Page 63 of Savage Lover

I wait anxiously for the last number…and whatever’s going to happen next.

It doesn’t come.

I count to ten in my head over and over as I breathe in and out as silently as I can. I must have counted to at least a hundred by now.

Maybe he went back upstairs?

I’m just starting to wonder if I’m going to spend the night in this cold, hard bathtub, and wishing I’d found a closet full of blankets or something to hide in, when I think I hear something.

My senses kick into high gear as I remain frozen in place, trying to listen as hard as I can.

I don’t hear anything else. It was probably the storm.

With a sudden whoosh, the curtain flies open at the far end of the tub.

“I told you I could smell you, lover.”

I’m on my feet without thinking, the prehistoric animal in my brain running the show. I manage to escape Ben’s grasp as he reaches for me, and I make it out the door—but just barely.

I don’t get two steps into the hallway before he’s got a strong hand on my shoulder, pushing me against the wall.

“Why are you running?” Ben asks in his calm, terrifying serial killer voice at the same time I scream, “Let me go!”

The contrast of our two levels of calmness is distinct. Every scary movie I've ever watched has had a scene just like this, and the woman being chased—or caught as it so happens—acts just like I’m acting.

I know I should remain calm and think this through, but I don’t seem to have that ability any longer.

All I can do is try to escape.

I drop to my knees, hoping to dislodge his arm from my shoulder.

It’s the wrong move.

Once I’m in a ball on the floor, Ben covers me with his much larger body like paper covering rock.

“You thought you could get away. I’m going to have to punish you now.”

I want the punishment—whatever it is. I want it so bad my clit is throbbing between my legs. I’m surprised we can’t both hear it screaming for his touch.

But, unfortunately for my poor pussy, I also want to win.

I go limp in his grasp and make him drag me to my feet, supporting my full weight as we head toward the stairs. It doesn't even seem to faze him to be lugging a hundred and forty pounds of dead weight with one arm.

Hell, he probably does something similar at CrossFit.

My hope is that he’s going to set me down somewhere and I’ll be able to make my escape.

I don’t have to wait very long.

When we get into the living room, he strips my tank top off, leaving only the white lace bralette underneath. The white fabric seems to glow in the low light.

“My pretty little prisoner.”

I continue to say nothing, give him nothing. He tosses me on the couch and comes to stand over me, his legs wide, his hands on the back of the couch as he leans over.

“I was hoping you’d put up more of a fight, but I guess your surrender is pretty sweet, too.”

He stands up and looks around the room. I see my chance and take it.

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