by Lizzy Bequin
I push back my chair and stand up. Gathering my empty plate and coffee mug, I carry them to the sink and look out the slatted blinds on the small window there. Conway is stomping off down the path, his powerful arms swinging easily at his sides.
That funny feeling pulses deep within me as I watch him go. It’s not just a sexual desire. It’s much more than that. Some kind of growing bond.
God, I must be losing it. Maybe I have Stockholm syndrome or something.
I wander back to the bed and flop onto the mattress, pulling the covers around me. Of course, they are full of Conway’s scent. I recall how nice and safe I felt wrapped in his arms last night.
Maybe he really can protect me. Maybe I’m just being a little brat.
But I can’t help it. I’m feeling antsy.
I’ve spent the past three days cooped up, first in that awful hideout in the city, and now out here in this cabin. The thing is, this place is surrounded by the beauty of nature, and it’s calling to me to come outside and explore.
But I told Conway I would stay put, so I decide to explore inside instead.
Tossing the covers off, I hop back out of the bed and wander around the small cabin, running my fingers along the walls and the surfaces of the furniture. Even though I’ve been awake for a little while now, I was so distracted by my conversation with Conway, that I didn’t take the time to look at this place closely.
It’s actually kind of amazing. Now that I study the cabin and the furniture, I realize that all of the carpentry is totally handmade with old-school tools. Did Conway make all of this stuff himself? It’s all slightly rough and imperfect, but in a really charming way. And the craftsmanship is really sturdy.
I smile as I run my hand over the surface of the wall
Sturdy. Rough. Imperfect, but somehow still charming despite itself.
Yeah, that definitely sounds like someone I know
But as I continue to scan my eyes around the tiny one-room cabin, my smile is replaced by a frown. There are no pictures on the walls. No photos of family or friends. Nothing personal to show that the person who lives here ever had any kind of life outside of these four walls.
This place feels so empty. So lonely.
I know that Conway told me he doesn’t have any memory about his life before he started working as an operative for the Omicron Corporation. But he must have had some kind of life before all of this. A family. Maybe even a wife and children. At the very least, he must have had parents, right?
And that thought leads me back to thinking about my own parents. My overprotective dad and the pretty lady in the photos that I never had the chance to know.
Wandering back toward the kitchen area, I realize just how thirsty I feel. I open a jug of the drinking water that Conway told me about, and before I know it, I have guzzled a whole gallon. The water is only room temperature, but it’s so clear and smooth with an almost sweet flavor as it rushes down my throat. I let out a satisfied sigh as I wipe some dribbles from my chin and clunk the empty jug back on the counter.
Gosh, I’m going to eat and drink Conway out of house and home. Oh well, that’s just what he gets for kidnapping me, I guess.
I pace the floor of the cabin, thinking over everything that Conway and I just discussed
But outside, the birds are twittering, and I hear the inviting rush of the wind rustling through the tops of the trees.
Yeah, screw this. There’s no way I’m gonna be able to just sit in this cabin all day.
I run to each window in turn, looking out through the slatted, wooden Venetian blinds at the forest landscape, the sunlight filtering down through the trees. At each window, I see no sign of Conway. He said he wouldn’t go far, but he’s obviously out of sight.
I go to the front door and pull it open just enough to stick my head out. The crisp, cool air feels wonderful on my face. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, inhaling the amazing mixture of scents—the rich earthy smell of the damp ground and the fragrance of the leaves, sweet and tangy.
Just a little peek around won’t hurt right? I mean, it’s such a beautiful day.
Conway said that he would track me and run me down if I tried to escape, and I totally believe him. The thing is, I don’t want to escape. He’s right that someone at Omicron wants to get their hands on me. Whether they want me alive or dead, I don’t know, but whatever they have planned, I doubt it’s very nice. Conway is right that he’s my best chance of staying alive right now.
But what’s the point of staying alive, if I have to spend every waking moment cooped up inside?
