Stolen Course(8)

Instead, I answer, “Maybe. What do you need?”

“I have to go home tomorrow and pack up all my stuff. I’ve decided to move up here and do what I should have been doing all along—taking care of Sarah. Do you think you could call and give me updates about her until I can get back? It might be a few weeks. I just don’t know who else to ask. I don’t want to involve Brett anymore. He and Jesse seem so happy. He deserves to move on.”

“Yeah, sure. I can do that. Just so you know, I won’t actually see her, but I can definitely keep you in the loop.”

“That would be great.” She breathes a sigh of relief. “Here.” She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a card. “That’s my cell number. It’s also my work number, so I never leave home without it.”

I look down at the small rectangle business card in my hand that reads:

Magnolia Photography — Owner Emma Erickson

“You’re a photographer?” I ask surprised.

“Yep. For five years. Why the shocked face?”

“Oh, no reason. I dabble in a little photography myself. Nothing professional though.” I lift her card teasingly.

“Do you think she’s going to be okay?” She suddenly shifts to serious.

“If there is one thing Sarah is, it’s a survivor.” I try to fake a smile, but that’s all it is—fake.

“Thanks,” she returns with a sad smile. “You sure you don’t want a drink?”

“I shouldn’t. I’ve got to work in the morning.”

“You still a cop?”

“Yep.”

“You think you can sweet talk the nurses and get me back to see Sarah?” she asks without even a glimmer of humor in her eyes. Despite how hard I try, I can’t stop the smile from crossing my lips.

“Probably, but the uniforms outside her door don’t respond nearly as well to my charm,” I respond dryly, and her smile immediately grows to match mine.

“Well, it’s obvious you don’t try hard enough then.” She smirks, and I let out a small chuckle.

“Emma Jane, it was really nice to meet you.”

“You’ll keep me informed, right?”

“Of course.” And before I have a chance to flirt any more, I force myself to walk away.





“MARRY ME.” I thrust inside her so hard it pushes her up the bed and slams her into the headboard.

She answers the same way she always does. “No.”

Her rejection never gets easier. She loves me. I know she’ll spend the rest of her life with me, but I want more. I want to share a last name and make beautiful redheaded babies with her. I just want her to be mine. I don’t know why I need a marriage certificate to do that. She’s never been anything but mine since the day I first laid eyes on her.

“Manda, fucking marry me. You’re wearing the ring, so stop playing games and set a date.”

“I’m not playing games.” she whispers while moving to flip me.

I roll over and settle on my back as she begins to slowly ride me. She’s beautiful. The very idea of her tight, slender runner’s body moving over me is enough to finish me off, but it’s more than that. She owns me.

Reading my mind, she leans over, whispering into my ear, “I’ll love you for the rest of my life.” Her voice is distant and sad. It immediately causes worry to flood my veins.

I try to open my eyes to get a read on her, but they won’t budge. I struggle motionlessly underneath her, desperate to see those emerald greens. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t force my body to cooperate. Oblivious to my struggle, she never stops moving—harder and faster as the minutes pass.

Suddenly her scream pierces through the darkness. “Caleb!” It’s not pain or pleasure. It’s pure unadulterated terror.

I’m paralyzed against the bed, but I can’t grab her or save her from whatever demon that has taken hold. All the while, her relentless rhythm on my cock never falters. I fight under her, trying to see her, touch her. But I can’t move. It’s too dark, and my arms must weigh a thousand pounds.

“Manda!” I try to yell as fear rushes through my body, but no sound escapes my throat.

I strain, immobile under her touch. Her voice suddenly changes, and words I don’t immediately recognize hit me hard.

“I’m not my sister.”

I freeze as my mind tries to process who said it. Suddenly, a tall blonde with blue eyes flashes into my mind.

“I’m not my sister,” she repeats.

“Emma?” I silently whisper. She continues to move, and images of her dance through my blindness.

“Oh God, Caleb, yes!” she sighs as her body pulses around my cock.