Page 13 of Power and Possession

I waited for the shot, but, instead, I heard the gun clatter against the countertop next to us. Steele turned me around so my back was now against the fridge. Before I could open my eyes, his mouth was on mine.

His lips, warm and surprisingly soft, urgently moved against me, and I found myself responding, even though the logical part of my brain was screaming that I was an idiot. He parted my lips with his, and then deepened the kiss, one hand running through my hair, the other cupping my cheek like a lover. His kiss was packed with everything I could ever imagine: heat, excitement, lust, desire, and ownership.

I moaned softly, and that seemed to spur Steele on, and I felt him harden against my thigh. Oh man, he was definitely packing. I ran my hands up his chest, feeling the definition under my fingertips. He was almost completely hairless across his chest, except for a tiny amount right in between his breastbone. My fingers skimmed over it, and a guttural noise purred in the back of his throat. I had never felt so desired, so wanted before, and I looked the absolute worst I had ever looked in my life. I’d washed my hair with bar soap, had on no make-up, and was wearing baggy, borrowed men’s clothing. Yet the way he continued to kiss me tore at my insides, and made me feel so many things I’d never experienced. I felt vulnerable and shy, yet brave and bold. I was myself, but not quite myself. A different version of me, freed from the restrictions and rules I’d created. So many thoughts flitted across the surface of my mind, but the most embarrassing thought I had was that for a split second, I was glad I hadn’t slit his throat—thankful he sensed my attack before I deprived myself of this kiss, this intense passion I never knew existed.

Moving my hands towards his back, I frowned slightly as my fingers traced a valley of ridges, the skin whelped and contorted. He hissed slightly at the contact and tugged on my hair tighter, and I forgot about them almost instantly.

His hands circled my waist, pinning me up a bit higher against the fridge. I instinctively wrapped my legs around his narrow waist.

“My god, you’re fucking perfect,” he said, and my head swam with his praise. I couldn’t believe I was doing this, acting like an insane woman who was coming apart in the arms of her kidnapper. Stockholm syndrome or not, I didn’t care. It was so very, very good.

Supporting my bottom with his massive hands, he carried me out of the kitchen and up the stairs, kissing my neck and dragging his tongue in circles until I thought I was going to combust with need. I panted, even though he was the one climbing the stairs. When we got to the top of the second story landing, he pressed my back against the door to the guest room he’d confined me in earlier and continued to explore my throat with his mouth while he fiddled with the door. It gave way, and we both fell into the room, attacking each other anew.

“I hate your father,” he reminded me angrily, and then nibbled on my bottom lip aggressively, and I felt the sensation all the way down to my toes.

“I hate you,” I spat out, my voice full of venom. I pushed him as hard as I could in the chest and he moved back a few feet. “You’re a despicable excuse for a man. Next time I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

“You’re a whiny, spoiled brat. But I’m glad we understand each other.” His eyes were full of sensuality, and his hair was sticking up where I’d fisted it. “And the next time you come at me with a knife, I won’t be so easy on you.”

Free from his grasping hands, I pulled the shirt over my head, exposing myself to his hungry eyes. He stared appreciatively, and I looked back, taking my fill of the bulge increasing in his sweatpants.

Steele raced back towards me, cupping my breast in his hand, his finger flicking over one nipple as I traced my nail down his abs. The feral noises he was making in his throat were driving me absolutely wild, and I longed to hear what he would sound like as he plunged into me.

Then, without warning, he pushed himself away from me. Startled, I opened my mouth to speak, but his eyes widened and he stormed out of the room, and I heard the lock click as I was once again imprisoned.

I moved backwards and sat on top of the white sheets, my heart rate slowing and shame reddening my cheeks. What in god's name was I thinking? I just had a serious make-out session with my captor, and if he hadn’t stopped it, I would have slept with him. Without a doubt, I knew I would have done it. And what was even worse, in my heart I knew it would have been the most amazing sex I had ever had in my life. No other man kissed like that. Tracing my fingers over my swollen lips, I got off the bed and moved towards the window, my body still buzzing with pent-up lust.

Freedom, I reminded myself. That was my goal. Not amazing sex with a criminal. I needed to find a way out of this mess and get to my father.

Then it hit me.

A way to escape.

I could seduce Steele.

I knew he wanted me. I could tell by the way his eyes traced my body in the basement. I could feel his longing when he watched me shower. I could sense it in his kiss. I was a conquest for him, and taking me, his enemy's daughter, would be the ultimate trophy. It wasn’t just enough to kidnap me. He wanted to fully possess me, to make a mockery of my father and make me his whore.

But…if it saved my life, it was worth it, wasn’t it? Sex was just sex, after all. I would be lying to myself to say that I wasn’t intrigued by the idea. He wasn’t repulsive, and the chemistry between us was…combustible. It wasn’t something most people experienced, I was sure of it. I’d been around enough boring married couples to realize that kind of excruciatingly raw passion was rare.

Sighing, I picked Steele’s shirt off the floor and tugged it back over my head. It still smelled of him, and I pushed down the arousal that his scent stirred up as I crawled into the softest bed I’d ever slept in, and then tossed and turned for hours, my body on edge and my mind racing.

Chapter Ten

Steele

I sat at the pub, nursing a beer. It wasn’t my preferred drink, but choices were limited. After I’d left Ashlynn’s room, I’d pulled on a shirt and jacket and then stormed out of my house, with no idea where I was going, and my feet just led me to the nearest bar within walking distance.

Empty glasses were stacked on the tables, and the floor was littered with cigarette butts and sticky with the residue of spilled drinks. It was empty, of course, given that it was a random Tuesday night at one o’clock in the morning.

My phone rang, and I pressed the button to decline the call. I was too deep into my foul mood to talk to anyone. When the bartender asked what I wanted, I just pointed and stared at the mirrored wall behind him.

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t killed her right then and there. She had a knife to my throat, and, instead of ending her life, I’d kissed her. And kissed her. It was different in a way that shook me to my very core. I’d never felt such excitement before. It had to be the fact that she was my prisoner. There was an air of forbiddenness about it as well. She was my enemy’s daughter. The second she was out of my life, I would never think about her again. And yet—I couldn’t get that vision of her out of my mind—topless and in my sweatpants, and kissing me with such passion, even though I was the man holding her prisoner and trying to murder her father. It made me feel like so much more of a man, knowing that she wanted me despite who I was.

After beer number three, the barstool next to me creaked and another man sat down.

I didn’t even turn my head. I knew it was Cooper. “How did you find me?”

“Quincy,” Cooper said, motioning to the bartender that he would have the same beer I was having. “He said you stormed out on foot. You live in a posh part of London, there are only a few bars I knew you’d frequent.”

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