Carefully scanning my eyes across the trees for any sign of Conway’s red flannel shirt, I quietly step outside in my bare feet. The ground is cool and damp from yesterday’s rain, but it feels good against my naked soles. It makes me feel connected to the forest.
At first I tiptoe, trying to make as little noise as possible, but the shuffling, crunching dry leaves don’t help much, so I give up and just allow myself to stroll at a natural pace. Besides it’s not like I’m particularly well-camouflaged. In this white button down dress shirt and big baggy heather gray sweatpants, I look like a little girl playing dress-up with her parent’s clothes, and I stick out like a sore thumb.
Whatever. If Conway gets pissed at me, so be it. He’ll get over it, I’m sure.
Anyway, I’m immediately happy about my decision to sneak out.
It’s beautiful. The canopy of leaves and needles is dense, casting deep shadows over the forest floor, but narrow spears of bright sunlight poke through, dappling the ground. Birds are chirping in the trees, and acrobatic squirrels are hopping from limb to limb.
For the first time since all of this bad stuff happened, I feel genuinely happy.
Walking a little farther, I come to the edge of a stone outcropping, and I’m treated to an amazing view overlooking rolling hillsides covered in a dense cloak of greenery stretching away into the fog of the distance. It’s a breathtaking view, unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.
And Conway wasn’t kidding. We really are in the middle of nowhere out here. I can see some signs of buildings winking in the distant sunlight, but they are so far away, it would take me days to reach them on foot. But I have no thoughts of running.
Suddenly I hear a vicious snarl behind me and whirl around.
“What are you doing?” Conway growls as he rushes toward me up the slight incline, his brow knitted with rage and his perfectly white teeth bared in a grimace. “I thought I told you to stay inside.
My recurring dream—the one about the forest and the beast—flickers through my mind.
But unlike my dream, the forest is filled with light now. I can seem my beast clearly, and I know his name.
And there’s nowhere to run, unless I want to jump off this cliff, which I don’t want to do.
Conway is moving up the hill with massive strides that gobble up the distance between us. However, despite his enormous frame and the heavy weight of his muscle-laden body, his footsteps make almost no sound at all, which is why I didn’t hear him coming until he growled.
How does he do it?
I’ll have to ask him later. Right now, the angry scowl on his red, enraged face tells me I should probably start apologizing, and fast.
“I’m sorry, Conway, it’s just that, oof!”
Before I have a chance to get any other words out, his thick, powerful arm coils around my waist like an anaconda, squeezing the breath out of me. Despite my weak attempts at resistance, he picks me up easily, my bare feet kicking in the air as he swings around and charges back toward the cabin.
“Conway, please,” I gasp as my breath returns.
But he’s not listening. He’s panting and grunting as he charges through the woods with me in tow, my legs still flailing uselessly behind us. It’s like he’s gone completely feral. When we hit a slight incline, he even drops to the knuckles of his empty hand, running on three legs instead of two. It’s like I’m being abducted by a gorilla, l
ike the cover of one of those old retro men’s magazines my dad collects. Only this is all too real.
I’ve overestimated Conway’s kindness. I’ve overstepped the bounds of our tenuous relationship, and now I’m going to pay the price.
But how?
CHAPTER 18: CONWAY
I slam the door open with my shoulder, nearly knocking it off of its hinges in my anger. I drag Amrita behind me, and once we are both inside, I bang the door shut behind us so forcefully that it rattles the dishes in the kitchen cabinets.
“Conway, I can explain,” she pleads.
I’m not in the mood to hear it. I’m fucking pissed. I thought I could trust Amrita to be a good girl and stay inside like I told her to, but obviously I was wrong. She betrayed that trust. She took advantage of that bond that she knows I feel for her.
But what else did I expect from someone I caught sneaking out of her dad’s house in the middle of the night? The girl obviously has a penchant for breaking the rules.
