Page 11 of Twisted

His eyes. They were what captivated her the most. A pale sort of green, so bright they verged on peridot. His cheekbones were sharp enough to cut a diamond, jaw covered in a layer of dirty blond scruff. His hair was wild and silky and long, but pulled back into a man-bun, only serving to accentuate his striking facial features even more. And he was big—all around. Broad shouldered, tall, muscles tapering down into a slimmer waist; he wasn’t fully a man yet, but then again men seemed to age differently than women.

He held her eyes, and in them she saw a flash of something; it was dark, possessive, dangerous, but not directed at her. She flinched when he reached up, again stroking her scar with a rough pointer finger. His pink lips twisted down into a furious sneer, bracketed by lines that seemed more adjusted for laughing. She swallowed hard, his jean-clad rigid cock pressed tight to her slit, the pressure delicious and forbidden. She could feel her cheeks flame, and more tears followed the rest, these ones of shame. She felt a voracious whore.

“Who did this to you?” he hissed, all traces of humor—the cat and mouse game—gone in the wake of his quietly controlled rage. It was confusing; maybe he’d seen a picture of her before she’d received the slash of the bottle. But why would this anger him at all? It wasn’t like she knew him, wasn’t like they’d crossed paths and been buddies once upon a time. She felt his anger was misplaced.

But in the same breath, it warmed her. No one—not even her parents—had cared very much. Her husband should have. The man she’d given her entire life to should have worn the same furious expression on this stranger’s face when seeing what had been done to her. Her parents—bless them—had been fed the usual lies, and so she couldn’t blame them for not being more upset. Her mother had been worried about scarring and infections, but that had been the extent. In the world’s eyes, it was an unfortunate accident. In her husband’s, it had been an inconvenience and the unraveling of their rocky relationship.

“No one,” she whispered, hollow voice still feeding the lie. It was unnecessary, now; the police knew who’d done it. It had helped her fabricate her story immensely. She tore her eyes from his, staring instead out her darkened window, the old willow tree softly swaying in the breeze. She used to hide in the shelter of its hanging branches in the heat of the summer as a girl.

“Lyin’ again, Maisie,” he growled, snapping her back to the present. She didn’t care. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hide in the deepest corner of her mind. He could question her all he wanted, but she would be dead before the truth in her heart was freed.

4

Jaeger

Present Day

Time had not been kind to his Maisie Jane Walkup. He could see it plain as day in her eyes. She was just a shell that was sheltering a small spark of who she used to be. She wore it secretly in her choice of panties, in her little pink socks, in the locket around her neck her grandmother had given her.

Yes, Jaeger had spent his time watching her, studying her. He knew her like he knew the back of his hand, knew her like he knew the ink that littered his skin. She’d been a bright, fiery thing that night at the party, but those fuckers had dulled her shine, done their damnedest to water down her spark, to trample her like a forgotten flower on the ground.

And now that he was here, between her thighs, feeling for himself how her body was betraying her mind, he knew his resolve was slipping, and fast. He took what he wanted, and what he wanted most of all was his Maisie girl.

“We can come back to that. Where’s the hard drive?” He growled, reaching for the button of his jeans.

“I don’t know what you’re fuckin’ talking about,” she seethed again through clenched teeth. He sighed, shaking his head, slipping the brass button through the hole of his worn blue jeans. Her face was a mess, covered in tear tracks through her running mascara, her hair frizzy and rumpled, but she was still utter perfection to him, scar and all.

The low, slow bite of his zipper had her big blue eyes widening, her pupils dilating. Aroused as she was, she was still afraid of him, he knew this, but after all the horrible, evil things Jaeger had seen and done, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. She was his. End of story. What he did to her she would enjoy, would eventually come to crave more potently than a bump of coke.

He shook his head, driving his hand into his jeans and curling his fingers around his throbbing cock. God, he’d waited for this for years. Her eyes darted down, her panic mounting. She wriggled and writhed and sobbed, but he turned off his mind—his heart had died long ago. He could feel it, struggling for a breath when he was around his woman. She would be the only thing to keep him human now.

He brought his thumb to her entrance, gathering her wetness as a wave of ecstasy rolled through him. His eyes slipped closed, and he couldn’t help himself. Bringing his thumb to his lips, he pushed it between his teeth and rested it on his tongue, memorizing her flavor, and though it was his first taste, she was already above and beyond the rest—sweet like honey.

“Fuck me,” he groaned, unable to stop the words from escaping. She shook beneath him, trying in vain to press her thighs together. When his eyes slowly blinked open and caught hers, he could see her desire, there in the depths.

“Last chance, Maisie Jane. You tell me what I need to know, I reward ya.”

Slitting her eyes into a vehement glare, she pursed her ruby lips.

“Go to hell, motherfucker.”

She was answered by his chuckle and another shake of his head.

“Your choice,” he swore, smirking at her. Her eyes flew to saucers, her lips popping open as the same thumb, still slick, pressed against her throbbing clit. She mewled, arching her neck as he circled the little nub slowly. He watched her with an intensity reserved for a heart surgeon, his skill unmatched, his body singing to hers in a way that was otherworldly. They were made for each other, Jaeger knew. She would complete him, and he would give her the attention and protection she’d always needed and craved.

Slow, he built her up, circling faster as her breathy moans hit the ceiling and echoed through her still room. Biting his bottom lip, he kept himself in check; he wouldn’t give in to her, not yet, because he knew how powerful a motivator a climax could be.

“Tell me,” he urged quietly, answered by a gurgled moan as he dipped two long fingers into her tight, soaked channel, his eyes rolling back in his skull at how delicious she felt wrapped around his digits. He worried for a fleeting moment his cock wouldn’t fit, but he didn’t care; she would take him—allof him—and she would love it.

Her thighs quivered at the welcome intrusion, and he curled his fingers, seeking that hidden spot as though he were beckoning her to release. He was rewarded with a sharp gasp, her mouth falling open, her eyes pinched shut tight. She was close, he could feel it in the tightening of her walls.

“Tell me you know where it is,” he hissed, thrusting deep and hard into her as his thumb played with her clit. Fuck, she was even more gorgeous in the throes of passion, the way her mouth hung open in silent pleas for more, the way her perky tits strained against her tight black shirt, the way her bound wrists arched her back like a bridge. He knew her dead fucking husband had never made her feel this way, it was clear enough by how lost she was in her pleasure. No man had ever made her feel the way Jaeger was making her feel, and pride swelled his chest at the notion.

He was answered by a moan which morphed into barely comprehensible words.

“I…don’t…please…”

Punishing her for answers regarding this situation wasn’t getting him off the way punishing her for breaking his rules would. Those men had deserved it, he knew it in his core. They were slick, sick fucking men, and he knew Maisie had done what she felt she needed to save herself, but he still needed that damning evidence to save Linds from life without parole.

---