Page 34 of Fearless

“Feel free to quit pretending you’re asleep anytime, princess.” There’s a clank—so loud and so close to the side of the bed that I can’t help but flinch.

I pretend that’s what woke me. I mean, what have I got to lose, right?

I flutter open my eyes and slowly roll onto my back, swiping a hand over my face as I blink up at him with a frown. “Did I fall asl—?”

But I cut off the instant I spot the source of the noise.

He’s standing behind a tripod, not even looking at me as he messes around with the camera slotted into its frame.

This can’t be good.

I scramble into a sit, tugging down my sleeping shirt. When he straightens and plucks his cigarette from his lips, the sullen set of his mouth is unmistakable. He runs cold eyes over me and then flicks his hand in my direction.

“I’m gonna need you to take off your clothes.”

The coldness in his eyes turns my stomach into a brick of ice. “W-what?” I manage breathlessly, dragging a pillow over my tummy like a useless shield. Or a silencer, I guess, if he decides to off me. I’m so fucking considerate.

“Clothes.” He makes a point of looking at my shirt. “Off.”

Just my luck. Of course I’ll decide to seduce my kidnapper on the day his fucking cat dies or something.

No…I reckon he’s more of a dog person.

He ducks behind the camera and swivels the lens toward me. Then he picks up the tripod, moves it to the foot of the bed, and repeats the process.

I jump at the glare he throws me when he pops up again a minute later. “Want me to come over there and do it myself?”

Dread rears its ugly head.

Naked.

No.

I can’t.

I can’t let him see. Can’t letanyonesee. Ever!

Why do you think you are so self-conscious about your body, Meisie?asks Trish.Do you think it has to do with what Alex—?

I cut her off, but she’s right. I’m not in a position to reject him. Not again. And this after I purposefully flashed him my butt like a white-tailed deer trying to court a buck with antlers bigger than me?

But I’m not in control when fear takes over. My hands fly up in surrender. “No, please.”

He growls at me as he charges around the side of the bed.

“Cillian, please!” I yell, scrambling away from him. “I’ll do whatever you want, but not that!”

I don’t know if he doesn’t hear, or if he doesn’t care, but he comes over to the bed to get me anyway. When he grabs my ankle, panic shoots through me like a syringe of adrenaline someone’s just gone and stabbed right through my fucking chest.

Before I even know what I’m doing, I lash out with my foot. I get him right on his cheek, but I’m too short to do much more than turn his head a little.

If he felt a thing, he doesn’t show it. “So I can fuck you up the arse dry, but only if you get to keep your clothes on? What kind of fucked up logic is that?”

I can’t even begin to explain. But the fact that he hasn’t ripped my clothes off like he threatened to might mean I have a millisecond to sway him.

“I’m—” My brain scurries for something to finish the sentence with and my gaze happens to flicker to the tripod. “Camera shy.”

He drops his head and lets out a bark of a laugh. But when he looks up at me again, there’s a strange light in his eyes. He looks disgusted—not at me, not at himself…fuck knows who.

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