Page 37 of Taking

After two more hours, I knew she wouldn’t eat, the stubborn bitch. I couldn’t allow her to waste away. Too many weeks lay between her and her twenty-first birthday.

She needed to live so Lloyd would lose out on all he’d been working toward since marrying her cunt of a mother.

Cursing, I pulled on the damn mask, strode toward the door, and all but busted it down, flicking on the light.

She didn’t rouse, merely shutting her eyes against the brightness.

“Get up,” I barked.

The snobby princess didn’t so much as twitch, as though she couldn’t be bothered with my voice and commands.

I yanked her to her feet, thankful as fuck for the gas mask since she hadn’t washed for days and probably stank like shit. She sagged in my arms, boneless.

What would get her sputtering and acting like a living being rather than a corpse? The hissing wildcat I enjoyed the hell out of and missed? A good hard fuck, but that wasn’t on the menu yet.

Frigid as fuck water from the showerhead would do. I tossed her into the stall, shirt and all, where she sank to her knees.

She shivered and shook, eyeing my boots. I backed off, leaving the shower curtain open as the cold water beat down on her head.

“Wash,” I barked and planted myself in the doorway, legs spread and arms crossed.

The water eventually warmed, steam rising, and she let out one final shiver before standing and tugging off her old shirt, dropping it with a splat to the shower floor.

In an attempt to ignore her pale skin and the lush curve of her ass, I thought on the plans still before me, the ruination of Sheriff Bradshaw thanks to Rogers’s files.

A shit ton of shady dealings had taken place between Devon’s dad and Rogers. Evidence acquired at three drug busts—evidence that never made it to the station but got re-routed and sold elsewhere. The money was pocketed by Sheriff Bradshaw and Rogers, a shady ex-cop.

He’d promised me pictures, good ones clearly depicting the fucker trading cash for stolen guns and confiscated drugs.

Rogers had been planning to set him up for months, but the sheriff had gotten wind of his actions and had him locked up before he’d been able to unleash hell.

Being a smart fucker, Rogers had created files on an old USB stick and hid it at his nephew’s house. One I hadn’t gotten a chance to sniff out before nabbing my prize.

Addilyn Jane Reed.

She was rosy-skinned from the hot water cascading down over her body. Suds covered her head but not the peach-scented kind I’d have preferred. A deodorant soap bar swept over her body, cleaning away days’ worth of stink and grime.

She kept her back to me, retaining some bit of privacy, but little did she know, her ass turned me on just as much as her front.

My dick swelled inside my jeans, but I ignored the discomfort.

The bar of soap slipped from her hand and fell to the floor beside the soaked shirt that tickled my memory.

She fucking bent over to retrieve the soap, legs straight, ass cheeks separating and giving me a glimpse of her puckered hole, ridding the thoughts of her shirt from my mind.

“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, my dick twitching. Instantly pre-cum welled at the tip.

She washed between her legs—fucking slid soapy fingers down that crack. Slick. Hot. Probably tight as fuck.

I imagined her asshole sucking my dick into her body, her whimpers from the stretching pain, her tears…

If I didn’t jerk off, I’d end up fucking her like a goddamn animal.

Couldn’t have that.

With a flick of the button, I quickly unzipped and slid my palm over my leaking head and down until my jeans stopped the motion.

She stepped sideways beneath the spray to rinse, keeping that ass all up in my face, and I palmed my slickened head, squeezing, sliding a few inches to my jeans and back up.

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