Page 53 of The Villain's Captive (The Villain's Duet 1)

“I think you’ve had enough, Charlotte.”

“Oh, no.” I waved my finger in front of his face. “You do not get to kidnap me, drug me, drop all these fucking bombs on me, and tell me when I’ve had enough wine.” I stood. “No way, Master Musician kidnapper hitman stalker and whatever else you fucking are. Not today.”

My heeled pumps clicked across the floor as I walked to the bar which was stocked with every kind of alcohol you could think of. Shots, wine, beer, ciders, champagne—you name it, and this yacht stocked it. For a second, I felt overwhelmed with the endless possibilities of how I could drown this fog of confusion currently occupying my brain.

I spotted the tequila bottle and had one of those “ah-ha” moments, realizing that nothing helped a person forget about their problems quite like tequila did.

“Charlotte.” I heard Elijah come up behind me, but it didn’t stop me from reaching for a shot glass.

“I can promise you, your problems aren’t going to look any better tomorrow.”

“But it can make it look better now, which kinda is my short-term goal here.”

“Charlotte.” He wrapped his long fingers around my elbow, but I yanked free.

“Don’t touch me.” I opened the bottle, but just as I was about to pour tequila, he grabbed my elbow and twisted me around, causing me to drop the tequila.

Cold liquid splashed around my feet, glass pieces shattered with the pungent scent of alcohol instantly burning my nostrils. But neither the strong smell or the need to get drunk compared to the tension that instantly exploded around us, his eyes burning, his gaze hot and hungry.

His fingers tightened, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, leaving a tempting shimmer. I found myself wanting to taste it, wanting to feel it against my own lips which now ached with the need to be kissed. Devoured.

God. I had to fight it. I had to stop myself from giving in to the erotic pull that swirled inside me while staring into his eyes, feeling his fingers burn my flesh.

He stepped closer, glass cracking and breaking beneath his shoes. Would I end up being that glass? Broken and ruined beneath his feet? Surely, what I was feeling right now would only end in chaos.

The air around us turned static as he leaned down, my insides coiled with anticipation as he held me hostage with the power that radiated off him. Trapped. Caught and imprisoned.

I lifted my chin. “Earlier, when you said I became an obsession,” I breathed, “what did you mean?”

His fingers traced up my arm, setting my skin aflame, torturing me with such a simple touch. “I spent years watching you live your life…only to realize that I wanted to be in it.” His fingers cupped my chin. “Even if it meant spending the rest of my days in the shadows.”

He dragged his hand from my wrist, snaking it around my waist, abruptly pulling me against him. A breath escaped me with a huff, and my body powered up with a need to be filled.

He slipped a finger underneath the fabric on my shoulder, gently easing it down my arm. Logic demanded that I fight, that I object—but the primal instinct that burned throughout my body made it impossible.

“Tell me something,” he started, his gaze fixed on my naked shoulder. “There’s one thing I never could figure out about you.”

Intrigued, I held my tongue and focused on my labored breaths, trying hard to keep hold of a sliver of control.

He kissed my shoulder, the feel of his lips against my hot flesh causing me to whimper. “In all the years I’ve watched you, I haven’t seen you with a man once. Why?”

“Maybe I was. Maybe you weren’t looking.”

He brought his hand to my chest, his palms brushing against my nipple—now hard and needy. His fingers spread along my throat. “That’s impossible.”

“How so?”

His hold clamped down around my neck. “Because if I had seen you with a man,” he kissed along my jaw and stilled a breath away from my parted lips, “he’d be dead.”

It was a split-second of absolute madness, the moment he crashed his lips against mine, kissing me so hard the edge of the counter bit into my back. A growl tore from his throat, like an addict finally finding the fix he had craved.

I kissed him back, allowing him in to explore and ravish. He tasted of whiskey and sin, a lethal combination that threatened to incinerate me from the inside out. Our fevered kisses turned into a duel, a fight to devour each other—intoxicated and frenzied.

It didn’t make sense. Nothing about us made any sense. But with the buzz of alcohol in my veins and the crackle of electricity around us, it made it impossible to make a single rational decision.

Elijah reached between us, clutching the fabric of my pantsuit between his fingers before tearing it straight down the front, shoving it back, my breasts open and aching to be touched. There wasn’t a part of my body that didn’t hum with a need stemming from deep inside my core—ready to be consumed. My skin burned with a need to be touched by him, every muscle aching for more.

He straightened, watching me as he palmed both my breasts. I moaned, and he squeezed harder. “Tell me, Charlotte. Have you been with a man before?”

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