Take Me

by Anna Zaires, Pepper Winters, Skye Warren, Lynda Chance, Pam Godwin, Amber Lin

  He let his head rest on the pillow, studying her, and touched a tentative finger to her scarred cheek. His concerned gaze as he stroked the raised line of flesh told her escape wasn’t at the forefront of his thoughts. Another thing she’d need to examine. Later.

  She angled the screen away and tapped in the code.

  Seventy-eight texts from Van. Nothing from Mr. E. She released a lungful of air.

  He grabbed her wrist and jerked the screen toward his face. Her breath caught as she pressed the power button, locking the phone.

  “What the fuck?” She let the phone drop from her hand, her molars grinding. “Don’t I feel stupid for trusting you.”

  He released her hand and narrowed his eyes. “Now you know how I felt when I’d learned the person I’d helped was a sex trafficker.”

  Ouch. She deserved that. Remembering her own capture magnified her shame, stirred an old ache inside her, and shoved her self-loathing to the surface. “I already know that feeling.”

  Though her words were whispered, he flinched as if she’d shouted. Their eyes locked and a long look suspended between them. Then his expression hardened. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  Not for the first time, she wanted to confide in him. For five days, she longed to expose her arrangement, with the hope that he’d understand her position, and trust he wouldn’t use it against her. She’d never burdened a captive with the truth of her situation, at least, not while they were bound in her chains.

  Her composure was wrecked, and his perceptive eyes seemed to capture every crumble and twist of her face. She needed to toughen up, put on her best mask. The scary part was she didn’t want to wear one with him.

  His features softened. Even when frowning, his lips formed a serene curve. “Okay, Liv. I’m going to let that sit for a minute.” He blew out a breath. “First, I wasn’t trying to steal your phone. You’re not exactly forthcoming, and I need to know what you’re not telling me. Second, why did that bastard text you seventy-eight times?”

  “He’s probably worried.” Or horny.

  “Really? He let the friggin’ door shut while you were bleeding and unconscious on the floor.” His nostrils flared at her flinch. He scrubbed a hand over his stubble. “Look, I don’t know what your relationship is with him—”

  “There’s no relationship.” She let her heavy head fall to his chest. The protection of his body was a persuasion she couldn’t resist with her mind as fuzzy and achy as it was. He felt like the safest place on Earth.

  “Have you told him that?” His voice vibrated through her, powerful, dependable.

  She should’ve been punishing his disobedient ass, whipping him into the shape of a dutiful, cock-sucking slave. Even if the thought wasn’t so ludicrous, she had neither the energy nor the will to hurt him. “Let me just lie here a minute.”

  “Thank you, God,” he murmured as his fingers combed through her hair, not coiling and yanking, just soothing the strands and stimulating the roots along her scalp. “How much pain are you in?”

  “I’ll manage.” Every inch of her bare skin relished the support of his warm musculature. She brushed a hand down his ribs, hooked a finger around the belt loop of his jeans, and yanked it hard enough to pinch his balls with the pull of denim. “Why am I naked?”

  A deep noise strangled in his throat. “Your sprayed-on leotard was constricting your breathing.” He bent his knees, and she settled snuggly in the cage of his hard thighs, chest to chest. “Don’t think it’s passed my notice that I’m supposed to be the slave, yet you’re the one lying here battered and troubled.”

  The beat of her blood accelerated.

  “I’m just going to talk through this and hope that you’ll fill in the gaps.” He stroked her hair. “I’ve tried to figure out why I need to consent to do things with Van.” His caressing paused and began again. “Van doesn’t hit me, hasn’t raped me, but he wants to. What’s his deal?”

  She tightened her hand on his waistband. “The buyer wants the appearance of a willing slave. One who desires a man despite his innate heterosexuality. If Van raped you, that outcome wouldn’t be achieved.”

  He laughed, coarsely. “Thank God for that. So, that’s a requirement?”

  “Requirement one. Slave has never experienced sexual intimacy with a woman. Slave is heterosexual but hates women. He desires only his Master.”

