Page 54 of Can You Take It?

For the first time, I wonder if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. But one thing’s for sure: I’m not as immune to him as I thought, and maybe, just maybe, that’s not such a bad thing after all.

I never thought it would come to this. In an instant, I find myself kissing Richard with a fierce, aggressive hunger that I can’t control.

He doesn’t hesitate; he kisses me back with an intensity that matches my own. The kiss is a battlefield, a war of wills, and I can feel the heat rising between us, making me forget the past, the pain, and the secrets that have kept me captive for so long. For a moment, it’s just him and me, and nothing else matters.

He’s strong, and he lifts me effortlessly, his arms wrapping around me as he carries me toward his room. The world spins as he presses me against the dresser.

The aggressive kiss between Richard and me is interrupted by the loud crash of a manila folder falling to the floor, its contents spilling out. My eyes catch the details – documents, photographs, everything about me, where I’ve worked, my life since I moved to Virginia.

“You said I was here for protection,” I tear my gaze from the scattered papers as I look up at him.

Richard’s eyes give me an apologetic look for just a fraction of a second before he quickly covers it with a business-like demeanor. It’s infuriating how easily he can switch from one mode to the other.

“Youarehere for protection.”

“This is not protection, Richard. This is an invasion of my fucking privacy! What gives you the right to dig into my past like this?”

“I had to make sure you were safe. It’s my job.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Your job? Is your job to violate my trust and my personal life? To treat me like some sort of criminal?”

He says nothing as if he doesn’t owe me an explanation. I push against him with all my might, but he doesn’t budge an inch. His grip only grows stronger, and it’s like I’m trapped in a clenched fist. My attempts to break free are futile, and I’m growing more frustrated by the second.

In a last-ditch effort, I try to kick him in the balls, hoping to catch him off guard. But he’s too quick and catches my foot mid-air. His grip on my neck loosens, but it’s only to reposition me. He pushes impossibly close, his chest against mine, and I can feel the heat of his body radiating through our clothes.

“Richard, let me go,” I demand with anger and desperation.

“I’m not letting you go,” he says. “You’remine.”

I let out an incredulous laugh. It’s a bitter, mirthless sound that betrays the turmoil inside me.

“Yours?” I scoff. “All that earlier… was a lie. You never wanted to know about me or my scar. You were interrogating me.”

“I won’t lie and say I wasn’t, but I wasn’t just interrogating you because of the case. You know that. Don’t pretend like you haven’t felt it, too.”

“Bullshit,” I snap, my eyes blazing with anger. “You wanted to control me, to keep me under your thumb. You think just because you’re law enforcement, you can play god with my life?”

He tightens his grip on my neck, just enough to keep me in place. “I did what I had to do to keep you safe. You’re in more danger than you realize.”

“And you think manhandling me and prying into my past is the way to do that?”

Richard’s eyes soften slightly, but his grip remains firm. “I am sorry, okay?”

I look at him, not giving a fuck about his apology. “You don’t really want me, do you?” I ask, almost to myself. “You want the truth. That’s what you’re after. You’re just using this to get in my head, make me talk. But guess what? You can’t manipulate me like that.”

“You think this is manipulation?” He leans in even closer, his breath hot against my ear. His fingers hook under the thin strap of my camisole, pulling down with a sharp yank that rips the fabric clean through, tearing through the straps and exposing my tits. “Let me show you what real manipulation looks like.”

I blink, my mouth opening to question him—What the hell is that supposed to mean?—but before I can form the words, his head dips, and his breath fans over my exposed nipple. The sensation stops me cold, stealing the air from my lungs.

“Wha—” The word dies on my lips as his mouth closes over me. The sharp sting of his teeth sinking into my flesh makes me yelp but then his tongue follows, soothing the ache, drawing slow, torturous circles around my aching nipple. He sucks and nibbles, increasing the pressure, the sensation flipping between sweet agony and unbearable pain.

A low moan escapes my lips, and I’m left gasping for air. My voice is reduced to incoherent gasps and pleas as his mouth works its wicked magic.

“Do you want me to stop?” he murmurs against my skin, his lips brushing over my nipple as his tongue flicks one last, devastatingly slow circle.

I can’t answer. My brain feels fried, short-circuiting under the onslaught of his touch. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out except a desperate, choked whimper.

He smirks against my skin, the curve of his mouth sending another shiver racing down my spine. “I’ll take that as a no,” he says, towering over me.

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