Page 66 of Taking

As an innocent, I had desired things I shouldn’t. Reality had proved more horrific because being taken by force had been so very wrong, regardless of how my body responded.

With each passing day, I questioned who I was, what I was. How any normal, sane person could enjoy violence and blood, bruising fingertips and slapping palms…filthy words that would have at one time reddened my face and made my insides squirm.

Pretending to not want Gideon while soaked for him just to give us both a thrill…it didn’t sit right in my head, no matter how much the actions made my body purr. And when he left me twice to get us essentials and some supplies, I missed him. Ached for him. He returned the first time with my laptop and a bag of my clothes.

A present, he’d called them.

Rustled together after a quick call to my old roommate who I longed to see again.

He denied me, the jackass.

We couldn’t take the chance of her being trailed, couldn’t take any more chances than we already did—but I still lusted for him even while pissed off. Longed for his hands on my body, his marks on my skin. My fingers itched to scrape him up with my nails. Make him bleed.

I did.

Sunday morning, almost two weeks since arriving in Anchorage, the morning news anchor on the local station announced some breaking news which ended our time in the city.

The sheriff had been arrested.

I hurried out of the bathroom, drying my wet hair with a towel. Gideon sat on the bed’s edge, naked and hot, his eyes hard and focused on the TV.

Devon’s dad was being taken out of their house in handcuffs by the FBI. Head lowered, shoulders slumped. He didn’t carry himself with his usual arrogance. No smirk on his face.

Vicious satisfaction at seeing him led away like he’d done to Gideon coursed through me…how did Gideon sit so unmoved?

New evidence, the anchor said, none of which had yet been released, but another arrest had been made in the scandal from years earlier…there must be good reason, the anchor continued.

I turned back toward Gideon.

He still stared at the TV, lips flatlined.

“Poetic justice,” I stated, dropping the towel and climbing on his lap to straddle his thighs.

He met my gaze, a glint in his eye.

“Cuffed on a Sunday morning—just like you.” I smoothed back his hair, smiling softly. “Are you happy?”

“I will be once he’s behind bars and Rogers takes his own revenge.”

Butterflies lit in my belly, excitement and arousal. I leaned in and kissed Gideon, thinking we needed to celebrate.

The jackass set me aside and stood. “It’s time to get out of town.”

I frowned. Gideon never turned me away when I came looking for his mouth or his dick. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He strode into the bathroom and shut the door.

Had seeing the video clip brought back memories from when he’d been arrested?

I’d expected a good, hard celebratory fuck, but something had upset him enough to not want me.

Chewing on my lower lip, I considered his coldness, his lack of action. What was I missing? Had he been full of shit in saying he’d never get enough of me? Of my hot, tight ass?

I went to the closed door. “Gideon?” I called.

“Get your shit together, princess. We’re leaving in five.”

Bossy asshole.

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