Hand on her throat, I shove her roughly against the wall of the cabin. She gasps, and her eyes round into circles of surprise at the forceful way I’m manhandling her. But I’ve got to teach her a lesson. I’ve got to make her behave. Make her obey me.
“You were trying to run away,” I bark.
Amrita’s body stiffens with fear under my palm. But she doesn’t let her fear overwhelm her. Instead she lashes out, trying to slap me, but I grab her wrist and pin it to the wall beside her head. She tries to squirm away, but I step closer, using my pelvis to trap her curvy hips in place.
She’s ferocious for one so small. I admire that. But I need to get it through her head that I’m the one in charge here. I need to make her understand that resistance is futile, and disobedience will be met with punishment.
“You were trying to escape,” I repeat, this time hissing the words right into her face, my breath stirring the locks of wheat-blond hair dangling in front of her terrified, lavender eyes.
“I wasn’t,” she snaps, the sharp edge of her indignation cutting through the tremor of fear in her voice. “And you know I wasn’t too. Did I look like I was running when you caught me, you fucking asshole?”
I struggle to resist the grin that’s tickling at the corner of my lips. It seems I’ve misjudged this little creature. I thought that by putting her back up against the wall—quite literally speaking—that I could show her how useless it is to resist me. That I could force her to submit. But my actions haven’t had the intended effect.
Instead, it has made her fearless. Embers of unrestrained ire smolder in those lavender eyes like dried flowers caught fire.
“So what are you going to do to me?” She spits the words out like they taste bad. “Are you going to beat me up? Kill me? Well let’s get it over with.”
Her words are brave, but she’s trembling beneath my touch, and I can practically taste the thick scent of fear wafting off of her body. That’s the sign of true courage. Not to be fearless, but to overcome one’s fears. It’s an admirable trait. She would make a good mate, and a good mother.
Wait what?
I shake my head, and Amrita’s expression softens ever so slightly from one of fear to one of confusion. She’s wondering why I’m hesitating. Meanwhile I’m wondering where the hell those thoughts came from.
Mate? Mother?
My primal instincts must be getting carried away. Amrita was a job. When the job went sideways, she became my responsibility. But she’s not my fucking mate. There’s no room for anything like that in my life.
Still, I can’t ignore my protective urges toward this girl.
“I need you to do as you’re told,” I growl, leaning in until my forehead his pressed to hers. “I need you to obey me.”
She actually presses her head forward against mine, challenging me like a stubborn little goat.
“Obey you?” she laughs bitterly. “What do you think I am? Your little slave?”
“It’s not like that,” I insist. “Our situation is precarious. And I have experience dealing with precarious situations. That means I’m calling the shots. And I say you stay indoors until we’re certain it’s safe for you to go out.”
She struggles against my grip on her throat and her wrist. She tries to slap me with her free hand but I raise my shoulder to block the blow. I take my hand off her neck and grab her free wrist, pinning it to the wall too. Now if she wants to lash out, she’ll have to bite me.
“I hate you,” she snarls.
Her voice is surprisingly ferocious. Her pupils are dilated and her fear scent has disappeared, replaced by another that I can’t quite place. It’s like she’s gone feral with rage. Or is it something else?
She struggles uselessly as I press my chest against the soft cushion of her breasts to hold her still. My pelvis is still crushed tightly against hers, keeping her hips pinned. I can feel the heat of her crotch through our clothing.
“I hate you,” she says again, glaring at me through her tousled hair like a wild animal. “You’re just like my father. Worse than him. You don’t really care about me. You just want to keep me cooped up and locked away. You want to keep me in the dark about everything—most of all about myself.”
I shake my head. Our faces are so close that our noses brush.
“You’re wrong,” I tell her. “I want to keep you safe. But you seem dead set on putting yourself in harms way. I want to take care of you.”
“I don’t need you to take care of me,” she retorts.
Without even realizing I’m doing it, I’ve started sniffing her again.
“Let me go,” she whispers.
