Page 25 of Freed By Wrath

Valerie

Why is it so hot in here?

That’s my first thought as I drift back to consciousness. The second is the heavy, muscular body wrapped tightly around me. The third is the thick, rock-hard cock grinding against my ass, so heavy and insistent I can feel it throbbing through my thin dress.

Fuck.

When was the last time my fiancé woke up this hard for me? I can’t remember. Right now I don’t even care. My pussy is already soaking, clenching desperately around nothing. The ache is unbearable. I need to be filled. I need it so badly I start moving before I’m even fully awake, shamelessly rubbing my ass back against that fat cock like a bitch in heat.

Oh god… yes.

A big, rough, calloused hand grips my hip hard and yanks me back against him. The sheer possessiveness of it rips a needy whimper from my throat. I’m dripping. My thighs are trembling. I can’t think straight anymore.

More. I need more.

I grab his hand on my belly and desperately drag it down between my legs, not caring how sore my wrists feel. I need his fingers on my pussy. I need him inside me. I need him to stretch me open and fuck me deep until I can’t breathe.

He growls low behind me, grinding harder, and I can feel how badly he wants it too. I should turn around. I should open my eyes and kiss him. But I don’t. I can’t. I’m too scared this will stop if I do.

He lets me guide his hand under my dress. My soaked panties are pushed aside almost roughly, and the moment his thick fingers brush my dripping folds I moan pathetically.

“Please…” I beg, voice shaking with need.

“Please what, trouble?”

Trouble? The nickname hits me like a bucket of ice water and reality crashes into me all at once.

My eyes snap open, and I jerk upright so fast I nearly tumble off the couch, scrambling backward until my legs hit the center table in what seems to be a living room.

Everything inside me comes crashing down.

The party, Daniel’s hand spread across Serena’s waist with the confidence of someone who’d memorized her body, the pain, the betrayal, the fight. Then the masked stranger grabbing my wrist. His trunk. His friends and… my panic attack.

My hands won’t stop shaking.

I stare at them, willing them still, and they don’t listen, and somehow that scares me more than anything else tonight has. Seconds ago those same hands were dragging his fingers exactly where I wanted them. Begging with my body for something I have no business wanting from a man whose name I don’t even know.

Heat crawls up my neck, and it has nothing to do with the room.

I can’t look at him. Not yet. Not with my wrists still sore and my dress still bunched, and every part of me still humming from what my body decided to do without asking my brain for permission.

My heart starts pounding before I even understand why. Then my eyes land on him, and what I see leaves me breathless.

Before me, my kidnapper remains stretched out, one arm tucked behind his head and the other resting lazily across his stomach. Dark blonde hair sticks up in every direction, black T-shirt, black jeans, and a leather mask hiding the upper half of his face.

My eyes move lower, and I notice the reason I feel like a bitch in heat. The unmistakable bulge straining against the fabric of his sweatpants.

He doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed.

Asshole.

He catches me staring. One corner of his mouth lifts.

“Like what you see?” His voice is still thick with sleep. “You’re always welcome to come back. The night’s still young.”

“Fuck you,” I mutter. Instead of taking offense, he laughs in a low and warm tone. The sound slips beneath my skin before I can stop it, stirring something I can’t quite reach.

Then I notice his smile.