Page 110 of Kept

Directly ahead of me, Enzo smashes his fists into a tall bag that hangs from the ceiling. Music plays loudly, enough that he can’t hear me as I linger where I am to watch him. Sweat trickles in rivulets down his back as his muscles flex, over and over again as he punches the bag like it’s his own personal nemesis.

Taking a seat on the stairs, I wait for him to finish, pulling my sweater down to cover my knees and rubbing them with shaking hands in the cool air. It takes a few minutes before he notices me, and he flicks the music off.

“Little prey.” Dropping down to his haunches in front of me, he studies my face. “What do you need?”

I try to take a full breath, but it hurts. My breathing turns to short, stuttering gasps, and I fold over, hitting my chest with my hand. “Can’t—,”

“Stop.” Enzo’s voice is steady, his hands on either side of my face warm in comparison to the ice sweeping over my body. “Stop this. Now.”

When I struggle to pull away, he holds me tightly. “Breathe,” he says, a little softer as I look up at him beseechingly. “Breathe for me, little prey. In, out. Slowly. Follow my lead.”

I struggle to copy him as he takes a deep breath, but he doesn’t stop, and the pain starts to settle into a dull ache as my lungs open back up. Each of us is watching the other, and Enzo’s eyes widen as the first tear spills down my face.

I grapple with the words, trying to explain. “I… I can’t. Need something else.”

Something to distract me. Something to take my mind away from the awful, sneaking possibility that’s crept into my head and is sitting there, waiting for me to acknowledge it.

“Please,” I breathe. I don’t even know what I’m asking for.

But he does.

Strong arms slide underneath me, lifting me from the cool step. “Wrap your legs around me, little prey.”

Wordlessly, I do as he asks. My arms are around his neck, and I bury my face in his skin as he carries me back up the stairs. I focus on breathing, on sucking down his warm scent.

Cool air hits my back, Ryder’s braiding skills enough to still have my hair in place even after I’ve slept. I lift my head enough to take in the garage. “Where are we going?”

My voice is a whisper, and Enzo’s hands tighten on me before he places me down on a small table. “Breathe. No talking.”

I concentrate on keeping my breathing even as he moves around the vehicles. He takes a black jacket from the wall, shrugging it on over his bare chest and walking over with another one. He threads my arms into it silently, tucking my hair into it and drawing the braid around my waist like padding.

His fingers brush my cheek after he finishes zipping it up, and he picks me up again. We head across the space, approaching a sleek metal machine I haven’t seen before. Enzo shifts me in his arms, lifting his leg and settling us across it like a seat.

“What’s this?” I ask. Curiosity bleeds into my voice, and he raises his eyebrow at me.

“Freedom, little prey,” he murmurs. I’m sitting astride him, my legs dangling free, and he leans down to press my foot against a bar. “Keep them here.”

My toes curl into the metal. “Do I need shoes?”

Enzo silently watches me for a moment before he shakes his head in response. I’m pressed so closely to him that I can see every one of his long eyelashes. He blinks. “What?”

“You have pretty eyes,” I murmur, and he makes a scoffing noise at the back of his throat, looking away from me. I jerk as his hands move down, sliding up my tights and beneath my dress. His thumb stretches the material, and my eyes fly to his as he reaches the apex between my thighs. “What—,”

A ripping sound tears through the air, and I gape at him. “Did you justripmy tights?”

Ilikedthese tights.

His hand pushes through the hole he’s created, his fingers tracing my underwear as I shift on his lap. His other hand squeezes my leg as he ignores my words. “Stay still.”

An impossible task as his fingers trace me, over and over again until I feel dampness pooling, soaking the thin silk. Enzo tsks, pulling his hand free and rubbing his damp finger across my lips. “Your little cunt is soaking, prey.”

I dart out my tongue, licking his finger, and he takes it further, pushing two of his fingers into my mouth. “Suck.”

I do as I’m told, and his other hand slides back to my underwear, tugging and pulling until the material snaps against my skin. His fingers slide from my mouth with a wet pop, and my protest catches on a strangled groan in my throat as he pushes them inside me.

He pins me until I feel thick bars pressing into my back, the top of my body curving as he slides his fingers in and out of me, the noise almost obscene in the small space.

“Do you think,” Enzo murmurs, almost conversationally, “that I would let anyone take you from me, prey?”

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