Captive Souls Read Online Anne Malcom

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

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I worried that even the plea hadn’t melted him.

Then he lunged forward. “For fuck’s sake.” He snatched a handful of the paints I’d been deciding between and a fistful of brushes before hurling them in the cart.

“We’re going,” he ordered, taking hold of me and dragging me along with the cart.

I smiled all the way to the checkout, letting Knox shove all the items on the belt with his surly energy.

I hadn’t even noticed he’d stopped or that his attention wasn’t on me until he spoke.

“You look at her for a second longer, I’ll rip out your eyes and feed them to you,” Knox quietly told the man behind me.

I couldn’t be sure, but it did seem like the man had been looking in the vicinity of my ass that Knox now had his palm on possessively.

I swallowed my smile as the man paled and looked ready to pee himself.

“Let’s fucking go.” He snatched up the bags, flattening his hand on my back as we walked out.

“I like shopping with you,” I said cheerfully as he glared at two men who dared walk past me.

His eyes darted to me. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

I wasn’t sure what that meant. Maybe he liked it too.

Sixteen

Piper

“It’s not your birthday is it?”

I smiled into the canvas I’d propped up on the easel I’d erected after pushing aside the dining table so he could paint in the middle of the room.

Knox hadn’t offered to help; he’d just sat on the sofa, chain-smoking and watching me. The windows and doors were open to let in the warm breeze, the only way he’d even entertain smoking inside. I’d urged him to do it, which was against everything I stood for since I’d previously thought it was a bad, deadly habit that shouldn’t be engaged in and certainly shouldn’t be inflicted upon others.

But now the bitter and acrid smell was intoxicating to me. Comforting. The simple act of him sitting on the sofa, watching me, smoking was calming.

He’d put out the cigarette, his hands on my hips, featherlight. He smelled faintly of tobacco.

“No,” I told the blank canvas.

“You manipulated me into getting what you wanted.” His lips brushed my neck.

I shivered as they traveled to the base of my ear before he lightly bit down on my earlobe.

“Yes.”

His hands went under my shirt, feathering up my stomach and then my rib cage.

“I’m proud,” he murmured.

I smiled in surprise. “You’re not mad?”

He continued brushing against the ridges of my collarbones, the base of my breasts, but not moving upward to where my peaked nipples were crying out for attention.

“I’m not mad,” he replied, a rasp in his voice. “Manipulation and cunning are what you need if you’re going to survive me, Petal.”

Though his velvet words were meant to be some kind of ominous threat, I didn’t take them for that. Knox was so sure that my character would have to degrade if I stayed in any kind of life with him, but I knew the opposite was true.

This was not the time for debate, though.

“What do you want to paint?” I asked, staring at the blank canvas, anxious anticipation rising within me.

Knox’s form was tight, coiled. I could feel the discomfort radiating from him. He was in uncharted waters, feeding parts of himself that he’d long starved.

My soul cried for the ways he was damaged. And I vowed that I’d be there to help repair whatever I could and treasure whatever I couldn’t.

He put gentle pressure on my torso so I turned to face him, his hands still grazing my ribs. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” His eyes ravished me. “You,” he added after a heartbeat.

My breath fled from my lungs. He’d called me beautiful, perfect before. But the power in the words, the reverence in them floored me.

I nodded, trying to play it cool. “Okay.”

“Naked.” He trailed his finger along the hem of my tee, pulling at it to expose my collarbone. My breath hitched at the simple touch.

“Naturally,” I said, breathing heavily. “I’ll … go get ready.” I gestured to the bathroom, unaware as to why I was suddenly acting so chaste when this man had seen all of me.

So I did what any sane—debatable—woman would do. I went to the bathroom to get naked for her captor to paint her.

“Ready?” I asked him, grinning. Once I’d set up the easel, he’d taken over arranging everything else he needed.

I’d watched him with rapt attention, enchanted by him moving in this way. His deft fingers arranging paintbrushes, paints, precisely lining them up beside him. If I got a ruler out, I’d bet they were the exact same distance away from one another, down to the millimeter.

He looked up from his paints.

I saw it. The flicker of uncertainty. Of … fear? Unease? He was out of his comfort zone. And that satisfied me. That he was willing to go there with me.


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