Page 13 of Locke

He wasn’t speaking, either.

And I suddenly wanted him to.

Because that voice was utterly sinful.

It was so quiet, I held my breath as a strange feeling came over me at the tingle his fingers left behind on my skin. He continued to pull the dress up, until his touch was faintly tracing a line up my inner thigh. His eyes lost focus, like he was enjoying the feel of me. I studied him carefully, taking in his reaction with startling interest.

I didn’t squirm, didn’t fight, didn’t even cry. I returned his stare as he continued to study me, his gaze deep, his mouth nearly parted. Those eyes were my ruin, though, because they softened with every slide of his fingertips along my skin, and I—fuck, I felt my body responding of its own volition. A pulse ran through my core, and it was the most surprising sensation. His touch was so featherlight, I almost wanted him to add a little more pressure, which didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

What the fuck was happening? The tiny voice in the back of my head was screaming, but I couldn’t hear it. Not now. Not like this. Not when my body was speaking for me.

I had expected a rough touch—nothing this intimate, this doting.

I had expected to be struck—not to have been suppressed by a giant male with warm skin.

And I shouldn’t have been so attentive to that touch, but there I was, still and tingling, filled with anticipation for the unknown.

My mouth parted in surprise as he lightly grazed the line between my thigh and core. I suddenly felt hollow where the pulse between my legs continued to throb, almost to the point of pain.

Then I heard it—the faint gasp coming from me as I rolled my hips, feeling the pads of his fingers brush against my clit through my panties. Blinding need took hold of me, and a moan ripped from my throat as my gaze dropped to his mouth. I wondered just then—I wondered what they felt like.

Like being burned, he suddenly pulled back, his hand vanishing from my centre to wrap around my throat. His grip was tight, nearly painful as he looked at me with a bewildered expression. His focus had returned. A fleeting look of confusion came over him, which prompted him to squeeze my throat tighter, his nostrils flaring as his lips spread and he bared his teeth at me. I didn’t blame him for this reaction. I was confused, too. My panties pooled with heat and the feeling was just as scary as when he had pressed the gun under my chin.

He was angry. I could feel it in the tremors of his hand. His look was accusatory now, like he didn’t understand me, and why the fuck had I done that? Why had I invited him in? Why had I rolled my hips and moaned at his touch when I should have been repulsed by it?

I’m fucking crazy, too. I wanted to tell him. Maybe more than you.

But I settled instead with a quiet admission. “Monsters don’t scare me.”

Not anymore.

Not when the last monster burrowed into my heart like a seed and infected me with his insanity. And that insanity had remained repressed inside me for years. As if awakening from a deep slumber, I could feel it prodding against my being, searching for a way out.

A quick look passed over him. Like he was seriously spooked. Like I was the monster before him now. Very quickly that look changed, turned harder, turned…demanding, and I didn’t know what he might do. I didn’t know if he was going to touch me again.

My blood pumped through my body faster. My breaths went in and out like I’d run a marathon. I was panting and needy and the gush between my legs convinced me in that moment that I was more animal than woman.

Without thinking, I pressed my bloodied hand against his cock. I’d question myself later. I’d dissect the lunacy of my actions and bury my head in shame and mortification—but not right now. Because I needed to know—I needed to know if he was just as affected as I was.

His grip went impossibly tight, until I felt the pressure behind my eyes, until it felt like I was breathing through a straw. Despite the fear he was trying to induce, it did not erase the triumphant smile that spread across my face.

Because he was hard. He was thick and long, and if he wanted to, he could do what he wanted to me, and I didn’t think I’d fight him. It was so dirty and so—

Wrongwrongwrongwrongwrong.

His chest rose and fell rapidly as he continued to stare at me, his expression now loaded with thoughts. When his eyes settled on that smile on my face, I saw something wash over him, a thought that made him tense, made him nod once to himself. Like he had decided something. Then his grip loosened.

Blood immediately rushed to my head as I gulped in air.

“You think you can smile at me, little lion?” he murmured suddenly as I continued to catch my breath. His voice sounded off, like an unpredictable animal who might lunge at me suddenly if I made the wrong move. “Grabbing at my cock like a brave little prey, but you don’t know what you’re asking for, do you?”

I didn’t speak.

I was too confused to respond.

I wasn’t sure why I did what I did.

And now I realized my mistake as he inched closer, grabbing at my hand again and pressing it firmly against his hard cock. I tried to pull away, but he refused, his hold tightening as he forced it against his length. Fuck, he was hard, his length all man and then some. I felt my breath hitch, the heady visual already messing with my head: what did his cock look like, would my fingers even touch if he forced my hand to wrap around him, and suddenly I hoped he would—

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