Page 58 of Pretty Stolen Dolls

“I like it when you’re cold. It turns your skin a shade paler,” he muses as his eyes feast over my naked, vampire-looking skin. “Like porcelain.”

“It’s called death’s door, Benjamin.” I shiver and rub at myself, trying to keep warm.

“I can warm you up.” His growled offer makes me want to die. If a tear were to leak from my eye, it would probably freeze upon my skin. The thought of his warm flesh against mine doesn’t repulse me. Instead, all I can think about is feeling heat. Maybe he would leave me with his sweater after.

“Okay,” I tell him, and his head snaps up to meet my eyes.

“What?”

“Okay,” I repeat, stepping back from the door so he can unlock it and come inside.

Clanking sounds, and then he’s inside my cell, eagerly undressing. I watch as his clothes drop to the floor, wishing I could curl up in them to steal their warmth. Walking toward him, I can already feel the heat radiating from his body. My arms go up around his neck and he stiffens briefly before relaxing. Grabbing my waist, he lifts me and I comply, wrapping my legs around him. So warm. So nice. His temperature against the cold of my flesh burns almost before it seeps into me, giving me relief from the harshness of its bite.

He backs us up and drops so he’s sitting on my bed. Crushing my body to his, I writhe over him to get as much of his warmth as possible. His cock thickens and grows against the apex of my thighs and he becomes frantic, lifting me and pulling me down onto his length. We both hiss as he enters me—both feeling pleasure from two entirely different sensations. I begin to buck against him and his eyes watch me in wonder. In this moment, I don’t care that I’m whoring myself to my captor to keep from freezing to death. My blood is already pumping through my veins, keeping me alive. I move my hips faster, lifting my ass up and down over him as I do. He bares down on my shoulder with his teeth and draws blood. His rough hands squeeze at my breasts too hard to give pleasure, but I don’t care. He’s warm.

“I’m going to come,” he groans. “I’m going to fucking come.”

He growls aloud and then grips me tight. His arms hold me still as his hips jut up from the bed into me, once, twice…and then his hot cum floods into my body and I know I’ll be left sticky for the night. The pipes are too noisy and he hates using the taps at night.

“That was amazing,” he puffs against my skin, and the nausea that always accompanies the end of a visit from Benny stirs in my gut.

I lift myself from him and crawl over the bed, curling into a ball under the flimsy sheet. His feet stomp toward the cell door and stop. I look up as he swipes up his clothes and something heavy hits the bed.

“You can wear this, but only for sleeping. If you have it on when you’re not in the bed, I’ll shred it and you can freeze your fucking ass off.”

Nodding emphatically, I graciously take his offering. A sweater. “Okay, thank you,” I tell him, sickening myself further for offering him my gratitude for a basic human right. “I promise.”

It smells of him. I now can’t even escape him in my dreamless sleep.

But right now, I don’t care.

I’m warm.

“Benny!”

I jerk upright and hiss in pain as my ribs protest. Dillon is quickly by my side, guiding me back into a lying position.

“Don’t try to sit up,” he instructs, a little too late. “You have a cracked rib. Some fucking rookie took you down.”

“Why didn’t you show up at eleven?” I wheeze. The light in the room is blinding. I’m in a hospital bed. The itchy blanket over my legs brings back memories of my rehabilitation after I escaped Benny. “Where were you?”

His brow furrows, guilt twisting his features. Sitting on the bed, he takes my hand in his.

“We got a call. A man had been brought in, barely breathing. Some woman said he was on the side of the road mumbling about a woman who attacked him with a crowbar.”

“What?”

He nods his head and places his other hand over our joined ones. “He said you by name, Jade. Told them you forced him to pull over, showed him your badge, and made him exit his vehicle, to which you then proceeded to attack him with a crowbar.”

Lines crinkle my forehead as I try to make sense of his words. “He’s lying, obviously,” I protest with a huff, trying to sit up again. Surely Dillon believes me.

“Don’t move,” he grumbles. “You’ll only hurt yourself more.” Dillon gently pushes against my shoulders until I relax into the mattress. “We then got a call about a madwoman waving a gun in the air calling for a Benny.”

A shudder ripples through me at the mention of him. “He was there, Dillon,” I mutter. “He was right there.” I beg at him with my eyes.

“I believe you,” he says softly. “I do…”

“But?” I hiss, studying the worry storming in his chocolate orbs.

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