Page 5 of Stolen Bride for the Don

I jump forward, swallowing the scream bubbling up in my chest. Why is he so fucking fast? I start running again feeling like I’m being hunted. Hudson is certainly a predator. Stones and broken branches dig into my bare feet. I wince but keep running even though my momentum slows.

It happens so fast. One second I’m running, my feet painfully scrambling through the rough terrain, and the next I’m flying. What the–that asshole lunged for me! The momentum from the pressure of his hand against my back makes me lose my footing.

Before I hit the ground, though, thick arms band around my waist; he twists around as we both crash down, his back taking the brunt of the fall.

“Damn you! Let me go!” I gasp, trying to catch my breath from the exertion of running and falling. I struggle against him, but his arm is like a steel vise.

“Hold still,” he grunts, flipping me to my back on the hard ground. I seize the opportunity to start punching his chest, increasing my struggle. I refuse to give myself over willingly; I will fight him all night if I have to.

“I will if you let me go!”

He glowers at me and then snatches my hands, pinning them above my head with one of his. He uses the other to grip my thigh firmly as he wedges himself between my legs, effectively trapping me beneath him.

The bright moonlight highlights his features. Gone is the tenderness that had softened his face earlier when he was feeding me water, now replaced with a tight jaw and furrowed brow as he struggles with his anger. But I’m beyond caring. All I know is that as soon as he gets me to where he wants us to go, all chances of escape will be gone. This is it, I need to get away…if I could just find a way out of his grip, I could probably run again.

“Please, Hudson, let me go,” I try again, changing tactics. Maybe pleading will work where making demands didn’t. “You don’t have to do this.”

His gaze collides with mine, and the tight grip he has on my wrist loosens a bit. “Shh, it’s okay, pet. I don’t want to hurt you,” he tells me in a gravelly voice. “Come with me quietly. I’ll look after you.” His gaze drops to my lips, his brows furrowing further, emphasizing his frustration.

He clenches his jaw until a muscle ticks. I realize that he’s not angry. He’s fighting himself, struggling against his desire to…kiss me? Last night, I thought our attraction was mutual. I felt more than willing to kiss him and more, but he had left.

Confusion and a hint of lust starts to soften my panic. What is wrong with me? How can I be getting turned on in this situation? He shakes his head like he’s trying to dislodge his own inappropriate thoughts; the movement makes his hair fall over his forehead. His green eyes gleam hypnotically. Goosebumps erupt over my exposed flesh.

Here I am about to be kidnapped by a psychotic man, but I’m not scared. Of him anyway. The situation terrifies me, but somehow I trust that he won’t hurt me. The air between us shifts smoothly, becoming infused with tension. My stomach clenches with…anticipation. Fuck. I start to struggle halfheartedly when I feel his thick length against my stomach. I go still, eyes dropping between us to see a large bulge in his pants. My eyes fly to his. His gaze darkens, muddling my thoughts.

“Hudson?” I ask in a whisper.

I’m suddenly hyper aware that in our struggle, my dress has become bunched up to my waist. The only thing stopping him from taking me right now is a black lace thong and hopefully some semblance of morality a kidnapper might possess. His pants are barely containing him at this point; one flick of his belt and button and he’d be springing free. Heat sears my brain at the thought of him inside me.

My body trembles with need, unnerving me even more. I’ve never been this out of control before; clearly it’s the adrenaline coursing through my veins because I’m not of a sound mind. “Let me go,” I growl through clenched teeth.

Hudson doesn’t reply; he only stares at me silently with narrowed eyes and flared nostrils.

Frustrated, I dig my heels into the earth in a bid to slide myself up and somehow escape his death grip. I won’t be able to shove him off me unless he allows it–or possibly if I hurt him–but he’s conveniently removed my knees from the vicinity of his most vulnerable area.

I’m truly out of luck. I barely even move an inch before he tsks in disapproval, his hand tightening on my thigh as he yanks me back. His grip slides to my waist, pressing me into the ground harder. His eyes shoot down to what he grazes over my hip. They widen, and then dilate. I glance down to see that he’s staring at my very sheer and very skimpy panties.

I’m frozen in place by that look. Dark, molten hunger. No one has ever looked at me like that before. Like he’s been starving for days, and I’m his last meal before certain death. Would he savor the chance to have me or take me greedily in fear of me slipping away. Without conscious thought on my part, my body softens in compliance, relaxing into the ground; his eyes go half lidded with approval.

He loosens his tight grip on my waist, and his hand experimentally glides down to my bare hip. His rough, callused palm scrapes over my skin, sending shivers over my body. He groans at the contact, like he feels the electric heat as well. I hold my breath as anticipation rolls through me. Of what, I’m not sure.

I’ve only just realized that perhaps in this scenario, he is my last meal before my untimely doom. Should I take what’s offered on a silver platter? Do I even have the willpower to deny what could be my final and–if the intensity of his stare is any indication–possibly best sexual experience of my life?

I watch the movements of his hand, spellbound. His rough hand moves over my body tenderly, as if reverent. His cock thickens against my belly, and I stifle a moan. The last thing I want to do is give him any indication that I might actually be enjoying this twisted encounter, but my traitorous body has other plans and presses into his erection

He suddenly goes unnaturally still, cursing roughly under his breath. He jumps up like he’s been burned and yanks me up, roughly dragging my dress down my body with more force than necessary. I blink up at him, a little disoriented and confused. What just–?

“Are you going to try to run again?” he asks huskily, and I frown. The lust fogging my brain dissipates, and I take a shaky step back. This man is dangerous. So dangerous.

He curses again; and before I know it, he bends down to loop his arm behind my knees, tossing me over his shoulder. I take a moment to catch my breath, inhaling sharply, then I start screaming, wriggling around as I pound his back with my fists.

“Put me down!” I screech in frustration. I can’t believe I had let myself be distracted by his unnerving appeal.

“Scream all you want, pet. No one can hear you. No one who can help you anyway,” he mutters as he adjusts me on his shoulder. My fists clench harder with the realization that he’s right; that doesn’t mean I’ll go willingly, so I keep pounding his back.

Crack! His palm lands on my ass. The sting shocks me into submission, and heat courses through my body. I go still, stunned by the fact that he just spanked me, and that it had aroused me. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Shut up, or I’ll do it again. And I won’t hold back next time,” he threatens.

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