Page 24 of The Freedom in Captivity

“Perfect,” she whispers, an unusual edge to her tone.

“Do you want to stop?” She has a word to stop me, but this seems like a moment she wouldn’t recall to use it.

“No, god, please don’t. I need you, Flynn.”

Rozelyn’s smart as fuck, so maybe it’s something with one of her classes. Maybe it’s something else entirely, but her wetness has made me hard and her reassurance of her feelings manages to push through my own concern. I undo my jeans and palm myself.

Then I shift her panties aside because she enjoys remaining dressed for this. Makes it feel more rushed and hurried, more in line with her fantasies, and if I’m honest, I enjoy it too. She’ll leave here today with her panties wet and the ache of my cock between her thighs.

From my wallet, I take out a condom, sheathe myself and lift her thigh to the side. I line my cock to her core and enter with a shared moan that, no doubt, others could hear from the other side.

There’s not much to my name. I barely even call the bedroom I rest my head in each night as mine.

But Rozelyn Bray is mine.

And it’s moments like this that prove to the world around us, she owns me too.

Being close to graduation, we’ve been together for months. I often question if it’s possible to know someone’s a soulmate after a short while, but I knew it early on with her. Rozelyn buried herself in my heart from her initial smile, and we’ve shared many firsts over these months. Many promises, and many hopes.

Her back arches, pushing her ass into me. I grasp her wrists in one hand and lift them above our heads, rendering her immoveable—an action often necessary in our play, even if she isn’t fighting this time.

“It’s been too long.” I growl in her ear. Three days since I’ve been inside her, to be exact. “I’m starved for you.”

She makes a noise in the back of her throat. “I’ll always remember us like this, Flynn.”

Odd words but my orgasm is sneaking up quickly, so I don’t have time to question her. I drop one of my hands to her clit and strum the sensitive ball of nerves, urging her orgasm quicker, my own thrusts sparking an undeniable heat inside my body.

“Come for me.”

She enjoys me talking her through her orgasms, and it’s with a few other short statements, both praiseworthy and derogatory, she comes, her pussy milking me, her cry of pleasure tapering off into a low, dragged-out moan as she bites her bottom lip.

I drop her hands to take her neck instead, turning her head until I’m able to claim her mouth in a messy kiss. Not a gentle one, but a promising one. Her tongue tangles with mine and the moment her orgasm fully subsides, mine shoots off, my mind going blank for a moment. There’s nothing on earth better than this.

When our orgasms pass, I bury my face in her long hair, breathing in the scent of flowers. Of everything good in my life. Of everything that makes returning to school every day fucking worth it.

I wake with a jerk, escaping from the nightmare.

Nightmare. Certainly not a dream. Dreams end happy, but hours after that interaction, Rozelyn destroyed that happiness and bliss by telling me goodbye. Later looking back on that moment, her lack of fight during sex made more sense. She wasn’t fighting because she was in her head about what was coming.

In my pants, my cock is rock fucking hard, the memory of her pussy invading my present reality.

The reality in which she no longer means anything to me.

Fucking Christ.

I swing my feet off the bed, rubbing a hand down my face, trying to rid my head of the thoughts. Of the horrible memories I’ve long tucked away. Rozelyn’s very presence is making everything I’d shoved away resurface.

The time on my phone reads only three hours past when I dozed off.

Fuck.

Grabbing my phone, I open the camera app again, finding her in the same place as before. This time, she’s managed to lie down, curled in a tight ball, her arm folded and acting as a pillow beneath her head. Then I hate her all over for new reasons. She’s able to sleep down there while I’m struggling to pass out for longer than three hours in a comfortable bed, silence, and warmth.

Grumbling, I swipe away the app and stand, heading first to the bathroom, and then for fresh clothing before exiting my bedroom.

The mansion’s hallways are dimmed but not dark; the lights are never switched off entirely. More often than not, someone’s still awake in this place, and with the De Falco situation, lately, that’s been Nico.

I don’t seek him out though because it’s a conversation I’d rather not have. I pass his office door, catching it open a few inches. Voices drift from inside. Maybe he’s on the phone. Agitation walks me right to the mansion’s large front doors and outside.

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