Page 79 of Beautifully Wounded

A second later, Wendy stumbles to the side and I pick up Ringo’s growl as he shoves her away.

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you, no? Now get the fuck outta my way so my girl can watch me.”

Holy cow.

My girl.

Ugh… stop being so naïve, Abbey. He’s playing his part. You’re not really his girl.

When his dark gaze locks back on mine, I feel the threat of tears fall away, replaced by searing heat.

I have no idea what JD and the other man are doing to the Doxy girl on the table, because I can’t take my eyes off Ringo, my hands coming to the tops of my thighs as he settles back in his chair and starts pumping his hard length once more.

Again, I watch in fascination at how tightly his fingers grip, and wonder if that might hurt. Surely it mustn’t if he’s still doing it.

When his other hand moves into my line of sight and two fingers lift up in a gesture, my gaze finds his as he stares at me.

“Come here,”he mouths, and oh hell, I have to force myself not to move as I subtly shake my head.

“Please,”he mouths, and ohhhh myyyy goooood. I really want to go to him.

My gaze darts around the yard. Some men are watching the two guys and woman in the centre, and most of the women are in some sort of compromising position with the male onlookers. As drawn to Ringo as I am, I can’t go to him like this, with people everywhere. With people that can see. People who might want to join in.

My eyes find his again, and I gently shake my head, emotions stronger than the arousal that gave me the courage to come out here, and I find myself stepping back.

I can’t do this.

One foot after the other, I put distance between us, and then I turn and run back to the room. The moment I close the door, I press my back against it, my chest heaving as the burn of tears threaten again.

What is wrong with me? Why can’t I just let go?

I hurry away from the door, using the light shining through from outside to guide me when the door quickly opens, and I spin, gasping.

Even though I can’t see his face, the broad silhouette can only be that of Ringo, and a whimper escapes me as he steps inside and closes the door behind him, and the lock clicking into place is louder than it probably should be.

He’s locking me in.

This is it.

This is when he takes what he wants.

I shake my head as he steps forward, his gruff voice quiet.

“Don’t run from me.”

I shake my head again. “No.”

“What do you think is happening here?” he asks, and I frown as my heels hit the wall that runs along my side of the bed. He still continues forward.

“I can’t. Please don’t make me.”

I hate the fear in my voice.

I hate how weak it makes me sound.

I hate the reasonwhyI’m like this.

I hate it all.

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