Page 31 of Locke

Like a creep, he stood in the dark bedroom, watching her sleeping form in his bed. The girl was bonier than the dark had let on. Her hips jutted out, her ass and hips needed way more meat. Either she starved herself, or that dress he cut off her was the nicest piece of clothing she owned.

He paced, the pain radiating in his wound screaming with every movement. He ignored it as he inspected her from afar. He tried to put the puzzle pieces together, gathering information from her hair down to her fucking toes.

If she was in good financial standing like her clothing would suggest, she’d have at least gotten her nails done. But they were chewed to pieces and brittle.

She had a small tattoo of a butterfly on her wrist that she hid under a cheap watch. It prompted Locke to stare down at the broken watch he wore. He tapped the cracked, blue watch face thoughtfully, wondering what her tattoo meant.

Her septum piercing got his cock pulsing despite his injury. The piercing itself was rebellious. The kind of piercing you could hide simply by flipping up, but she’d had it down, and it warred with her elegant dress in a way he couldn’t help but appreciate.

Fuck, he loved that contrast.

The elegance merged with the naughty.

He had swiped her phone from the club washroom, but he couldn’t get into it, and her wallpaper was generic. It spoke nothing of her. He would need to get his men to unlock it. He looked it over in his hand now. It was a couple years old, an older model. Again, nothing at all fancy. It was functional, the kind of phone you needed to get by, not one you flaunted and took a million selfies with.

“What are you doing?” he whispered to himself. The weight of his actions had not struck him in full force yet, but it was sinking in enough he was asking these questions aloud, confused with his rash behaviour.

He had never kidnapped a woman before. He certainly never had one in his fucking bed, either. He had officially surpassed his former behaviours and entered an unfamiliar territory of fucked-upness.

To put a cherry on top of this fuckery of a cake, he stared at this girl in his bed and felt like he wanted to claim her, but he didn’t even know what that meant. He wanted to wake her up just to hear her shout at him, growl at him, curse at him. He wanted her voice in his ears, wanted her nails in his skin, wanted her loathing and tears and everything feral she was capable of spewing—he would endure it. Anything to feel as alive as he was in that washroom, in that field, in that car breathing the same air as her.

This was fucking bad.

It was illogical.

And everything in his life was cut and fucking paste.

He was a mutant.

How many times had Charlotte expressed he wasn’t normal? How many times had Conor and Jem exchanged looks at his mere presence?

His abnormality resulted in a lifetime of loneliness, until being alone was all he craved for.

Until this tha-thump bullshit.

“Why do I want you so bad?” he whispered, thickly, staring at the tiny form.

He couldn’t recognize myself.

He was always in control. Rocky seas, or calm waters, he was that ship in the ocean that never moved. Very few things in life ever rocked him. He had accepted long ago that it was always going to be like this.

And now he stole a fucking woman he didn’t know the name of.

A woman he instantly wanted straight after he had tasted her mouth and felt his blood turn to lava.

Locke needed to be stopped, but there was no fucking way he was going to turn to Conor for this. Charlotte wasn’t an option either. Their scars were too fresh. Their tribulations only hours ago resolved. Dominic was in prison, and Jem—

Her legs spread, but not by much due to the current constraints. Her filthy body attempted to twist to the side. Feet from him, her pussy was on full display, covered only by the darkness. His mouth watered with the urge to glide his tongue along her folds and taste her. She would never know—

“Fuck,” he growled, running a hand down his face. “Fuck!”

He bolted out of the room, his body shuddering with desire and disdain and a need that ran so deep, he felt like a primitive barbarian that just learned he had a full functioning cock.

On cue, the little lion began to scream.

Fuck him, she had a set of lungs on her.

She screamed and fucking screamed, her cries for help turning desperate as she realized he had tied her up to his four-poster bed. He wasn’t going to lie and say he had that shit lying around, either. Temporarily, he had used a few belts and realized how piss poor they would do.

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