Page 48 of Deviant

I whirled and shot him a scowl. “Let me go.” I lifted my chained ankle, and the racket of the links clinking together sent a shudder through me. If I never heard the sound of chains again, I’d be happy.

“I’ll let you out of here when I’m good and ready.” He closed the distance between us, stalking me like a predator. The instant I caught a hint of his heat, my arms flopped to my sides in surrender. My nipples grew taut, giving Rafe a tempting peek through the curls flowing over my shoulders.

“You’re making me want you,” he said with a groan, his eyes hungry and greedy. I licked my lips, and the fullness of my breasts made me hornier than ever.

“Then take me.”

God, he looked tempted. He had to be going mad, too. He’d fucked my mouth a couple of times, but we hadn’t gone this long without sex since he’d come back to me six months after faking his death.

How ironic that we were both good at faking shit. My pretend period ended yesterday. I was beyond ready to jump his bones if he’d let me.

Instead of giving in, he turned away, causing my spirit to plummet.

I shuffled my feet, and the ever-present rub of denim against my pussy ignited an inferno between my legs. “What do I have to do to get out of here?”

He stalled at the end of the bed, and my heart skipped a beat. Finally. He was going to do something.

Kiss me.

Fuck me.

Let me go.

All of the above.

He glanced at me from over his shoulder, and I deflated at the resolution in his eyes. “Angel is coming in to go over some wedding options, so eat up.” On his way out the door, he gestured toward the plate he’d brought in.

Letting go of my last ray of hope for parole, I settled onto the bed and dug into the turkey sandwich he’d made me. I’d been ravenous lately, and a little nauseous. I tried convincing myself the nausea came from eating too much, which led to blaming my new eating habits on boredom.

I didn’t believe my own lie though.

With the continued absence of Aunt Flow, it was pretty obvious what was going on. Even so, I still chose to bury my head in the sand.

The door swung open, and I looked up from the last two bites of my sandwich. Angel stood in the doorway, eyes downcast in uncertainty. She clutched a magazine in her hands. I glanced over her shoulder, starved for the sight of Rafe, but he wasn’t there.

I wanted to hold on to my fury. It had gotten me through days and days of loneliness, of missing him so fiercely that my chest literally ached. My armor of anger was fading, and I was scared of what might sprout up in its place.

Desolation.

Madness.

Psychosis.

Angel broke through my brain fog by taking a small step over the threshold. All too conscious of my topless state, I made sure my hair covered my breasts before patting a spot next to me on the bed. “You can come in.”

She closed the door and settled on the mattress, and I nodded toward the magazine. “Is that for me?”

“Yes. He wants you to pick a dress.” She opened the glossy cover and ran her hand over a picture of a redhead wearing a satin wedding gown. As the pads of Angel’s fingers glided over the page, as if she could feel the smooth texture of the luxurious material, I leaned forward to get a better look.

“That one’s pretty.”

She handed me the magazine, gaze lowering to my tits as she passed it from her hands to mine. I felt my nipples harden under her scrutiny, and I didn’t have to glance down to know they were poking through my curls.

She cupped my left breast, fingers a torturous tease on my nipple as she moved my hair out of the way. I inhaled a surprised breath.

“They’re so perfect.” As if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, she uncovered the other side. “He doesn’t beat you there?” Her blue eyes raised to mine, wide with unspoken questions.

I gulped, thrown off-guard by her actions. “Um…he has a few times.” I paused, nibbling on my lip, trying to figure out the best way to explain. “But I enjoy the pain.” Most of the time, anyway.

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