He’s right; I should go.
This isn’t healthy.
I bite my lip, and sadness blooms from the corners of my eyes.
I don’t like his game.
It hurts as the tears fall onto my chest. I want to curl into a corner and forget any of this ever happened. I’m in California with my vibrator in hand. I flashback to the aggressive images on the screen.
He is getting off on hurting me.
I hysterically cry, realizing this is what I wanted all along.
My strange stalker is my fantasy coming to life.
This is real.
$T4LK3R: god… don’t stop.
Babbling with drool, snot, and more tears, I whisper, “Jynx… Give it to me.”
$T4LK3R: babygirl…I’m going to…come…
He leaves the chat room.
I blow out the candle and stare, stunned by the callousness of his actions. I shut the laptop and slump into the bed, lost and alone.
My bedroom door bursts open, and I question, “What are you doing?”
“Open your mouth.”
Terrified, I bellow, “Jynx!”
“Open your fucking mouth, bitch!”
“Jynx, please,” I beg, desperate for my knight in shining armor to return. “Don’t do this.”
I stay covered, shivering with fear under the blankets. He rips the linens, my only shield, from my hands as his savage sword takes centerstage. I cannot do combat with this man. His magnificent weapon stays hidden in the shadows, but I gasp at his sheer size.
In the darkness, his dick is fucking huge.
And I don’t mean the male anatomical part, but how he behaves, shifting from gentleman in the light to monster in the night. I’m learning as fast as I can, picking up his crumbs of clues to assemble who and what he is.
I don’t wish to tame him.
I want to know him.
In an authentic Biblical sense.
I glare at his shrouded silhouette with my breasts exposed and feel the jostling, pumping motion of his arm. He aims, moving faster and harder as he hovers over the top of me until finally groaning, “God! Yes! Abby! Take it!”
He said my name.
And as he releases his cum all over me, I soak the sheet beneath me.
12
The Light of Day
Jynx
After the incident, I left the room without a sound and went to take a cold shower. I didn’t sleep much. I went for an early morning run around the property, surveying the damage from the storm, but more so to clear my head.
I cared about Abigail Maines.
And I had to get to a place where caring was okay.
I wasn’t there yet.
Soaked in damp grass and dirt, I stripped down in the mudroom and walked naked through my house—seemingly forgetting, or just not caring, that she was here with me. I had a resident—an invader—a captive.
I had said I didn’t know if I would chase her, but I accepted the truth after my ninety-minute run. I would do whatever was necessary to keep her here with me. I took another shower and dressed in jeans and boots for the long day of clean up ahead.
The French toast sizzles in the pan when she emerges from the bedroom. Her hair is damp from the shower. Her eyes are reddened from my actions. My dick throbs with the reminder, and my heart pounds, trapped beneath the layers of guilt and regret.
“What’s on the schedule for today?” she stutters out, her voice hitching as she avoids the emotion.
“A lot of branches broke,” I politely say, flipping the toast. “I need to go into town to get a new chainsaw blade. I thought you might like to ride with me after breakfast.”
“I’ll go.”
“I’m rude,” I boast, grinning. “Sit down. Would you like coffee, juice, or some water? Can I get you anything?”
“Bottle of whiskey,” she giggles as I plate the toast and add a few pieces of bacon. “And a cigarette.”
“How about coffee with Bailey’s?”
“Love it!”
I pour her coffee into a large mug, add a splash of half and half, and a generous double shot of the liquor. “You’re welcome to have a smoke.”
“Can I have more bacon?”
“Of course,” I eagerly reply, grabbing her two more slices. I peek over at her, twirling her finger, motioning for more. “That’s six.”
“Perfect!” She rubs her hands together.
“You’re a good time,” I praise, setting her breakfast on the table. “In more ways than one.”
She hastily snatches a piece of bacon. “I will need two more pieces of French toast and some butter.”
“Anything you want,” I offer.
“Some water.”
“Keep going.”
“Tell me we’re okay,” she mumbles, cutting into the toast and stuffing a mammoth bite into her mouth. I set the butter dish by her plate. Her insecure eyes blink up, searching for a life rope in the tumultuous seas we spin in. She needs a source of stability. I must provide all she will ever need and more.
I grab her hand. “We’re great. Just don’t leave me.”
“Don’t leave me,” she counters.
“I don’t plan on it,” I insist, filling her a reusable water bottle. “Do you want some syrup?”
“Is it real or fake?”
“Everything is real in my life.” I gaze over at the grazing beauty. “Including how I feel about you.”
“How do you feel?”
I squat down. “Like I don’t want you to go.”
“You’re kind of messed up,” she assesses, feeding me a piece of bacon. “More French toast, please.”
“I’m on it!” I press my lips to her hand and proceed to grab the syrup from the pantry. “You’ll need to wear boots and jeans today.”
“I don’t own any boots.”
“We’ll stop at the tack store and pick some up.”
I dredge more pieces of bread in the egg batter as she stares in my direction and asks, “What happens when you get tired of me?”
“That will never happen.”
“How do you know?” She swigs back a generous gulp of the coffee. “Wooo! You know how to make a drink.”
“It’ll take the edge off. And I won’t tire of you because I’ve never been like this with anyone. I don’t bring women anywhere near my life. For the last ten years, any sex I have had has been in a hotel room. Women aren’t welcome here. Until you showed up and changed the game.”
