Page 6 of My Captive's Heart
My boots hardly make a noise as I slowly walk deeper, acting nonchalant as though I come here every night for a stroll. Despite pretending to be calm on the outside, I’m hyperaware of every second that ticks by, the beat of my heart, and every breath I inhale.
Where are you hiding, Matt?
“Ahh!” I scream, sensing a rough caress on my lower back. Whirling around, I realize what it is and huff a laugh. “Shit. Just a leaf.”
Stepping back, I smack into a brick wall.
I gasp in fear when it shoves me forward, purposely tripping me.
A glance back brings me face-to-face with a hulking and masked Matt. It’s like he’s grown two sizes too big in the span of a week. He’s been working out for the past year, so I know I’m being silly.
Without uttering a word—one of our rules—he watches me with his head tilted in that eerie way that sends a trickle of worry down my back.
Feigning annoyance, I look him up and down. In a bitchy tone, I huff, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He doesn’t reply.
Just steps forward.
It’s instinct that has me cowering back.
I suppress a moan at the aura my sweet boyfriend is exuding. Where the heck was he hiding all this energy? Continuing my charade, I indignantly say, “Go away, asshole.”
He bridges the remaining distance and hauls me against his solid chest with a hand around my elbow. I barely inhale his earthy cologne as he drags us backward, distracting me from my task.
Sinking into my role, I twist and attempt to free my arm. “Hey! Let go!”
He tightens his hold.
I switch to slapping his bicep, hoping to dislodge his grip. “What are you doing?”
Doubling down on my efforts, I kick and shove him. The second his fingers go lax for a fraction of a second, I snatch my arm back and run past him. His footfalls thud behind me as I turn right. Wheat and crops slap my biceps and neck, but adrenaline outweighs the slight pain.
The path is narrow, so I hunch a little as I sprint away from Matt.
No—my captor.
“Ahh! No!” My scream echoes through the moonlit sky as an arm winds around my waist. I’m picked up like a rag doll and yanked flush against his chest.
God, yes! Take me.
“Let me go!”
His free hand wraps around my throat from the front and squeezes in warning.
Fuck, babe! Show me who’s boss.
“Don’t do this!” I beg, futilely fighting him. “I’m sorry I was rude.”
The hand on my waist slithers upward, cupping my left breast right beside my wildly pounding heart. My eyes go wideas he massages it hard,reallyhard. In a way he’s never done before.
I swallow the pleasured sigh, my nipple puckering under his touch.
Are our surroundings bringing out his rough side? Emboldening him to let go of his worries about hurting me, even though I beg him all the time?
The shock of his roughness sidetracks me into forgetting to fight him.
“Don’t touch me, you monster,” I hiss, kicking him in the shin. He doesn’t even grunt. His strength is like an immovable mountain.
