Owned by the Bad Boy(18)
“Where’s my baby?”
Eyes that are so much like my son’s cut across the room. Luc’s feet tread on the creaking floorboards, and he drags a metal chair by the beaten-up desk to the bed. Saying nothing, he sits down.
“Our baby is fine. I just fed him.”
I’m still not used to the scar on his face, but the rest of him is just like how I remembered. His hair is a little longer now, and he still has the ability to freeze me with his eyes. There’s a different quality to them now. Fear pricks over my skin.
“Are you going to kill me?”
The eyes slide to my face. “I should.”
What the fuck does that mean?
My throat closes up. I want to plead for my life because I need to be alive for my son. He needs me, for God’s sake. He’s only a few months old.
“Luc, please don’t do this to me.”
“Do what?”
“I—I don’t know. I want to live, please! My baby—our son—”
A smile flickers over his smooth lips, the bitterness in his mouth cutting my words. His fingers make my skin singe as he plays with the clasp on my wrist. A second later it unlocks and I’m free, but I don’t feel any relief. After freeing my ankles, he grabs my arm and roughly pulls me to my feet. The venom in his gaze makes me flinch. He was never like this—he was always playful and charming.
“What’re you doing?”
Luc yanks my arms behind my back and forces me toward the bathroom. “We’re taking a shower.”
Goddamn it.
“You don’t have to be so fucking rough!”
“I’m still very pissed off, sweetheart.”
I stumble into the bathroom, my bare feet slipping over the tiles as Luc steps inside, shutting the door. My heart skips a beat as he reaches up and unbuttons his shirt.
“Take off your clothes.”
The button-up shirt slides down his shoulders, revealing coils of thick, hard muscle. Wicked tattoos spiral around his arms. It’s the first time I’ve seen him shirtless in proper lighting. My mouth dries as I rove over his rippling chest. Diagonal pink scars are scattered all over his chest and abdomen. They’re thick. What could have caused them?
Suddenly he’s at my side, burying his hand in my hair. Pain lances across my scalp as he pulls my neck back so that his seething face hovers over mine.
“Luc, what’s your plan? You can’t just kidnap me.”
“I just found out I’m a father. My plan is to get to know my son.”
Where do I fit into this equation?
A crazed smile breaks his face. “My other plan is to get my cock to work right here.” He grabs my pussy and squeezes his fingers hard. “I’ve got a lot of pent-up frustration.”
As much as I hate it, his voice works inside me as his hand continues to squeeze. Blood careens in my veins. So he’s going to use my body. What happens when he’s had his fill?
“I know I fucked up—”
His eyes flash. “Fucked up doesn’t begin to cover it. You hid your son from his father. He needs me.”
“We don’t need you!”
My voice echoes shrilly, bouncing off the tiles. Muscles in his arms flex, and a thrill of fear shoots into my heart. I shouldn’t have said it.
“What the fuck did you say?”
Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up and don’t piss him off!
“I was doing fine on my own.”
“Yeah,” he laughs. “You were doing fine, all right.”
My cheeks burn. I know that he’s remembering the shabby state of my apartment. The one before that was even worse. I still remember the look on his face when I showed him my apartment when we were first dating.
“You’ve got to let me take you out of there.”
I let out a laugh. “What—are you going to pay for my rent?”
“I will.”
My smile didn’t fade, even when he grabbed both my shoulders. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“Luc, we’ve been dating for a month.”
His hands crept to my neck, and he looked right into my eyes. I never felt so vulnerable in my life. I couldn’t handle the way he was looking at me. Blood rushed to my skin.
“Claire, we’re going to be dating for a lot longer than that.”
My heart soared. I had the same feeling at dinner. I never met anyone so passionate, so interesting and charming. “How do you know?”
The smile tugged at my heart. “I just know.”
I look at him, trying to find the man I knew behind that bitter smile, and I can’t. I hate memories.
“You need to let me go!”
“Not a fucking chance.”
“This is kidnapping.”
“I’m taking back what’s mine.”