Page 31 of Claiming Sarah

“But,” I continue, laughing at his interruption. “I want this. I want you.” His forehead rubs up and down mine with the nodding of his head.

“Me, too.”

Our eyes remain locked, and we stand there, staring into the other, letting our hearts and breaths become in sync. In that moment, nothing else mattered.

24

I’M HIS

ZAIDEN

Asoft drizzle of rain patters my head. I ignore it, watching auras weave and bleed around the oblivious pedestrians striding in and out of the hospital. It’s like a never-ending stream of people. Time ceases meaning anything to me, pupils jumping from one aura to another, lips twitching at the color array.

“Dayton?” My head snaps toward the voice, feeling it creep into my cerebrum, stroking the folds of my brain.

“Sarah,” I whisper, euphoria bursting inside of me. Stiff limbs rise from their seated position outside of the emergency room exit. Wide green eyes roam over me.

“You’re soaked. How long have you been out here?” she asks, hurrying toward me. My scars stretch wide, flashing a toothy grin at the center of my universe. I’d wait forever for her. She wants me. She said so, however, long ago. Running feet had interrupted our interlude, and she promised to seek me out at the end of her shift before racing out of the room to join the running feet.

I thought I’d save her the trouble and wait for heroutside of the hospital, letting the mirage of colors distract me from my scattered thoughts.

“Come on,” she says, waving her hand to the side. “Let’s get you inside my car before it rains even harder.” Her arm loops through mine, leading forward. I go willingly. After all, I’m hers.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sarah asks again, concern brightening her eyes. It’s sweet. Only my mother used to worry about me. My head nods again, tired eyes blinking furiously to stay open. She laughs, unbuckling her seatbelt before exiting the car.

I follow, grimacing at my wet clothing skating across her leather seats. She assured me it was fine, but fear kept surging in my veins, whispering that she’d change her mind and put me out on the side of the road. It hasn’t happened, and we’ve arrived at her home, feet carrying me toward the pink-painted door. Sarah shoots me a coy smile, unlocking the door and holding it open for me.

For some odd reason, my heart seizes, temporarily halting blood flow, flooded with apprehension. Is this real? What if it’s all a delusion, a vivid fever dream?

Maybe my Sarah knows more than me, abandoning her position at the door to close the distance between us, slender fingers lacing with my numb ones. I can’t even speak, tongue lying useless in my mouth. A light tug forces my unreliable legs to walk forward until I’m crossing the threshold, listening to the click of the door closing and Sarah engaging the locks.

What now? I wonder, air wheezing out of my dry mouth. I want her, and she wants me. It doesn’t eliminatethe fear that I’ll screw it all up, watching flames burn our burgeoning relationship to ash. I burned my childhood home. Nothing says I won’t burn this before flowers can bloom from our fledgling stalk.

Footsteps slide across the floor, coiling the tension in me tighter. My eyes track Sarah, neck turning to watch her walk from the door at my back to stand in front of me, lips curling upwards. What does she have planned? My cock jumps in my pants, eager to find out, to serve her in any way I can.

SARAH

He’s nervous. Scared. Tension lines his entire body, eyes darting around the room, never meeting mine. Why does that tighten my nipples and send heat flooding my sex, damp panties sticking to me? I’m still in disbelief that he sat outside my job for over three hours, rain pelting his hair and clothes.

But he’s all mine.

I point a finger at his chest, cocking a brow, secretly wondering if he’ll obey.

“Strip.” The command leaves my lips as a soft and breathy sound, filling up the space of my living room. I’ve missed him, missed how he filled me, missed the obsession shining in his eyes. I’m a forty-three-year-old nurse. I’ve delivered more babies than attended dates this year.

None of that matters when Dayton claims me. To him, I’m merely Sarah. How many men have looked at me with an ounce of the depth of infatuation that deepens Dayton’s gaze? None.

His hands hurriedly fly up to his chest, unbuttoning buttons in a mad rush. Redness races across his neck and cheeks, but he doesn’t stop undressing, tossing his jacket, shirt, and pants carelessly to the floor. He’s eager to please me, and the knowledge is addictive and heady. I alone wield this power over this impressive specimen, muscles bunching and scars reflecting the light.

My mouth waters, soft pants leaving me as he removes his boxers, the last stitch of clothing shielding him from my gaze. He’s not coy or shy, standing in front of me, hands held loosely at his side. No, hunger burns in his eyes, but he stands still for my inspection, eagerly awaiting my next order.

It shouldn’t arouse me. I shouldn’t get involved with my kidnapper and stalker, but Z claimed me from that first kiss. He owns me. I was just oblivious to it until his cock filled me, despair assailing me when I discovered his departure the morning after. He’s done all of this for me, being such a good boy.

I am his, and he is mine. My fingers crook at him, beckoning him, my feet carrying me toward the kitchen. Sitting primly on a kitchen barstool, my eyes track his entrance, all pale skin and scars on display. He doesn’t speak, tilting his head inquiringly.

“Pour me a glass of wine.” My lips don’t hesitate to utter the command, and he quickly spurs into motion, gesturing at the cabinets to his right.

“Where are they?” he asks, need barely suppressing his gravel voice. I point, then lean back on my elbows, watching him work. He’s quick, pulling a random bottle and glass free and placing them on the counter. I’m mildly surprised he doesn’t ask for my preference, but the label assures me it’s a wine I’ll enjoy.

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