Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 64835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Then, he jerks his hand from my pants and shoves me against the wall, hard. My body being torn from him is a shock, but my orgasm being ripped from me is torture. He leans in close, eyes deadly. “Do you think I’m so fuckin’ stupid that your little sexual advances will actually work? Nice try, sweetheart, but I have no interest in fucking you.”
His words are like a blow to my very fragile mind.
“Your dick would say otherwise,” I growl.
“I can torture you in ways you could never imagine, you so much as think about touching me again. What I just gave you, that was nothing on what I’ll do if you so much as attempt escape again.”
“That was torture?” I laugh, bitterly. “Please, I’ve had a better time touching myself. In fact, I don’t need you to finish the job.”
I slip my free hand into my panties and flick my clit, eyes never leaving his. He thinks he can play twisted games, oh, I can play them too. I rub, moaning as the pleasure quickly comes to the surface.
“Fuckin’ stop,” he growls, but he can’t make me because if he does, he’ll have to release me and he won’t risk that.
“Yes,” I breathe, rubbing, never taking my eyes off his. “Oh god.”
I find my release with a whimper and a tremble that has a growl coming out of his throat that is guttural. With one, angry twist, he spins me around and slams my face into the wall, hand on the back of my head. I laugh, bitterly as he unlocks the door and then shoves me inside.
“Keep playing your games,” he growls, “I can make your life a living hell.”
With that, he slams the door.
Effectively locking me back in my prison once more.
He thinks he can play? He doesn’t even know the start of it.
ANOTHER TWO DAYS PASS, but he doesn’t come back. One of the other guys comes in and delivers my food and water, and he does so with a gun so very openly shown in the front waistband of his pants. I am beginning to feel claustrophobic in this room; it doesn’t matter where I go or what I do, the walls are closing in around me. I’m ashamed of my actions, yet at the same time I know I stirred something within myself, a desire to fight, a desire to show Jagger that I’m not going to roll over and take all of this.
I have thought a great deal in the last few days about my family, my sister, my mother, Ava ... I wonder if my mother ever knew about what my father was doing. Did she know he was into bad business? Is that why she’s so crazy? Does Jenny know? Are they looking for me? By now, they had to have alerted authorities that I’m missing, but will anyone believe them? Ava will fight, I know she will, she won’t back down until she gets answers. I love her for that.
I think, also, about the man holding me. How can someone so beautiful be so tangled up in this dangerous world? Is he truly a monster? Or does he just want me to think that? As much as I hate him, I can’t help but think about his lips on mine, his hands on me, and relish in just how good that felt. I’m certain my mind has gone and run off on me, because I’m actually fantasizing about my damned captor.
I’m ruined.
I’m sitting by the window. What time it is, I don’t know. I stare desperately at the trees outside, just needing a single second to breathe in the cool, crisp air beneath them. I hear the door open and am surprised when I turn and see Jagger standing, holding a tray of food. He’s dressed all in black, like he’s about to go to someone’s funeral. Heck, maybe he is. It’s hard to tell anything when his face is always that same, stone cold, expressionless perfection that I can’t read.
I want to slap myself for feeling any kind of attraction to this man. He’s a god damned asshole and yet here I am, admiring his utter perfection. His rugged good looks make my insides flutter. Whatever happened to personalities and all that? I blame my lifestyle. My mother wasn’t exactly going to win mother, of the year and she never taught me anything about self respect and going for the nice men. My father, well, he “died” before telling me the values I should be seeking.
I stare at my kidnapper. I think Jagger has a personality, it’s just hidden behind his tough act. I wonder what he’d look like if he smiled?
Probably knock me off my damned feet.
“Food,” he mutters, pointing to the tray. I snap out of my thoughts and stare at him, all caveman like and grunting.