  A soft chuckle rumbled through his chest. “I could never hate women.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Nor can I hate you.”

  His tender embrace made her heart thump against her ribs. The backs of her eyes burned with the kind of ache she hadn’t felt in a long time. Swear to God, if she cried over a hug, she’d never regain her position with him.

  His lips touched the crown of her head and retreated. “If you fail to deliver a slave as prescribed…” His silence stretched for so long, she raised her head and found him staring down at her. “Mr. E will kill you?”

  A swallow hung in her raw throat. “Worse.”

  His face twisted. “What’s worse than death?”

  Mom always said if she could confront the wind at 10,000 feet, she could confront anything. But falling out of the sky felt a fuck of a lot safer than exposing her awful, selfish truth. “Ask yourself that question.”

  He stared at her with such intensity she closed her eyes against it. He was the only person who had ever tried to peek beneath her masks, and damn her, she wanted him to find what he was searching for. After a long moment, he rolled her off his chest with gentle arms and settled her on her side. Then he sprang from the bed.

  She shifted to sit with her back against the wall, pulling the blanket around her chest. As he paced through the room, the contraction of his tense body captivated her.

  Powerful legs stretched the denim of his low-waist jeans. His biceps flexed as he ran his fingers through cropped strands of his black hair. “Who is he threatening? Your parents? A husband?” He stopped at the mattress, fists on his hips. With the agitation straining the tight fabric of his t-shirt, the hard line of his lips, and his eyes sharply focused, there was no way he could pass as a boy. In fact, he looked like a man prepared to take on the world. Especially when he shouted, “Who, Liv?”

  Why did she feel so compelled to open up to him? She pressed her fist to her lips, stifling the song that suddenly and violently ripped through her mind. He wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t use her fears against her. Drawing a deep breath, she swallowed her panic and whispered, “My mom.”

  In the next breath, he was kneeling beside her, holding her hands in his. “Your mom?”

  She pressed her back to the wall, her hands sweating and shoulders stiff. “And my daughter.” She kept her eyes on his, but her voice was so small she was sure he didn’t hear her nor did she want him to. She would’ve done the world a favor if she’d died giving birth. But her body had recovered, just like it always did. A fucking curse she couldn’t bring herself to end.

  His face paled and his hands convulsed around hers. He lowered his head and tilted his ear toward her. “Say that again.”

  An onslaught of dizziness spread through her head. Her cheeks numbed and her throat tightened. “My daughter.”

  He leaned back, searching her face as a whirlwind of emotions crashed over his.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Liv held her breath, waiting for her revelation to sink in. She circled her thumbs over his hands. What would he do with this information? How would his reaction impact Mom and Mattie? “Say something.”

  His jaw hung. He closed it, blinked. “Who’s her father? Where is he?”

  When her eyes flicked to the door, he sucked in a breath, his face contorting in disbelief. “Him?” His voice was guttural, strained. “You have a child with Van?”

  A wave of nausea rolled through her, trembling her body. Disgusted with herself and his reaction to her, her eyes averted from his. She forced them back, met his steady gaze. “There’s a story.”

  “Then you’ll talk whil
e you’re eating.” He cupped her chin. “But you sure as hell aren’t going out there—” he stabbed a finger toward the door “—until we have a plan.”

  Her back stiffened, and she jerked out of his hold. “A plan? Don’t you think I’ve thought through every possible solution?”

  He climbed off the bed and scanned the room. “Do you have anything to eat in here?”

  Why wasn’t he badgering her with questions? She pointed at the trunk.

  As he strode around the mattress, his eyes held hers, heavy with intent. “We’ll walk through our options after you eat.”

  Clearly, she was no longer steering this…whatever this was. Not that she’d ever really gained control of him. The thought both petrified and thrilled her, a testament to how wildly her world was tilting on end. She knew she should order him to strip and kneel and kiss her feet. She also knew if she peeled away the layers of bullshit around her heart, she’d find a hopeful girl who wanted him stubborn and fierce and whole, exactly as he was.

  He returned with an armful of energy bars, apple chips, bottled water, and surprisingly, one of her long nightshirts. “I thought this might make you more comfortable.”

