Page 33 of Locke

Then three—

The door opened, and there he stood, overwhelming the doorway with his gigantic frame. He walked into the room and someone smaller followed. A moment later, a dim light flickered on, casting the room in an orangey glow. He was still in the same suit as before—minus the suit jacket he had put me in—and in the subtle light, I could see distinctly just how bloodied and torn his shirt was. His solid black hair was in disarray, like he’d raked his hand through it a thousand times. His eyes immediately met mine and then slid over my body slowly.

I didn’t need to remember I was totally naked and vulnerable. I glowered at the slight smirk on his face, but it was overwhelmed by another emotion. Pain. His face looked pale as he turned away. The other figure was a man dragging a chair into the room.

“Just here, Izzy,” Locke instructed as he loosened his tie and collapsed into an armchair adjacent to the four-poster bed.

The small man he called Izzy nodded and set the chair next to the armchair. Right before he sat down, his eyes flashed to me. The glimpse was so quick, so fleeting, but I saw the slight rise of his eyebrows, and now he was awkwardly doing everything in his power not to look at me again as he sat his small, aged body down. He fumbled with a black bag on his lap, asking Locke, “Can you take your shirt off, Mr Locke?”

I looked at Locke, tensing for a moment when I met his gaze, but the smirk was gone this time, replaced by a frown as he growled, “I’ll take off my shirt so long as you keep your fucking eyes where it matters, doc.”

The man nodded immediately. “Of course. I meant no disrespect.”

Locke didn’t respond, and something about that quietness was unnerving. This jerk knew how to command a room, to imprint it with his power until looking at him directly was panic inducing. Even I had trouble for a moment before reminding myself that this dick had already put me through hell.

I couldn’t help but murmur, “This is not what you promised.”

His eyes were still pinned to mine, but his body seemed to jolt alive at my voice. Looking more alert, he replied, “You weren’t buried alive.”

“You put me in your bed.”

“Like I said I would.”

“Tiedup.”

Totally unconcerned, his eyes ran a trail down the binds he put me in. “To remind you of your place, lioness.”

“My place?”

“At my mercy.”

I fought back a curse and chose to be quiet. If he was going to command a room with his silence, I could attempt to do the same. Make him wonder what I was thinking. Not let him into my head every time he pissed me off. It took extraordinary willpower, and even worse, I had to bite down the discomfort I was in because I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how bloody painful this was.

He unbuttoned his shirt, and I pretended to watch with dead eyes as he peeled it off his body. He made a light groan, and I felt a spark shoot straight to my idiot pussy at the breathless sound. I watched him intently, at the pain he was evidently in as he threw the shirt down on the floor and revealed his torso to the man he called doc.

I looked away, pretending not to care that this man was ripped. I clenched my teeth, surveying the giant room before glimpsing once more at him. Locke was a beast with the six pack, sculpted, muscled chest and ludicrously broad shoulders. He had ink on his chest, too, of a large raven taking flight. It was so incredibly well done, the tattoo so life-like, I had to wonder what it meant to him. Just as quickly, I shut that curiosity down, along with the temptation to peer at him again, to look over every muscled indent of his extraordinary body.

Locke was the guy you ogled at the damn gym as you pretended to lift weights just to get closer, all the while watching as he squatted like a fiend and made those pussy-fluttering grunts.

Gah, I had this body pressed against me.

To boot, I knew exactly how thick his cock was. I felt how long it was when he pressed it shamelessly against my ass. I knew what it smelled like. Knew its musky taste and how far I had to stretch my mouth just to let him in.

So not only was he a gorgeously muscled beast, but he had the cock to match. Shame he was a murderous fucking ogre that liked to abduct chicks, throw them in trunks, then chase them down and then make them forget their morals and act like desperate hussies—

I shut my eyes momentarily, desperate to squeeze my thighs together.

My pussy was such a moron. Because it was pulsing and needy and it clearly had no boundaries.

But I couldn’t blame it for feeling those sparks.

A pussy doesn’t think of right and wrong.

A pussy doesn’t think, period.

A pussy is just a hungry little whore seeking the biggest dick it could get to swallow whole.

“It’s deep,” Izzy muttered thoughtfully. His words brought me back to earth, reminding me that this bastard was injured, and I had completely overlooked said injury because I was checking my soon-to-be murderer out.

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