Page 40 of Possession

I nip the back of his neck. “Read.”

Another sigh. He opens the book to chapter one and starts to read, “Jack Torrance thought—”

I reach over him and smash the book down. “Silently.”

He tugs the book out from under my hand and opens it again. He pats my arm. “I’ll protect you,” he promises and starts reading out loud again.

I growl and bite the back of his neck. He shivers. His voice quavers, but he just keeps reading.

I let my hand slide down his belly to his cock. I take threatening hold of it—and he’sstillundeterred.

I’m so stunned by his defiance that I just lie there. Until I realize that I love the sound of him reading. Until I realize that this is really fucking nice.

I keep hold of his cock, but the threat fades. I just like the feel of it in my hand. I think he likes it too because he adjusts his hips to settle more fully into my hold.

I sigh and relax and let him horrify me.

THIRTEEN

Lucas

Sitting on the bed in my jeans and sweatshirt, I watch Roman over the top of the book. We finished it a few days ago—at least I think it was a few days; it’s so hard to track time here—and I’m rereading it for lack of other options. Roman is at the punching bag.

I think he’s upset. I’m not sure what’s bothering him.

After he told me his name, we had a few good days. It was wonderful. Reading to him. Having sex with him. Listening to him speak.

Mostly, he uses words to ask me questions. I think he now knows more about me than anyone ever has. It was hard at first to talk about myself, but I’m getting better at it. I don’t have any choice. He’s so insistent.

He’s also very stubborn and won’t reciprocate. He shuts down when I ask him anything about himself.

Still, we were making progress. He let me tease him about his reactions toThe Shining. He wasn’t joking that he doesn’t like horror. At one point, he took the book from me and stuffed it under the mattress, shuddered, and said, “No.”

But once we finished the book, once our days settled back into sleep, sex, food, and working out, his mood started to decline.

I set the book aside and get up. He’s been at the punching bag for hours. Enough is enough.

I walk across the cell to him. I go to the opposite side of the punching bag and grab it. It still shocks me to be so bold, especially with someone as dangerous as Roman. But in a weirdway, it’s easier with him than with anyone. He’s never sneering nor indirect. There’s no subtext. I can trust his reactions and expressions. I can trust his words when he offers them.

The bag thumps against me with his next punch. And his next. They’re half power but still enough to rattle my teeth. He thinks I’ll give up, but I won’t.

The bag goes still. I peer around it. Under his lowered brows, his dark eyes flick to me.

I know he’s violent. I know he’s genuinely dangerous. But I also know that he won’t hurt me.

“Move,” he says.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

He scowls and focuses on the bag. He punches it lightly.

“Roman.”

He flinches at his name. I’ve never said it before. I’ve wanted to but haven’t because of how hard it was for him to give it to me. So I’m not entirely surprised at his flinch, but it bothers me all the same.

A lot bothers me.

It sweeps through me suddenly, a wave of despair.

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