Page 22 of Captured By Fate

Her reluctant tongue grazes my hand, the warm velvet sending a jolt through me.

As I slide my digits into the waiting warmth of her mouth, I hear a small, determined moan escape her.

“That’s better, huh?” She says nothing but with each roll of her eyes back into her head I manage a little more spread onto her tongue and see a little more relief on her face. We lock gazes in the dim light, her defiant yet troubled mind burning with carnal hunger.

What this girl needs is a good fucking, and a good feed after.

“More,” she begs, as I dip my hand against the sticky dark chocolate. Smearing the nourishment over her lips, I see it melt perfectly against her skin, and I start to wonder if she tastes as good as she looks right now.

Slowly, deliberately, I trace the path of her tongue on my hand with my own. Her lips part, breath hitching at the provocation. The night air between us crackles with tension. I step closer, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin as her resolve wavers dangerously.

Her defiance only fuels my twisted desire. I pin her hard against the wall, eliciting a sharp gasp. My hands roam freely across her curves, testing her limits. I relish watching her stubborn resistance slowly crumble under my touch. This heady game of control intoxicates me.

"Ready to talk?" I whisper, my lips grazing her ear.

“Fuck you,” she says, and I wonder if she means it, until she breaks into a further string of curses, eyes ablaze.

I chuckle.

“Maybe tomorrow, then.”

We both know she won't break easily. The fire in her excites me. I intend to stoke those flames higher. This cat-and-mouse chase is just getting started. And I fully intend to catch her in the end.

13

KELLEY

God, this is torture.

As usual, I’m left trembling, my breath the only sound in yet another room as he turns his back to me. I want to scream, to grab him and pull him back here. Instead, I watch his form shift into the darkness, me a mess with a mess at my feet.

I find my knees buckling under the confusion and with my bare bottom on the cold kitchen floor, I struggle to find a breath.

Is he like this with everyone? Or just me?

My mind reels as I set my back against the cabinets, banging my head against the scene of his latest hit and run.

I'm not sure which possibility hurts more — that his teasing touches and fleeting kisses are meaningless games he plays with all his captives, or that this twisted dance is something special just between us.

My fingers dig into the grout between the tiles, seeking purchase as my mind spins. He invaded my space so easily again, toying with me both physically and mentally. And the worst part is, my traitorous body responds every time, even when my rational mind screams no.

I hate how he gets under my skin. How he turns my anger into unwilling lust with just a grazing touch. How he chips away at my resolve with his knowing smiles and hooded glances.

Even in his absence, my skin still burns everywhere he made contact with it. I shudder, hugging myself tightly. But it does nothing to ward off the desire he stokes within me.

I force myself to stand on shaky legs. To take deep breaths. To regain some scrap of composure after he ripped it away so easily. I stagger back to my room, my mind and body at war.

Filling the tub with steaming water, I submerge myself in an attempt to cleanse away the night's events. The warmth envelops me, but the heat only serves to remind me of Jackson's proximity moments ago.

As I bathe, memories of Jackson's deliberate touch flash through my mind. My hand moves instinctively, a fleeting touch that sparks a rush of heat, but I recoil, my rational mind slamming the door on my desires. I chastise myself for even entertaining the thought, cursing Jackson's influence over me.

Yet even as I internally admonish my body's sinful reactions, my traitorous mind continues to wander...

I picture Jackson's strong hands splayed across my hips, gripping possessively. Recall the feeling of his hard chest pressed against my back as he crowded me against the counter. The way his breath tickled my neck when he leaned in close, his proximity a silent threat veiled in temptation.

My own hands trace aimless patterns beneath the water as I sink deeper into the tub, immersed in the sensual memories I wish I could wash away. But they cling to me like suds, perfumed reminders I cannot ignore.

The heat between my legs rivals that of the bathwater. My nails dig into my thighs, punishment for the insistent ache Jackson has stoked there. But pain and pleasure intermingle until I can't tell up from down anymore.

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