Page 52 of Kidnapped Forced Mate

What irony… I think sardonically with a bemused chuckle under my breath. Suddenly, the fine hairs on my nape prickle, alerting me of something I can’t quite pinpoint. Leaving the empty bottle on the counter, I lurk in the shadows in search of the source of my intuition being ignited.

When I step around the fridge, I’m immediately hit with the same floral scent I’d become addicted to while she stayed on the island. I close my eyes for a second, breathing in deeply and filling my lungs with that familiar scent.

“Olivia…” I breathe out, opening my eyes to see her face illuminated by the gentle light of the moon as it filters through the kitchen windows. She’s breathtaking in the natural silver glow, and I’m almost convinced she’s just a figment of my imagination until I reach out and feel the heat of her surrounding the air in front of me.

“Olivia…” I call out with more certainty this time, stepping out from the shadows and reaching out toward her.

When she doesn’t recoil from my touch and stands in place, her eyes growing wide when I step out into the light, I feel relief wash over me. What I witnessed upstairs between her and the other man doesn’t even matter anymore. All that matters is that she’s standing in front of me now, her jaw dropping in disbelief.

“Stryder…?” she whispers, almost in awe, her eyes glossing over with tears. She throws whatever she has in her hands behind her and rushes forward, flinging her arms around my neck.

I never thought I’d feel this amount of relief to feel her in my arms again. The feeling is so profound, that it moves me to the brink of tears. Not even when I thought that she was in danger, did I feel so relieved to have her in my arms where I could protect her, or where I could love her.

I pull away only because I need to be sure that she’s real and that the liquor I’d been consuming all night isn’t causing me to hallucinate. I cradle her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin in the palm of my hand while she nuzzles her face closer to my touch.

My eyes inspect her face, flitting to her lips when I’m reminded of the sinful kiss she shared with another man. It makes me feel unsettled, and again, the jealous rage I felt before returns in the secrecy of this hushed rendezvous.

“What are you doing here?” she asks softly, saddened blue eyes staring at me.

I take a step closer, staring into her eyes with a fire burning in my chest. “I’m here to claim what is mine.”

A gasp escapes her lips then, her chest heaving forcefully as I slide my hand from her cheek and down to her shoulder. Her skin is so soft and warm, igniting arousal as soon as I slip my hand beneath the thin strap of her nightdress. The strap falls away, leaving her skin exposed in all its perfection.

“I see he doesn’t paint your flesh the way I did…” I lament hoarsely, stroking her skin with my knuckles, biting my bottom lip as pride swells my chest.

“Stryder, he’s not–”

“I don’t care what he does or doesn’t do for you,” I grate dryly, stepping closer and forcing her to the wall. She breathes heavily, staring at me with wide eyes as she presses her lips into a firm line and gulps.

“All that matters is what I can do for you…” I drawl in a low tone, watching as I let the other strap slip off her shoulder.

The silk nightdress whispers off her chest, pooling at the tips of the mounds of her full breasts. She shudders when I brush my fingertips across the neckline, the pale flesh of her breasts pebbling with goosebumps.

I smirked with self-satisfaction, having her exactly where I wanted. Needy and breathless, batting her eyelids at me with a wanton need softening her eyes.

I lean in then, tapering her resolve on the tip of my fingers, leaving her wanting for more but teasing her with my barely-there touch.

“Will you deny me, Olivia?” I whisper, the tips of our noses only barely brushing. She breathes so heavily that I can practically taste her on my lips. “Will you deny me what's rightfully mine while your boyfriend waits for you upstairs?”

“He--he's asleep,” she hesitates, maintaining our intense eye contact even as she gulps.

“Even better,” I breathe, allowing my lips to ghost over hers.

“You’ve been drinking, Stryder,” she observes keenly. It's not something that puts her off, since she doesn't flinch when I place my hands loosely on her hips. It's just a simple observation, a way of making sure I'm in my senses and not wanting her based on intoxication.

“I'm not nearly as drunk as I'd like to be,” I admit, lifting a hand and stroking her full bottom lip with the pad of my thumb. “Not as drunk as I can get on you, baby doll.”

Olivia moans then, the sweet sound acting as the consent I needed to capture her lips in a passionate kiss. Unlike the kiss in the corridor earlier tonight, this one is hungrier as I devour the sweet essence of her mouth. She doesn't push me away this time, instead grabs fistfuls of my sweater as she pushes her body against mine.

Gods! She feels extraordinary, the supple curves of her body the perfect contrast to my hard frame. If I thought I missed her before, I had no idea how much I missed feeling her gentle, feminine body against mine.

I break the kiss only to give her time to catch her breath. To give her one last chance to deny me the pleasure of giving her pleasure. But when she stares at me through the luscious veil of her lashes and bites her bottom lip, I know she can't deny our extreme passion.

As if to claim my territory, knowing that she'll have to do her best to hide it from the man upstairs, I dip my head and clamp my teeth on the soft flesh above her collarbone. I lift my head to inspect my artistry, chuckling as if to gloat as I smooth my finger across the hickey.

“Mine…” I rasp, capturing her lips again when her intake of breath is staggered. I kiss her lips, and her chin, gnawing on the flesh of her neck while deftly slipping the nightdress all the way down. Peppering more kisses with tiny nicks and bites along the way, I latch onto one exposed breast. Her hushed moan is like music to my ears, coercing me to fully explore the expertise of my tongue as I flick it over her nipple. The bud erects from the ministrations of my tongue, while the one in my hand grows sturdy from the flicks of my forefinger.

Olivia is the picture of perfection when I step back to admire the canvas of her milky white skin. With flushed cheeks and blushed marks painting her chest, her lips swollen from my kisses, she is a wanton Goddess.

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