  Her heart tripped. The shirt was a kindness she wasn’t accustomed to receiving and certainly didn’t deserve, considering his week-long nudity. She slipped it on, her insides quivering with the realization that he could destroy her at a fundamental level. She’d hidden her vulnerability by pretending not to care, but in the span of a week, he’d sliced a deep cut in her mask.

  He unwrapped an energy bar, folded her fingers around it, and pulled her legs over his lap. Then he regarded her, one hand curled around her calf. Not eating, he seemed content with watching and waiting.

  After a few deliberating moments and two energy bars, she told him everything. Her kidnapping. Her slave training. The loss of her virginity. The day she was sold. The pregnancy and the scar.

  He listened without interrupting, his hand soothing the shivers along her leg, his eyes unwavering. She maintained a steady monologue until she reached the part about Mattie’s adoption and the conditions of her arrangement. Her voice thickened, and her heart ached with memories and longing. “The videos are the only assurance he gives me.”

  “Which is why you wanted your phone. No text is good news?”

  She nodded, crumbling under the reminder that she still had a job to do and a slave she couldn’t train. His attention honed on her change in breathing and the wobble in her chin.

  He gathered her in his lap and scooted to lean against the wall. He touched her brow, her cheek, and the line of her neck, the tenderness melting her against his solid body. “You know exactly how I felt when you locked me in the box, huh?”

  Guilt squeezed her gut. “Which makes what I did a hundred times worse.” She stared at him, miserable and conflicted about what to do next. “I’m so sorry.”

  His hands gripped her waist, lifting her and adjusting her legs to straddle his hips.

  “What are you—”

  His thumbs pressed against her lips, his palms cupping her jaw. Bound by the strength of his gaze, her body went completely still as his thumbs parted, sliding over her cheeks to join his fingers. There was no hint of harshness in his demeanor. His eyes shifted between hers and dropped to her mouth. His lips parted.

  Oh God, was he going to kiss her? A sudden rush of hope blasted through her, and she rode that gust, the filthy perimeter of her existence sweeping away. He lowered his head, and she could only squeeze her eyes shut and anticipate the connection, his acceptance, and maybe his forgiveness.

  His lips touched hers, achingly sweet, soft, cautious. A chill replaced the sensation as he leaned back. His breath released, taking hers with it. She shuddered and opened her eyes.

  They stared at one another, faces just a kiss apart, and it was the most intimate moment she’d ever experienced. As he looked at her, the pale glow of his eyes softened, asking without words, Is this okay?

  She nodded, her body liquefying in the cradle of his lap, molding against his tense abs and thighs.

  His fingers flexed on her back, and he swept forward, taking her mouth, opening her lips with the warm flesh of his. Beneath the spice of toothpaste, she tasted his natural purity, his breath flavored with sweetness and hope.

  With his hands spread over the rise of her ass, he pulled her closer, kissing her deeply, his tongue chasing and tangling with hers. She devoured the heat of his mouth, the strength of his embrace, the precision of his movements. Neither submissive nor forceful, he clutched her hips and controlled the rock of her pelvis. His strong jaw guided the speed and motion of her mouth, his lips burning a trail of sparks as his whiskers scratched a pleasurable twinge across her skin.

  His chest heaved, and a moan rumbled in his throat. She savored the response, wanted to hear more, feel him closer. She wanted to crawl inside of him. She slid her hands down his chest and slipped under the hem. Gliding back up the warm taut brawn of his abs and the velvet skin wrapping his pecs, she paused over the beat of his heart against her palm.

  He gripped her nape, angled her head, and intensified the kiss. She didn’t know if it was her emotional exhaustion or if he was more experienced than she’d thought, but his mastery over her was assured and exquisite. Every lick and nibble tingled through her body, curling her toes against his thighs, racing her heart, and fuzzing her brain.

  Too soon, they came up for air. After a few noisy breaths, she gave him a smile, which he returned with warmth and affection.

  “Wow.” She shook her muddled head. “You’ve done that a lot, haven’t you?”

