Page 51 of Captive Bride

I feel safer in this room with him than I ever have with any man before.

My own home felt like a tomb compared to the energy that I feel here. It pours off him in waves. His power, his passion.

My heart soars at the sight of him, a feeling that’s utterly strange within my chest.

I feel a love more powerful than I thought possible.

More still, I see it returned in his eyes.

He looks at me now, emotion rolling off him, his face a testament to words both profound and unspoken.

My mind fills with only him.

My body aches at the distance between us.

Whatever reservations built within me turn to ash, and I lay myself down in the center of the bed.

My eyes are glued firmly to him.

Outside, the rain continues to fall. It patters fast and hard against the windows and the terrace door.

It slides down the glass, warping what little moonlight manages to make its way inside.

The ghostly images of its descent play across his skin, mingling with the candlelight to shroud him in an ethereal glow.

He looks more than human in this moment, more than just a man.

He is the embodiment of beauty and power, a shining beacon for me to cling to.

I’ve never known true desire until now.

I need him in a way that’s all but incomprehensible, my body trembling in the depths of my longing.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he says, drawing my attention back to his mouth. “I mean fuck, Isobel. You really are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

I’m not a stranger to compliments. I’ve been called beautiful before. The words have never meant anything to me; they’re just words after all.

Hearing them come from his mouth is another experience entirely, though.

I feel beautiful, and all the more so because he believes it.

“I need you,” I say, meaning it.

I need him in so many ways. I need to feel him, to touch him.

Most of all, I needed him to do what he already did, draw me kicking and screaming from my own worst nightmare.

I needed him to save me. I need him to save me still.

He reaches down to the hem of his shirt, pulling it quickly over his head.

My eyes greedily drink in his exposed flesh, trailing from his collar bone to his sculpted abs, his defined pecs and strong arms.

Every inch of him is carved with strength, making me feel smaller just for being in his presence.

He unbuckles his belt with deft hands, eyes never leaving me as he does.

My breath catches in my throat as he slides them down, freeing himself before me.

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