Page 33 of Not Your Hero

Emerson doesn’t realize the monster she’s unleashed in me. The one who’s been sitting dormant for far too long. The one who craves things only she can give me.

I part her dry lips with my finger and slowly stick it into her mouth, feeling her wet tongue as I groan. Her head lolls to the side, and I step closer, pulling my finger free. I unhook my jeansand pull them down slightly to free my cock, and then I shift forward so I can slip it past her lips. My eyes roll into the back of my fucking head as I feel her wet tongue touch my cock. I groan as I slowly fuck her mouth. She isn’t awake, and she won’t even know this happened, but I’ve watched her enough. I’ve tasted her enough. I need more.

I need her, and I’m going to take every fucking ounce of her I can get.

I continue to fuck her perfect mouth until I can’t stand it anymore. I pull my cock out and wrap my hand around it, stroking and tugging until I’m spraying cum all over her perfect bruised face.

I wish I could leave her like this, covered in me, but I can’t. So, instead, I walk to the bathroom, change into my sweatpants, and grab a wet cloth to clean her face up with. I walk back over to her bed and gently wipe away my mess before tossing the cloth on the floor and climbing into my bed.

I pull the blankets up over myself and lie on my side, watching her until my eyes finally close and sleep pulls me under.

Chapter 20

Emerson

I slowly pry my eyes open, but they still feel heavy. They snap closed, and I have to force them to open again. I try to move my arms, to reach for my face, but I can’t move them. Panic takes over as I tug at my arms, but it doesn’t help. I try to speak, but my mouth feels so dry it’s useless.

“Hello?” I call softly. My voice is hoarse and scratchy.

“You’re awake,” I hear a man’s voice to my side and turn my head to look at him. It’s him. The man who saved me or took me. Whichever way you want to look at it. “You’ve been out for a long time,” he adds.

“How long?”

“Almost a week. I was getting worried about you,” he tells me. Why the hell would he be worried about me? “I know you have questions, and I’ll answer what I can, but don’t push me too far,” he informs me. I don’t know what the hell that means, but I nod my head anyway.

“Where am I?”

“My house.”

“You took me from him.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Did you want to die there?” he asks. I shake my head. No, I didn’t want to die there, but if I had been there any longer, I know I would have. “You’re pretty sick, Emerson. You have fluids and antibiotics running non-stop until you get better.”

“Why am I cuffed to the bed?” I ask this time.

“For your safety as well as mine,” he tells me.

“Why am I here?”

“Because I want you here.”

“How do you know me?”

“We’ve met before,” he answers, being vague. I know he isn’t going to answer all my questions at once, and honestly, I don’t feel well enough to keep talking, so I don’t. I lay my head back on the pillow and sighed, looking up at the ceiling. I should probably be panicking that I’m cuffed to this man’s bed, and I might later on, but at this point, I don’t have the energy to do it. I feel weak. I feel tired.

“You’re going to need a lot of rest,” he says.

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Gannix.”

“I don’t remember you,” I whisper.

“You probably wouldn’t. We’ll get into that later. Would you like to try something to eat?” he asks.

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