Page 45 of Captured

Emily

Psychosis.

The moment where one lost his or her mind. Or more tragically and clinically put, a collection of symptoms that affected the mind, a break with reality. That had to be what I was experiencing.

But the moment he plunged his long, thick cock into my pussy, I was lost, hopeless to react in any other way but clinging to his shoulder. I dug my fingernails into his skin, holding on as if for dear life.

He was gentle at first, other than the initial brutal thrust, taking his time to pull out and slide into me again, ensuring I was wet and ready. Hot and bothered. The way he was staring into my eyes, still unblinking as he unleashed his beast was almost as powerful as the man. I found myself unable to look away, fearful I’d miss something.

Or that he’d drop me in another cage of some kind. My mind was a complete blur as my pussy muscles clamped and released, pulling him in even deeper. It was crazy hot, the sensations even more electrified than before, pulling me from the nightmare I’d felt into another moment of pure nirvana.

Nothing seemed real yet with every stroke going deeper and deeper into my core, I was pulled into a crazy abyss of his making. Everything was spiraling out of control, including my perception of right and wrong.

Good and bad.

But the crazy electricity and connection we shared refused to be denied. I wasn’t pushing him away; I was clinging to him, pulling him even closer.

His silence was odd, as was the penetrating look that never left him, but I continued to be swept up in his crazed world. The force he was using drove the headboard against the wall, but I doubted it mattered to him if any damage was created from his roughness. I raked my nails over his shoulder to his back, wanting nothing more than to draw blood.

Another grin crossing his face, he pulled first one of my legs around his hips then the other. “Take out your aggressions on me, baby girl. Fucking scratch the hell out of me.”

I was startled by his demand, the look in his eyes darkening even more. The iciness in his insanely gorgeous blue eyes was telling.

The man had no soul. Of that I was certain.

“Scratch me. Do it!”

I wanted to revolt but I did as I was told, raking nails from one hand down the length of his back then the other. I sensed how much he craved the pain, his entire face lighting up. He thrust even harder, pushing me into wave after wave of pure ecstasy. It was crazy and sickening, but I was pushed into the kind of pleasure few people ever experienced in their lives.

While I kept my hold on him, I couldn’t concentrate any longer, the vibrant images of the night he’d entered my room a total aphrodisiac. How was that possible? My stalker, the man who’d killed my best friend’s boyfriend and the one who’d left me flowers on two separate occasions was becoming someone I longed for.

An obsession like I was to him.

No. No. Oh, hell, no. I wasn’t going to fall into some Stockholm syndrome. Even my worthless father had warned me of that. How had he become such an expert?

Because he’s a heinous criminal just like the man fucking you into submission.

The thick cords in his neck captured my attention, the man so built, so muscular that he could do anything he wanted with me and I’d have no recourse. I pressed my knees against him, drunk off the intensity of his musky yet toxic scent. I was so lightheaded, incapable of thinking about anything but the raw bliss.

As another orgasm powered into my overheated core, I did what I could to shut it down.

But as had occurred before, it was no use.

The man’s control over me was growing, fracturing my resistance in a way I could no longer avoid.

“Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh.” My moans were automatic, obviously pleasing him more than they’d done before. Now he thrust with so much force the breath was knocked out of me. I gasped for air, unable to fill my lungs as one climax pulsed into another, keeping every inch quivering. I lolled my head, trying to block out the sensations but it was no use.

He’d awakened something as dark and deep seated as I knew existed within him.

When I started to float down from the rafters, he pulled all the way out, rubbing the tip of his cock around my bellybutton. As before, I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off him. It was ridiculous, his actions something that should continue to repulse me but that wasn’t the case. It was so intimate, so ripped with passion that focusing or thinking was impossible.

I didn’t fight him at all when he flipped me over onto all fours. The power he had over me, the crazy domination that I’d wanted to hate was just as rattling as all the strange thoughts tearing through my mind. I had to find the strength to fight him and his unwanted effects. Somehow.

Some way.

When he wrapped his hand around the back of my neck, I was once again reminded that he was nothing but a brutal thug.

And I was simply his prey.

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