  He captured her lips again, his mouth just as maddening and curling, leaving her body shivering when he finished. “Kissing is the only thing I can do.”

  Her heart pinched. Unfortunately, her bladder, too, but she refused to leave the embrace of his arms. Emotions swept through her as she snuggled against his chest, swirling her thoughts into a jumbled knot. She wasn’t ready to voice her worries and ruin the moment, but he did it for her.

  “Does Van know Mr. E’s identity?”

  Their eyes met and she nodded.

  “Do you?”

  She traced his strong jaw, the whiskers rasping against her finger. He held still as she followed the smooth skin stretching over his cheekbones, between his enchanting eyes and disappearing beneath the soft inky hue of his hairline. His beauty had the power to enthrall and distract.

  She dropped her hand. “If I knew Mr. E’s identity, we wouldn’t be sitting here.” She would’ve tracked him down. Perhaps he had a family she could’ve threatened. “Van claims he’s only seen beneath the mask once, when Mr. E lured him from his mother’s meth house. I have my doubts.” Her bladder prodded again.

  Something shifted through his eyes, and his jaw twitched. “Mr. E basically pushed you into my arms last night.” His embrace tightened around her, punctuating his point. “Why would he do that? And I see the way Van watches you. Why would Van let him do that?”

  The answers weren’t simple, most of which were based on her own theories. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

  He carried her to the toilet. She might’ve refused out of pride if she weren’t so reluctant to leave his arms. He lowered her to the rim and squatted before her.

  Her head spun from the sudden loss of his supportive strength, but she still mustered a glare when he propped his chin on a fist and settled in.

  “You look like you’re about to fall over.” His tone was gentle.

  Too tired to argue, she closed her eyes and released her bladder. “Van may not agree with everything Mr. E does, but he’s never challenged him. He loves the cocksucker like a father.” She glanced up and found him observing her steadily.

  The set of his jaw matched the hardness of his eyes. “Van thinks he loves you.”

  That truth didn’t need acknowledgment. She flushed the toilet and moved to the shower. “Mr. E’s actions aren’t always transparent. Last night was the fi
rst time he’d ever raised a hand against me. Other than…” She touched the scar on her cheek and turned the tap to warm.

  He sat against the wall outside the open shower as she undressed and washed. Her movements were robotic, but her thoughts were an utter mess. Now that he knew her situation, what was he willing to do?

  She needed to know where his head was. “Maybe Mr. E pushed us together to wrangle your sympathy for me, a ploy to persuade you to do what needs to be done, using me as leverage.”

  Though his eyes followed the motion of her hands, they were unfocused, turned inward.

  “He’s never attempted anything like this.” It seemed too complicated to be worth the effort. As she washed her belly and thighs, she lay a soapy hand over the horizontal c-section scar below her bikini line. It was one scar she wished hadn’t faded. “Honestly, I don’t know why he’s kept me alive all these years.”

  “Do you have sex with Van privately? Or do you just screw him in front of your slaves?” Quiet words at odds with his finger digging restlessly at a frayed hole in his jeans.

  Her throat convulsed, her stomach caving with humiliation. Was he regretting the kiss they’d just shared? He wasn’t glaring at her with judgment or pumping his muscles with jealousy. But he’d also been raised to approach problems with civility and grace. She shut off the water and faced him, wet and naked, with a quiver in her voice. “It’s complicated.”

  The hand on his leg curled into a fist, and his chest heaved. He straightened his fingers, cleared his throat, and imprisoned her eyes. “Complicated how? Is it consensual?”

  Was it? She nodded. Unsure, she shook her head then nodded again.

  He stood, slowly, his expression tight, and wrapped a towel around her. “I really need you to explain that answer, Liv.” He rifled through her trunk while she sketched out Van’s tricks, his mind games, and his threats to involve Mr. E.

  “He doesn’t physically force me.” She felt sick, weak, frozen in the shower stall. “Having sex in front of you…” She shivered with self-hatred. “I was cornered. He’d told that morning he was going to fuck you. I convinced him jealousy was more effective.”