Captive Souls Read Online Anne Malcom

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Crime, Dark, Suspense Tags Authors: Anne Malcom Advertisement1

Advertisement2

Instead, with all the willpower I possessed, I looked up at Knox.

“You’ve had food for me this entire time,” I deduced slowly. There was no way I’d just missed a bag of rice and a can of beans. When you were as hungry as I was, looking for food became a constant thing you did with desperation. Food was a background thought throughout the day, hunger a part of my being.

“You’ve been watching me slowly starve knowing there was food that I could eat,” I realized out loud.

Not even an ounce of guilt crossed Knox’s expression.

“You enjoyed it,” I hissed. “Watching me hurt. Watching me starve.”

No reaction.

My cheeks heated from my hatred toward him. And his fucking games.

“Can you hurl wrath at me and eat at the same time?” he asked mildly.

I ground my teeth together, furious, starving, confused. I wanted to hurl the plate at the wall, just like he had with my mug of tea. It would be the thing to do, to establish my strength, dominance, to show him that he couldn’t break me.

But I needed to survive too. And therefore, I had to make the choice between a show of strength or possibly looking weak in order to help me stay strong.

I gave him one last scowl before leaning forward to grasp the plate, my movements stilted and wobbly.

He didn’t offer to help as I fumbled with the fork with numb hands, he just watched.

Knowing that he was eyeing my every movement, I didn’t shove the fork in my mouth like an animal as I was desperate to do. With forced casualness, I leaned back on the sofa, slowly bringing the fork to my mouth as if I hadn’t been surviving on handfuls of fruit and bread for a week.

I bit back the moan that built at the back of my throat once the food hit my mouth. It was good. Anything would’ve tasted good at that point. It was well made, the rice buttery and perfectly cooked, the beans dynamic with flavorful spice and herbs.

I swallowed with relief and delight.

“Good girl.”

My entire body jolted at the praise coming from Knox’s mouth as he watched me swallow.

I looked at him, my entire body having a visceral reaction to the words. Heat, warmth pooled in my core, my nipples pebbling.

It must’ve been my head injury because suddenly Knox did not look cold and cruel; he looked hungry, ravenous … for me.

My hand holding the fork shook as I battled against my own hunger.

“I. Am. Not. Your. Good. Girl.” I spat the words out as if they were made of gravel. They were that heavy to speak too, not entirely truthful.

I wanted with all my independent, feminine fury for them to be true. But in my darker heart, I questioned it.

The hunger that I might’ve imagined left Knox’s face.

“Keep telling yourself that.” There was a slightly arrogant yet sexy drawl to his normally lifeless tone. “When I come back, that plate will be empty.”

And then he left the cabin. Left me with food I didn’t want to eat on principle and feelings that were absolutely depraved.

Yet I finished the bowl. I damn near licked the bowl. I finished the tea too. And, although there was no logical reason for me to even think of doing it, I lay back down on the sofa.

It was where he slept. It smelled of him. The scent enveloped me.

Pine and salt and darkness. As if darkness had a smell. It did, though. Rich and deep and enchanting. Forbidden.

He slept there. I wondered what he dreamed about. Did monsters dream? Did his sins build up and sit on his chest like a kettlebell? Or did he sleep peacefully? Without regret.

Or, I wondered, did he dream of me like I dreamed of him?

Without knowing I was doing it, my hands went to my leggings, slipping beneath the tight fabric and finding my panties.

I toyed with them, biting my lip, knowing what I was doing was impressively fucked-up, knowing that Knox could walk back in at any moment.

But I didn’t care.

Not enough to stop.

My fingers went to where I was aching, where his words had stroked me. My teeth sank into the flesh of my lip, drawing blood as I circled my own clit, thinking of Knox’s hands. Imagining him coming in here and finding me like this, pressing me down on this sofa that smelled of him, ripping off my leggings then violently thrusting into me, bordering on painfully.

I writhed against the sofa as I imagined him pounding, his fingertips biting into my hips, filling me. Losing control with me. Claiming me.

My orgasm found me hard and quick, lost in a fantasy that was completely taboo.

My limbs were rigid from the way my body tensed against the overwhelming pleasure, and though I tried to silence it, a moan left my mouth.


Advertisement3

Advertisement4