It’s then that I notice something I hadn’t before. Maybe I was too horny or distracted by her fucking gorgeous boobs, hell if I know, but I see it now: the limp. She has trouble when she walks, unable to support her weight on her right leg. I see her grimace in pain, and find myself worrying about her.
What the fuck is that? I don’t worry about bitches. She owes me a fuck, and that’s it. I push anything else out of my head. I move to intercept her, trying to keep my eyes off her legs. So she’s limping. Maybe she twisted her ankle trying to get away from me. The thought makes me mad all over again. If she didn’t want to start our little game, the bitch shouldn’t have led me on.
I grab her arm at the Jeep. Her soft gasp travels through the night air and she goes completely still. I pull her back hard, ignoring the spasm of guilt I feel when she falls awkwardly against my body—another sign she has a problem with her leg. Not that it matters. This is about fucking. I don’t need to know her life’s story.
Not at all.
It’s probably no longer than five minutes since I made my escape, but it feels like a freaking hour. I should have ran the minute I met him. Bethie was right. I shake my head at my own stupidity and start walking faster towards my Jeep. I’m probably too buzzed to drive, but I can hide there and use my phone to call a taxi. I’m almost to the vehicle. I can see the bright yellow glow of it under the street light’s ray.
A hand locks around my upper arm and I gasp in surprise, because I didn’t even hear anyone behind me. Before I can scream, I’m pulled against Torch. I may have only danced with him once, but I instantly know it’s his body, his heat behind me. His large arm locks around my stomach, not letting me move an inch. His other hand pulls the hair from my neck a little too roughly, but the sting of pain only amplifies my anticipation.
“I thought I told you not to go anywhere, sweetness?”
“You took too long,” I say in my defense, my voice hoarse. Even I can hear the need in it.
“Something you should know about me,” he says against my neck, his voice dark and hard. A chill runs down my spine, but I wouldn’t say it was from fear—I wouldn’t say that at all.
“What’s that?” I ask, trying to keep my mind on his words and not on the hand pushing my dress up.
The chill of the night air hits my ass and I swallow as I look around to see if anyone can see us. The way he has his mouth against my neck though, I can’t turn. I’m about to complain when the sound of ripping fabric reverberates through the air. Then he pulls my underwear from my body. The wind blows against my exposed pussy and my panic kicks up a notch. I try to look around again but he doesn’t let me.
“I don’t like to be disobeyed.”
“But—”
“And I don’t like to be argued with. You’re going to have to be punished, Holly,” he growls. His words should scare the hell out of me. Instead, I feel moisture pool on the inside of my thighs.
His hand palms my ass and he gives it a squeeze. I should hate it because he’s definitely not concerned with who is around when he manhandles me. He’s not being gentle either, and he’s threatening to punish me. I don’t hate it. In fact, when he pulls me back, half-dragging me about ten spaces, I feel completely at his mercy. My body must love that because I am wetter than I have ever been in my life. He turns us around and I’m standing in front of a bike. I don’t get time to ask him what he’s doing before he pushes me over the seat of it so my stomach is against the cushioned area. I pull against his hold, trying to get away from him, not sure of what he’s doing. Blood rushes through my system and now it is a mixture of excitement and fear because he has me pinned to the seat of the bike—refusing to let me move. His other hand pulls my skirt up around my hips, exposing me completely.
“Hunter…”
“Don’t speak unless I tell you to,” he growls. It’s then that I know I’m not prepared for all that is Torch. He seemed so easygoing, so laidback when he was flirting with his cheesy pick-up lines. He’s anything but, now.
“But…” I start again, the panic rising inside of me.
His hand leaves my ass. I think he’s finally going to let me go. I plan to jump in my jeep and get the fuck out of here. I try to pull myself up, but he pushes down harder on my back.
“Hunter,” I growl, getting pissed off now. Bethie and I have taken self-defense classes. It’s one of the first things we did when we escaped France, but I’ve already let myself get in this position and my brain is foggy from the mixture of booze and sexual awareness that I can’t for the life of me remember what the instructor told us to do in this situation. You know, besides not getting yourself into this situation. That was probably mentioned. I’m an idiot.