Page 9 of Captured By Fate

“Got anything in these pockets?” He asks with no real question in his voice. It's more of a statement than anything else, and when there is no answer from me, he lets his hand wander higher.

My breathing hitches as I feel his touch grow more purposeful. It's no longer playful or exploratory; instead, there is a sense of determination that speaks volumes about his intent.

His fingertips dance lightly over the fabric of my jeans, dancing too close to places I won't allow any man to touch without my explicit consent. And yet what shocks me is not the violation of this moment but rather the heat that begins to pool low in my belly at his touch.

"I said talk," he murmurs again into the deadly silence of the room.

But I don't. Instead, my heart pounds loudly in my chest as his fingers massage my pussy through my jeans.

“Stop! What the fuck are you doing, you pervert?”

He laughs and continues to stroke me.

"Isn't it clear what I'm doing?" he responds, his voice a low rumble filled with amusement. A ripple of anger surges within me, but it gets lost in the wave of nervous anticipation his touch is creating.

I try to shake him off, to stand up and make my escape, but his strength easily outmatches mine. He merely chuckles again at my futile attempts and continues his exploration without missing a beat.

"Don’t,” I manage to whisper, my voice shaking from the sheer audacity of this man.

It feels so good and I can’t suppress the moan that leaves my lips. His grin widens as his free hand pinches my nipple through my shirt.

“Stop!” I cry out. “You’re fucking sick!”

I’m ready to explode but I can’t tell him that. He continues his assault, knowing goddamn well what he’s doing to me. Every touch brings me closer to the edge.

“Stop! I’m going to come,” I beg.

That’s when he freezes and withdraws his hands. “Only good girls get to come,” he sneers. “Are you ready to talk?”

6

JACKSON

Istand confidently over this woman. Hearing her beg me to stop and then announce she’s about to come sets my blood on fire.

“You’re a fucking prick,” she hisses.

I can’t help myself. I grin. The challenge she presents is novel entertainment for me. I’m relishing this moment. My cock is throbbing and I’d like nothing more than to tear her clothes off and sink myself deep inside her.

I’m not sure how well received that would be, though.

With that camera wrapped around her neck, I also have a fairly good idea of who she is.

“Are you going to tell me your name?” I ask, for the sixth time.

She spits on the floor at my feet in response to my question. My answering chuckle has her screeching profanities that would make a truck driver blush.

“Have it your way,” I say.

I grab my phone from the pocket of my leather jacket, not tearing my gaze away from her. Her eyes are flashing with a combination of fear and defiance.

I tap the screen a couple times and then press the device to my ear, ignoring her horrified gaze. It rings in my ear for a few heartbeats before a male voice answers on the other end.

"Speak."

"It's Jackson. I need an ID on someone," I say, my eyes not straying from this fiery woman who's now glaring at me with piercing blue eyes.

The line goes silent for a heartbeat before he responds with a simple, "Send me what you have."

---