Page 51 of The Freedom in Captivity

And that’s the part that terrifies me.

That day was the beginning of the end.

Not the end of me. Not even the end of Flynn and me because the scars on our palms said we’d find each other again.

The end ofhim. Of Dad’s demise.

I already hated him for the abuse, but threatening Flynn hit me deeper and harder than his hands had ever. The next day, when Mom passed, it felt like the world made me its own personal punching bag. I was losing everyone I cared about in such a short amount of time and the only person left was Yasmine. I grew distant from everyone but her.

I’d been proficient in turning my emotions off already because I didn’t want Mom to know what Dad was doing to me, but the day I told Flynn goodbye was the day I turned italloff. When protecting Yasmine was my entire purpose in life and nothing else mattered. Because it wasn’t allowed to.

His heartbreak back then was discerning.

His recollection of it earlier was evident.

“Tell me why you deserve to come, Rozelyn. You broke my fuckin’ heart! You deserve nothing but pain.”

I still didn’t end up coming because I ended up admitting what drove me away back then, all for him to get further from me. He doesn’t believe me, but I don’t blame him. Deep down, I think a part of him does, but it’s a worry for another time. For now, thoughts of Flynn need to be sucked down the drain alongside the shower’s water because he can’t be my entire focus.

The water that feels so fuckinggood, it’s nearly causing me to groan. Two showers back-to-back is not only a dream, but pure bliss.

With his soap, I wash away the blood, noting the slim, red line across my mound. I’m not bothered by it, even when I should be. In fact, I kind of appreciate it. I might have pushed into the blade, but it feels like a renewed version of the scar on our palms. Like in a fucked-up way, he’s marked me. Even fucked-up, I even enjoy the thought.

When my hands wipe soap over my breasts, my nipples get hard with the thought of Flynn here in this shower too. It’s been so long since I’ve seen all of him and crave knowing what he looks like now. When he’s standing in my place, and I imagine him also washing blood from his skin after a long session doing his enforcer duties.

Dad had an enforcer too, until recently when Nico Corsetti murdered him in his escape. I’m not bothered at all by the loss. He was one of many creepy men working around the mansion, who paid me no attention under my father’s orders.

But being aware of what the job entails and knowing Flynn—or at least the guy I used to know—is strange to thinkthat’swhat he does. How many people has he killed, and how many of those were merciless? How much blood has gone down the drain at my feet?

A flash of the Flynn I’ve seen downstairs enters my vision. Heated and brutal, bent over a person begging for their life. Putting aside the gruesomeness though, my mind focuses only onhim, reliving how he first acted with me. Vengeful and dominant, even a little bit psycho.

And still, my core clenches.

When my hands pass soap over my stomach, over my hips, my fingers linger right over where the cut is, remembering how I got it. What he was doing to me when I got wounded.

My eyes flutter shut, and I let myself go. My fingers slide between my legs, stroking right over my clit, imagining my fingers as his tongue. Remembering the heat he quickly built inside me and the way he so easily brought my body to the edge before pulling back and demanding answers.

This time won’t be stopped, and I slip one finger inside myself.

In my mind, Flynn rises from between my legs and stands, grasping my hair in his unyielding hold. I used to love when he’d keep me still, using me like I was a toy for his pleasure. He was a kid then, and imagining the man now, I bet it’s no longer a game for him.

Flynn fucking me would be an otherworldly experience.

What is wrong with me?Amidst the pleasure coming from my fingers, the question slips in. I’m a captive, kept until I reveal information about my father, and the future beyond that is unknown. Yet, here I am, thinking about Flynn in such a way when my life is still no less on the line than it was days ago.

Still, my fingers don’t stop. My mind doesn’t end its fantasizing.

“Flynn…” My fingers swipe over my clit before entering me again. I hadn’t meant to speak aloud, but my body isn’t in control anymore. Not even my mind, I think, as I release that too. “Flynn…”

“The fuck do you think you’re doin’?”

That certainly wasn’t in my head.

Cool air washes over my skin, replacing the water’s heat. Flynn’s standing at the edge of the shower, curtain gripped between his tight fist as his eyes drop to where my fingers are.

It’s not only his fist that’s tight, I notice. It’s everything. It’s his expression as his jaw ticks. The muscles in his arms cording.

“You took too long,” is all I mutter.

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