Page 8 of Taken By the Outlaw

He moves toward the door, then pauses, looking back at me over his shoulder. "Just so you know—if you say no, I'll respect that. But I won't let you go. Not yet. So consider your options carefully, Emilia."

The door closes behind him, the lock clicking into place with finality.

I remain seated, food forgotten, mind racing. Was that truly a choice he offered? Freedom for...my virginity? The thought should disgust me. Should make me hate him. But all I can think about is how it felt when he touched my face, the heat in his eyes when he said he wanted to be my first.

I press my thighs together, trying to ease the unfamiliar ache building there. What's happening to me? Is this Stockholm syndrome, developing an attachment to my captor? Or is it something that was already there, waiting to be awakened—this craving for danger, for the unknown, for a man who looks at me like I'm something precious to be devoured?

I've spent my entire life being good, being responsible. When Dad left, I became the substitute parent, holding our family together while Mom's condition worsened. I've never complained, never rebelled. Never even considered putting my own desires first.

But Clark makes me want to be selfish. Makes me want to grab something for myself, just once.

One night. One night of complete surrender, and then back to my life, to responsibility, to safety.

I move to the small window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. The compound seems quiet outside, no sign of the other men from last night. Just a dusty yard surrounded by a high fence, beyond which I can see trees and open sky. Freedom.

But as I close my eyes, it's not freedom I see. It's Clark's face, those blue eyes burning into mine. His hands, strong and capable, touching me in ways I've only imagined in my most secret dreams.

One night.

I don’t know how much time passes, but the door opens again, and I turn quickly, heart leaping.

It's him, standing there as if my thoughts summoned him. He fills the doorway, powerful and beautiful in his danger, and the decision crystalizes in my mind with startling clarity.

I want this. I want him. God help me, I've never wanted anything more.

"Yes," I say, before he can speak. "One night."

The hunger that flashes across his face makes my knees weak. I've never felt power like this—the knowledge that I affect this dangerous man as much as he affects me.

"Good girl," he says softly, and something inside me melts at the approval in his voice.

I've just made a deal with the devil. And all I can think is that I can't wait for tonight.

four

Clark

I pacethe length of my bedroom, checking the time again. Eight minutes since I last looked. The waiting is excruciating, but I won't rush this. For nineteen years, Emilia has belonged to herself, to her responsibilities. Tonight, she belongs to me. My body hums with anticipation, cock already half-hard just thinking about what's to come. I've changed the sheets, set out water, dimmed the lights. Like I'm preparing for a fucking date instead of claiming what's mine. It's ridiculous—I've never given this much thought to fucking before. Butshe'sdifferent. Untouched. The weight of being her first presses on me, a responsibility I didn't expect to care about. But I do. I want to ruin her for anyone else, yes. But I also want her to remember this night with something other than regret.

The compound is quiet. I made sure of it, sending the boys out on various errands, ensuring we'll have privacy. No interruptions. No witnesses to whatever weakness I might display in the face of her innocence.

I catch my reflection in the mirror—a hardened man in his thirties, scarred by a life of violence, undeserving of something as pure as Emilia West. For a moment, I consider calling the whole thing off. Letting her go, finding another way to ensure her silence. It would be the decent thing to do.

But I've never claimed to be decent.

I’m standing outside her door My heart rate spikes, anticipation coursing through me like a drug.

I adjut my cock and open it. She's still wearing the same clothes from yesterday—that oversized cardigan that hides too much of her from my view, jeans that have seen better days. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, chestnut waves catching the low light. She's been crying. I can see the slight redness around her eyes. But her chin is lifted, her posture straight. Brave little librarian.

"Are you ready?"

"I keep my promises," she replies, and the quiet dignity in her voice hits me like a physical blow.

I cross the room slowly, not wanting to frighten her. When I reach her, I lift a hand to brush her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She flinches slightly but doesn't pull away.

"Are you afraid?" I ask.

She meets my eyes directly. "Yes."

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