“Fucking shit, shit, shit! She likes it rough,” I hear him grumble.
The sting on my ass morphs into a delicious throbbing, and that’s when my eyes fly open. I was dreaming. Or was I? I’m staring at a man’s neck. A neck that has a hickey clear as day on it.
Oh. My. God.
The night before comes flooding back. I was dreaming. Kinda. I’m not in my clinic. I was just lying on top of Lucias, riding myself to orgasm.
Slowly I pull back, like maybe if I go slowly enough he might disappear and I won’t have to die of embarrassment. But then my eyes meet his. I can’t read his look, so I choose to look away.
My eyes travel up his face to his hands, which are gripping his own hair in a tight hold that looks almost painful.
“You smacked me,” I accuse. It’s the first thing I could think of. I need to point away from the fact I did what he’d encouraged: used him for my own pleasure.
“I tried not to take advantage, but it’s hard when you got your fucking dream girl crawling all over you, asking you to touch her.” He grits the words out like he’s pissed off.
I sit all the way up, straddling his body. His own body looks tight, like every muscle is straining to remain still.
My eyes go back to the mark on his neck. Did I do that? No. I wouldn’t. I don’t give hickeys…or ride men to orgasm, for that matter.
“You have a hickey,” I tell him, trying to sound disgusted, which I am. I didn’t do that. It clearly has to be from someone else.
One hand releases his own hair and goes to that spot. He smiles.
“You’re in bed with me and you have another girl’s hickey on your neck.” I scramble off him as I throw the words at him.
He grunts as he sits up, his feet going over the side of the bed, his hand going to the bridge of his nose, clearly frustrated with me.
“Is that the problem? You think I’m some manwhore or something? I already told you I haven’t had a woman in this room ever, and I haven’t touched one since I laid eyes on you.”
“Oh. It’s clear you don’t touch them. You just let them…them…” I fling my hand towards him, unable to find the right words, but then I remember what he said to me. Take what you want. Use me. Get what you need, baby.
Why am I even fighting with him about this? I’m kidnapped. It’s like my brain has turned to orgasm mush, and I’m all jealous over a man I should be smacking, not caring who sleeps in his bed.
“Use me?” He drops his hand from his face, cocking his head to look at me. His eyes roam over my body, making me feel naked.
I feel the warmth run to my cheeks. I did use him. Then he smacked my ass. Which I liked entirely too much. Thinking about it makes that delicious burn return.
“You’re the only person in the whole fucking world I’d let use me.” With that, he stands. He’s only wearing boxer briefs, and it’s then I get a look at all those tattoos I’d always wondered about. They were always poking out from under his clothes, making me often itch to push up his sleeves to see them. Now I can see every inch of them.
“I’m going to say it again.” He leans down, putting one hand on the bed as he looks me dead in the eyes. “You’re mine.” His eyes travel all over my body again, and I swear I can feel them on my skin like a possessive touch.
“And this,” his other hand grabs his cock through his boxer briefs “is yours. You can use it anytime you like. Only you.” Then he gives me a half-smile. “Well, I’ll have to use it until I can get those thighs that belong to me to open nice and wide for me.”
My mouth drops open. I should be doing that smacking thing, but I swear my nipples just got harder. Kidnapped, kidnapped, kidnapped, I repeat to myself.
“Don’t look so shocked, Izzy. Those thighs were made to open for me. Just like this cock can only seem to get hard for you.”
He licks his lips, his eyes going to the juncture of my thighs and they part a little. I don’t think I could have stopped the action for anything in the world. His hand leaves his cock, coming to rest on the bed. His intentions are clear. He’s coming for me.
A bang on the door makes me jump. I turn to look.
“I know where Pinch is,” I hear someone say from the other side of the door.
That I’m-going-to-eat-you expression drops from Lucias’s face, and his features harden. Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s jealousy. I don’t even want to try to break down why I like that. He still thinks I’m Pinch’s “Bitch,” as Savage had put it.
He pulls back from the bed.
“Don’t move.” He turns to go for the door. They’re going after Pinch. I jump from the bed and run for the door. I turn, letting my back hit it, blocking Lucias from opening it.