“Are you all right?” There is a concerned expression on Nora’s face as she reaches up to touch the area above my left ear. Her slender fingers are gentle on my scalp. “Does it still hurt?”
Her touch sends pleasure streaking down my spine. I want this from her. I want her to care about my well-being. I want her to love me even though I stole her freedom—even though, by all rights, she should hate me.
I have no illusions about myself. I’m one of those men they show on the news—the ones that everyone fears and despises. I took a young woman because I wanted her and for no other reason.
I took her, and I made her mine.
I make no excuses for my actions. I feel no guilt either. I wanted Nora, and now she’s here with me, looking at me like I’m the most important person in her world.
And I am. I am exactly what she needs now . . . what she craves. I will give her everything, and I will take everything from her in return. Her body, her mind, her devotion—I want it all. I want her pain and her pleasure, her fear and her joy.
I want to be her entire life.
“No, it’s fine,” I say in response to her earlier question. “It’s almost healed.”
She pulls her fingers away, and I catch her hand, not ready to forego the pleasure of her touch. Her hand is slim and delicate in my grasp, her skin soft and warm. She tries to tug it away reflexively, but I don’t let her, my fingers tightening around her small palm. Her strength is insignificant compared to mine; she can’t make me release her unless I choose to let her go.
She doesn’t really want me to let her go, anyway. I can feel the excitement rising within her, and my body hardens, a dark hunger awakening within me again. Reaching across the table, I slowly and purposefully unbuckle her safety belt.
Then I stand up, still holding her hand, and lead her to the bedroom at the back of the airplane.
* * *
She’s silent as we enter the room and I close the door behind us. The area is not soundproof, but Isabella and Lucas are at the front of the plane, so we should have some privacy. I don’t normally care if someone hears or sees me having sex, but what I do with Nora is different. She’s mine, and I don’t intend to share her. In any way.
Letting go of her hand, I walk over to the bed and sit down on it, leaning back and crossing my legs at the ankles. A casual pose, though there’s nothing casual in the way I feel as I look at her.
The desire to possess her is violent, all-consuming. It’s an obsession that goes beyond a simple sexual need, though my body burns for her. I don’t just want to fuck her; I want to imprint myself on her, to mark her from the inside out, so that she will never belong to any man but me.
I want to own her completely.
“Take off your clothes,” I order, holding her gaze. My dick is so hard, it’s as though it’s been months, instead of hours, since I had her. It takes all of my self-restraint not to rip off her clothes, bend her over the bed, and pound into her flesh until I explode.
I control myself because I don’t want a quick fuck. I have other things in mind for today.
Taking a deep breath, I force myself to stay still, watching as she slowly begins to disrobe. Her face is flushed, her breathing coming faster, and I know she’s already aroused, her pussy hot and slick, primed for me. At the same time, I can feel the hesitation in her movements, see the wariness in her eyes. There is a part of her that still fears me, that knows what I’m capable of.
She’s right to be afraid. There is something within me that thrives on the pain of others, that wants to hurt them.
That wants to hurt her.
She takes off her fleece sweater first, revealing a black tank top underneath. Her pink bra straps peek through, and the innocent color excites me for some reason, sending a fresh surge of blood straight to my cock. The tank top comes off next, and by the time she’s pulled off her boots and jeans, I’m all but ready to explode.
In her pink matching bra-and-panties set, she’s the most delectable creature I have ever seen. Her petite body is fit and toned, the muscles in her arms and legs subtly defined. Despite her slenderness, she is undeniably feminine, her ass perfectly curved and her small breasts surprisingly round. With her long hair flowing down her back, she looks like a Victoria’s Secret model in miniature. The only flaw is a small scar on the right side of her flat stomach—the reminder of her appendectomy.
I have to touch her.
“Come here,” I say hoarsely, my cock straining painfully against the fly of my jeans.
Staring at me with her huge dark eyes, she approaches cautiously, uncertainly, as though I might attack her at any time.
I suck in another deep breath to prevent myself from doing exactly that. Instead, when she reaches me, I lean forward and firmly grip her waist, drawing her toward me so that she’s standing between my legs. Her skin is cool and smooth to the touch, her ribcage so narrow that I can almost encircle her waist with my hands. It would be so easy to damage her, to break her. Her vulnerability turns me on almost as much as her beauty.