Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“I didn’t want to do this, but you’re making me.” His voice sounded actually pained.
He grabbed my wrists and began to tie them up with a rope. I tried to fight it, and he pressed my back against his chest and locked me in so tightly to him with one of his legs that I couldn’t move.
“Please don’t pull on the rope. It’ll get tighter, and I fucking hate it when you’re hurt.”
Was he serious, or was this a joke?
He pressed a kiss to my forehead, then tossed me back over his shoulder. When I tugged at my hands in frustration, the ropes tightened, and I winced. He hadn’t lied about that. I remained still as I watched the ground grow more wooded as he stepped over fallen limbs. My stomach was starting to hurt from the position I was in when he finally stopped. I heard a car door open, and I turned my head to see a truck I didn’t recognize. It didn’t look like his.
He eased me off his shoulder, as if he knew it was hurting me, then placed me gently in the passenger seat and buckled me up. I wanted to shout at him, demand he untie me, ask him what the hell he was doing. But all I could do was watch him walk around the front and climb inside the driver’s seat. We were somewhere in the woods that I hadn’t known existed and had never been. But there was a small road cleared through the woods up ahead.
“Are your wrists okay?” he asked, picking up my hands and looking at them.
I shook my head.
He frowned. “I told you not to pull. Dammit, it’s gonna leave a mark. This skin is too pretty to damage.”
“He’s not sane on a good day, but when you are involved, he can be a touch demented. Just … be prepared.”
Was this what King had meant? I wished he’d been more specific. Not so vague. I’d thought he was referring to Thatcher showing up in my room in the middle of the night. Or shoving his friends against the wall and shouting at them. I had not thought he meant he would tie me up and … what was this anyway? Kidnapping? Was he taking me home or where?
“We need to get going. Don’t pull them again. I can’t fix it yet.”
Where did we need to get going to?
He put the truck in drive, then reached over and placed his hand on my leg, slipping his fingers between my thighs. I stared down at it. His hand was large and a dark tan color, like the rest of him. The veins in them and his rough palm made them even more masculine.
GOD! What was I doing? The man had me tied up and gagged, taking me off somewhere like a crazy person, and I was lusting over his hand. But it was between my legs, and I was wearing running shorts. This was unfair and so very messed up.
“You quit,” he said as he pulled out onto a back road I also didn’t recognize.
I turned and looked at him.
He glanced at me, then back at the road. His long lashes, straight nose, strong and defined jawline, wide mouth with just the perfect amount of plump to them- just enough to make them soft, distracted me for a moment.
“Can’t let you leave me, little doll,” he said as the hand he had on the steering wheel tightened. “Even before I had a taste of your pussy, probably couldn’t have let you go then either. But now”—he shook his head—“you’re mine.”
Distraction over. I gritted my teeth, wanting to yell at him and slap him. I was not his. He did not own me. He had left my bed, then gone and screwed some other girl. I wasn’t that girl, and I couldn’t do it. I’d already let myself get attached to him, which had been so very stupid.
I stared hard out the window, my body tense, angry, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Thatcher’s hand slid up until his finger brushed against the crotch of my shorts. I hissed in a breath. I didn’t want this. I could still hear that girl crying out his name. He might still have her on his hand. I shivered at the thought and wiggled, trying to get away from his touch.
“Don’t,” he warned, squeezing my leg to keep me still.
I swung my eyes over to him.
“This is mine,” he snarled. “Don’t try and keep it from me.”
No, it sure as hell was not! I growled through the gag. He glanced back at me as I did my best to shoot daggers at him with my eyes. He began to grin, and then he laughed.
I was not being funny. I was furious.
He handed me a bottle of water. “If I pull over and ungag you so you can drink, will you be good? Keep that smart little mouth shut?”