Page 13 of Forbidden Pawn

The morning light filters through the curtains along the hallway as I approach Grace’s room. The image of her naked body is burnt into my brain, and my cock still rises to attention every time I think of her, despite jerking off twice since last night. I could barely sleep, as my mind kept drifting off to her, imagining her as she gets undressed, wondering what she’s wearing to bed — if anything — and imagining myself buried deep inside that enticing little pussy.

I’m in big trouble. Because I need to have her, but she’s the daughter of a very prolific and well-connected crime syndicate. Raping her could cost me my life. Besides, I’m not a rapist. I prefer wet pussies and sensual moans to terrified screams and legs kicking at me. If I’m going to end up in that pussy, she will have begged me for it.

No, not if. When. I know it will happen, because I have set my mind on it. And I saw the way she looks at me, the way her breathing hikes every time I get close to her, the way she flinches when our skin touches. She’s not immune to my allure, even though her cheeky tongue might suggest otherwise. I just need to find the right moment to make my move — and maybe another minute to think about whether I really want to risk my life by sticking my dick into someone who might be a Venus trap, or turn her entire family against me. I’m not on the best terms with the Reid brothers at the moment, but I don’t want to have them as enemies.

I was lucky to have more than one empty bedroom at my disposal, but there’s only one that can be locked from the outside, so that’s where I put her. It’s on the second floor, rightnext to the stairs, which is the only thing that bothers me a little, because that makes it easier for her leave unnoticed, at least when I’m in my office or my bedroom, which are both further down at the end of the corridor.

Therefore, her door will remain locked for the time being.

It’s still early, but when I unlock the door, I find her awake and sitting on the edge of her bed, her posture tense, yet composed. Her hair looks unkempt, but she changed into a new outfit, a white shirt with black leggings and a long cardigan in a deep, blood-like red. She stands immediately, her movements careful, almost rehearsed.

And I can’t deny the fact that she looks deliciously innocent in her cute little librarian outfit.

“Good morning,” I say, as I step into the room, while maintaining my distance. “Did you sleep well?”

She shrugs. “Sure. It’s a lovely room.”

She’s right about that. The room is pleasant, overlooking the estate’s expansive gardens, and fully furnished with a queen-size canopy bed, a dresser, and a little desk beneath one of the large windows. I never cared to decorate this room, because I wasn’t sure if I would ever use it, so it appears sterile with it’s all white color scheme and lack of personal items or contrast colors. I spot her bag next to the dresser, but it doesn’t look like she emptied it and stored her things away.

“You know you can put your stuff in there,” I say, pointing at the empty dresser. “There’s nothing in there.”

Her eyes follow where I’m pointing and she chews on her lower lip as she ponders.

“Thanks,” she says eventually. “I guess I’ll do that.”

She turns to look at me, when she adds: “The bathroom is pretty, but there was no shampoo or shower gel. And since you took my stuff, I don’t have any. I would like to take a proper shower.”

I sigh. This is something I hadn’t considered.

“After breakfast,” I tell her. “Come with me.”

As we walk down to the dining area, I notice her looking around again, just like she did last night when I brought her up here. Her gaze is darting left and right, taking in details of the house—perhaps a little too keenly. She’s not just curious, but the look on her face is calculating, observant.

Or I’m just paranoid. She’s a scared little girl in a strange place with a strange man who is keeping her as a prisoner. Of course, she scans her surroundings with wide-open eyes, always alert.

Breakfast is already laid out on the table, and her eyes grow even wider at the sight of it, even though it’s just a simple affair of fresh fruits, pastries and coffee. I gave Enzo, who is not only my chef but my personal assistant around the house, a couple of days off, after realizing that Grace would stay with me, but my kitchen is fully stocked. I want things to settle a bit before allowing anyone to see her here—and before she gets to stir any potential trouble. I’m not sure what that would look like, but I can’t be careful enough.

“This looks nice,” she says in a monotone voice, as if she felt compelled to say it.

She sinks down in the same seat I gave her last night, opposite of me. Her gaze meets mine, a quizzical expression gracing her face, as if she was asking for permission to eat.

“Go ahead,” I say. “Don’t wait for me to say grace.”

She scoffs and shakes her head as she reaches for the coffee.

“So, here’s the thing,” I say, as I take my seat. “I’m having a meeting at this house in a couple of days. I expect you to stay in your room during that. It’s crucial that you do not interfere or make your presence known.”

“You can always just lock me up,” she murmurs.

“And I will probably do that. I don’t want you to make any noises or—”

“Or act like you’ve kidnapped me and locked me up as your prisoner?” She interrupts.

She doesn’t meet my probing gaze as I glare at her with an expression that was meant as a warning. A warning that goes right past her, because she’s more focused on the pastry she just got for herself.

“I didn’t kidnap you,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Would anyone even care?” She asks, now finally looking at me. “I mean, you’re all criminals, aren’t you? Would any of the people you’re working with actually care about you kidnapping someone?”

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