley and boots. We step out onto the back porch, the morning sun filtering through the pine trees surrounding the cabin.
"It's beautiful," she says, inhaling deeply.
"Isolated," I correct her, taking her small hand in mine. "Defensible."
She glances up at me. "Do you always think in tactical terms?"
"Always." I lead her down a narrow path into the trees. "Keeps me alive. Keeps you safe."
We walk in comfortable silence for a while. The forest is quiet except for the occasional bird call and the crunch of pine needles under our feet. I watch Priscilla from the corner of my eye, her face tilted up to catch the dappled sunlight through the branches. She looks more relaxed than I've seen her yet. It suits her.
I take her to the small stream that cuts through my property, clear water burbling over smooth stones. A natural boundary line. I've set up motion sensors and cameras along it, but she doesn't need to know that yet.
"This is the edge of my land," I tell her, watching her kneel to trail her fingers through the cold water. "Everything from here back to the cabin is secure."
"It's peaceful," she says, standing and wiping her wet fingers on her jeans. "I can see why you live out here."
"Easier to spot threats coming." I step closer, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I wanted you to know that you can have space. You don’t have to stay trapped in the house, but I need you within my land. That way I can keep you safe, my angel.“
The possessiveness in my voice makes her breath catch. I'm about to pull her into my arms when a sound catches my attention—footsteps on the trail ahead. I tense immediately, pushing Priscilla slightly behind me, my hand automatically reaching for the knife sheathed at my ankle.
A hiker appears around the bend. Young guy, maybe early thirties, wearing a North Face jacket and carrying a water bottle.Civilian. Not a threat, at least not physically. But the way his eyes land on Priscilla, widening slightly as he takes in her face, her body—that's a different kind of threat.
"Morning," he calls, too friendly, his gaze lingering on Priscilla a beat too long. "Beautiful day for a hike."
