Page 50 of Oh No, My Kidnapper Is Hot!

I shake my head.

“No, Stryker. It’s not okay of me to be looking at you like that at all. It’s a violation. It’s–”

“Millie,” he interrupts. “You think I’m dressing in these tiny shorts every day for you to not even take a little peek?”

“I– what?”

He tsks.

“I want you to look,” he says. “Hopefully, we can work up to you being able to look a little longer, but for now, you need to know your limits. I’m not upset that you were checkin’ me out. I’m upset that you weren’t being safe about it.”

He…

“Youwantme to look at you?”

“I’d love nothin’ more than for you to spend your days drinkin’ your fill of my body. Eyes, mouth, hands – I’m not picky, so long as you’re helping me take care of you while you do it. Which means if your legs start feelin’ the wrong kind of weak, you look away. Got it?”

I gape. An unintelligible sound comes from deep within me, and I wonder if the human body could catch on fire from blushing too hard. I dearly hope so, because I am not equipped to handle a single bit of what just came out of Stryker’s mouth.

He’s smiling, and I have to tear my eyes away. Focusing on his mouth is going to get me nowhere good, and I’m already dealing with beyond my quota of nowhere good.

“Got it, Millie?” he asks again. Face burning, I give a sharp nod. “Good,” he murmurs, leaning in. He rubs his nose against my temple, his breath warm against my cheek. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

A hysterical laugh bubbles its way out of me.

“I don’t think we’re even in the same stratosphere,” I tell him. He hums.

“We’ll get there.”

A cross between a deranged giggle and a groan escapes me. He rests his forehead against mine for half a second more before pulling away. He uses his hold on my hand to continue leading me down the path, ignoring my efforts to pull away from his grip.

I swallow down another wave of hysteria and try to shove the last five minutes into a denial box. Panic edges in when the box won’t shut. It’s full to bursting.

I could cry.

Unaware of – or ignoring – my mounting alarm, Stryker guides us to a small cluster of buildings surrounding a modest parking lot. I halt, causing him to almost wrench my arm out of its socket as he keeps moving forward.

She’s here.

My baby. My precious. My Lean Green Machine.

I take a step toward my car, a tear slipping down my cheek.

She’s parked in the middle of a row of black and white vehicles, sticking out like the most beautiful sore thumb I’ve ever seen.

“You want to check on her?” Stryker asks. I nod, my eyes locked on my neon green beacon of joy. I barely hear his deep chuckle behind me as my hand is released. I run to her.

I slam into the trunk arms wide, pressing my cheek against her warm surface. My coat squishes between us.

“I’ve missed you, baby. I know it was scary, being with these strangers, but I’m here now. I won’t leave you behind, I promise.” I sniffle as a large, rough hand lands between my shoulder blades.

“Archie’s been taking good care of her,” Stryker says. “He gave her a tune-up and changed her oil. The transmission was going bad, so we gave her a new one. The tires are new too.”

“She had a whole spa day without me,” I moan. “I need to tell Archie thank you.”

“I’m the one who paid for it,” Stryker mumbles. “You could tell me thanks.”

He sulks when I don’t respond.

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