I test the air around us, taking it in with a series of sharp quick breaths, followed by one deep inhale through my nose. There are the smells of the cabin. The rich undertone of wood. The faint burnt smell of the stove top. The lingering odor of our breakfast of bacon and eggs.
At the forefront, however, is the scent of Amrita’s body—hot and wild and alive. I can practically taste the spice of her skin, the salty tang of her sweat, and the sweet temptation of her sex.
But that last fragrance is not as strong as it should be. Not if she obeyed me.
Still gripping her small delicate wrists, I bring her hands to my face, snuffling her fingers in turn.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“You didn’t do as you were told,” I rumble as I pin her wrists again, crucifying her against the wall. “You disobeyed me on two counts.”
“What are you talking about?” she stammers.
She twists her face away from me as far as the wall will allow. It only serves to expose the elegant tendons of her sculptured neck. My mouth waters as I press my nose beneath her ear and inhale, drinking in her scent.
“Your need.” She trembles as my breath tickles her flesh. “Your special need. You’ve neglected it. You said you would take care of your needs, but you didn’t.”
“I was going to do it,” she whispers unconvincingly. “I just didn’t get around to it yet.”
My lips brush the curve of her ear, and a sharp, quick inhale whistles between her teeth as her body stiffens against the wall.
“What were you waiting for?” I whisper the words straight into her ear, making her shiver. “Me?”
“No,” she breathes.
But the way she arches her back against the wall, tells a different story. Her plump breasts press and squeeze against my front. Her nipples are as hard as hot pebbles.
She moans as my tongue dips inside the shell of her ear, the wet tip tracing the curves and ridges of her cartilage.
“If you won’t handle your needs on your own, little one, then I’ll be forced to do it for you. Is that what you want?”
“No,” she whispers again.
But she turns her face toward me and brushes her lips across mine, sending hot lightning shooting through my veins. My cock hardens, pressing so deliciously against the heat at the juncture of her thighs.
“It’s for your own good.
” My soft words travel straight between her parted lips and into her mouth. “You need to obey me.”
“Make me.”
Her hard little teeth tug at my lower lip. My body throbs with heat. My claws protract ever so slightly, and I trace their sharp tips over her wrists, her vulnerable throat. I palm her breasts, molding the sumptuous flesh and strumming the taut peaks.
“Make me,” she repeats, her voice soft as a feather.
I can’t tell anymore who is commanding and who is obeying. All I know is that my hunger for her demands satisfaction. I need to hear her scream. I need to feel her writhe beneath my touch.
My mouth claims her in a scalding kiss. Our tongues roll against one another furiously, battling, dueling.
I cock my hips back just enough the get my fingers between us. A quick tug of the drawstring and her baggy, oversized sweat pants drop to the floor, exposing the smooth curves of her thighs, calves, and delicate, narrow ankles. She hooks one bare leg around me as I continue to devour her mouth.
While my left hand continues kneading her perfect, round breast through the fabric of her shirt, my right hand trails down her belly, seeking the source of her need.
She moans and whines into my mouth as I cup her naked sex, palming the tufted mound between her thighs. My fingers slide along both sides of her slit, teasing at her plump outer lips before prying them apart and delving inside to touch her even softer inner folds. Her nectar drenches my fingers as I rub and explore her.
“Fuck, you’re so wet it’s unreal,” I groan as I break our kiss before we both suffocate.
“For you,” Amrita gasps, her voice coming between ragged, desperate breaths. Her tone is almost accusatory. “You’re the only one who does this to me.”
My pulse quickens at her words. It’s the same for me. I’ve slaked my thirst with many women, but none of them has ever turned me on like she does. No other woman could produce this howling, primal need that threatens to reduce me to a slobbering, ravenous beast.
I gather the slick moisture of her arousal, using it to coat her erect clit as her breath grows quick and shallow. She cries out and tosses back her head as I circle her hard little pearl, practically rubbing the damn thing raw.