Page 38 of Taking

Fucking over and around, my hips thrusting.

“Goddamnit,” I hissed as the blue shirt’s origins flashed through my head.

Mine. From five years earlier when I’d pressed her against her bedroom door, letting her feel the hardness of my dick for the first time. I’d emptied my balls minutes later in my bedroom, using that shirt to wipe off my cum-soaked hand.

“Fuck.”

Addilyn stilled.

I cursed again as my balls exploded. She’d been wearing it to bed every night—my goddamn shirt. Cum shot into my palm, and I shuddered, hips thrusting, spunk erupting.

I finished, but she didn’t move. My breath sounded hollow in the mask, and I cursed at myself for the sense of possessiveness that had sent me over the edge.

What did it matter if I took from her physically? What part of me refused to plunder her before she broke so I could laugh in her face? Why did a shred of decency reside deep inside me over a woman who deserved my anger, the revenge I’d promised myself?

The goddamn blue shirt…I still fucking cared, same as her.

Jaw tight, I flicked on the water in the sink and washed the proof of my weakness from my palm.

She made me feeble, that stubborn connection between us keeping me from taking what I’d dreamed about.

Fucking bitch.

I tucked my dick away, yanked a towel from beneath the sink, and shortened the distance between us. “Get out.” Shutting off the water, I shoved the towel against her back, and she turned enough to grasp at it, to keep it from falling to the shower floor beside my soaked shirt.

Spinning, I strode out the door and into the living area of the cabin where I’d dragged the bureau. I grabbed a clean T-shirt from the top drawer and stomped back the way I’d come, slinging it at her where she stood in the middle of the bathroom.

It fell at her feet.

I stood and stared, forming fists at my sides so I wouldn’t grab her, waiting for her to obey.

Her gaze dropped down over me, lingering on my right hand clenched tight by my thigh. I stretched out my fingers beneath her gaze, my body buzzing with need—to punch something, someone. Fucking figured, since I knew I could never truly hurt Addilyn.

She eyed the shirt I’d tossed her way a second before squatting to pick it up.

Black, long-sleeved like the one I wore.

With her focus on my mask, she dropped the damn towel like she wanted to tempt the lusting animal inside me but shrugged the shirt over her wet head before my instincts pushed me to make a move.

Fucking tease—even if her eyes didn’t state as much. She’d used the bathroom in front of me without hesitation. Lifted her shirt to sit on the toilet, uncaring that I stood in front of her, feet separating me from her pussy. Yes, she’d kept her back to me in the shower, but maybe she somehow knew her backside made me hard.

Bitch.

A muscle ticked in my jaw, and I once more grabbed her arm, ready to toss her ass back into the bedroom, away from me and my lust.

15

Addilyn

I’d already been through hell, and there was nothing my captor could do to hurt me. That truth had led to finding peace during the days of darkness he’d kept me in. I refused to call it anything else. Waiting for Lloyd continued to twist my mind, my stomach.

I couldn’t look at the damn mask of the man who’d stood before me, but his fisted hands reminded me so much of Gideon that my eyes stung, revealing my weakness. The shirt I pulled down over my head to cover my nakedness hinted at the scent of his skin I’d sniffed from the old blue shirt left behind in a soaked pile on the shower floor.

Wishful thinking.

The energy crackled between us, raising the hairs on my neck, and I told myself it wasn’t Gideon, to not get my hopes up. The man in front of me was too large, his shoulders too wide, his neck too thick.

But the bulge in his jeans reminded me of the hard length Gideon had slid between my lips. Five years later, and I still remembered the saltiness of his cum, the lust in his eyes as he’d peered down at me with his hooded gaze. His lips had parted as he’d thrust, fucking my throat until I’d gagged.

---