“I am a woman.”
“No, you’re my abductee.” I mischievously grin. “Big difference.”
“Does your brother know I am here?”
“No, but my cousin does,” I openly admit. “He’s the one I got the sedatives from in New Orleans.”
“Does he have a name?”
“Deacon Cruz,” I reply as she finishes her first round. “Do you always eat like a horse?”
“Yes,” she says, giggling. “I am barely five feet tall, weigh 115 pounds, and eat like I’m starving most days. If you order pizza, get two because I won’t share.”
I chuckle. “So, you can pack a steak away too?”
“Oh, yeah,” she alleges. “I can eat more than most men.”
“Have you always been this way?”
“Since I was little, I’ve always had a huge appetite. My mom used to complain because there were never leftovers in our house. I would finish my plate and anything Bran or Daphne had left on their plates. My dad is the same way, but he would finish whatever Mom didn’t eat.”
“Is he short?”
“Yes,” she says, nodding and smiling. “But Brandon is almost your height.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Daphne and Brandon are super tall. My mom is about five-nine, and at one point, she modeled over in Europe, which is what Daphne wants to do. Dad disagrees with her decision, so she decided to move to Alabama and start school early. Your turn.”
“I was born in Connecticut.”
Her ha
zel eyes blink in shock. “You’re not Southern?”
“I got here as fast as I could.”
She asks, “How old were you?”
“I was six months old.”
“You’re practically Southern,” she quips.
I give a broad smile. “Dad’s business took off in Savannah, and we eventually moved to Milsap because my grandparents had the farm. My maternal set lived in upstate New York, but we rarely ever saw them. My parents are a mess. Mom is a trophy wife and a raging alcoholic. Dad works all the time, makes a fuckton of money, and battles his addictions daily.”
“What is his addiction?”
“Mostly, women. Very young. Barely legal.”
“Shit,” she mumbles, pausing with the frightening reality. “That’s scary.”
“Yeah, I don’t ask. I don’t want to know because I already suspect. Axel inherited the gene, and I avoid twenty-somethings like the plague because of it. You’re the last.”
“You shouldn’t say things like that…”
With a deep breath, I steer the conversation back to the facts I believe she needs to know. “He is considering mergers, selling off the business, or handing over the reins of Monroe Consulting to Axel and me.”
“What do you want?”
I plate her second round and deliver it with a kiss to the top of her head. “I don’t care either way. I wouldn’t mind running it, but I’m not strapped looking for work either. I have plenty of income without Daddy’s money. Speaking of which, Monroe Consulting is having a party mid-June at headquarters in Savannah, a big hoopla, black-tie kind of a thing. Would you be my date?”
She drops the bacon on her plate as I grab a protein shake from the fridge. “You’re serious about this thing?”
“I’m very serious about you.”
“I’ll need a dress and shoes.”
“We can go shopping. It’s not a problem,” I stress, fearing rejection. “I work from home. I can go anytime.”
“Are you sure you want to show off your captive?”
“I have no opinion either way,” I shrug, amused. “I’ll happily introduce you to friends and family. You’re not a secret I need to keep, but if Axel or Dad gets anywhere near you, you’ll see a side of me I don’t often show. We can stay at my beach house when we go to Savannah.”
“This beach house is literally on the water?”
“Yep, seven thousand square feet, over fifty acres right on the water between Savannah and Charleston. Gorgeous piece of property.” Slowing down on her feast, she swivels in the chair. Her lips wiggle as she tries to form the sentence. “Go on, ask the obvious.”
“If you know what I’m going to ask, just answer.”
“I’ve made a lot of money in a couple of lucrative investments.”
She shakes her head. “That’s not what I was thinking. How does this guy who presents better than average end up with such a deviant kink?”
“I don’t have an answer for that.”
“Have you always been this way?” she asks, holding her coffee in her lap. “Or am I your first deviation?”
“Um, you’re the first I’ve drugged, which I’ll never do again,” I thoughtfully admit. “But I was willing to do anything to bring you home with me.”
“You could’ve just asked.”
I snicker, “Would you like to spend the next three months being my…”
She walks over to me. “Yes, I will spend three months with you, Jynx Monroe. Whatever that means.”
“Just know, whatever happens in the dark…”
She interrupts, “The dark stays hidden in my heart.”
“Don’t make me want to kiss you more than I already do.”
“You should,” she whispers, “consider doing that sometime. You might like it.” Her serious expression diminishes as she offers a wide smile. “But what do I know, I’ve never even been kissed.”
“You know, you’re asking me about my kinks, but what is the deal with your chaste behavior?”
“I was always busy with school, and most boys bored the fuck out of me. I don’t want what has been offered.”
“What do you want?”
A light blush rises on her cheeks. “I want a real man. Boots and jeans. Grit and spit. Sweating. Cursing. Smoking. No frou-frou drinks. Able to shoot pool, but knowing how to shoot his gun is even better. Aims and throws punches. Employed and doesn’t need me to entertain him. He carries a normal wallet, not a checkbook holder, or God forbid, a bag. He drives a truck, looks damn fine in a three-piece suit, and understands chivalry. And he’s not afraid to take little bitty me over his knee. I want a filthy fucking gentleman.” She winks, and I grin. “Do you have any idea how hard that is to find in a single, willing to be monogamous form?”
“That’s a helluva request.”
“I’m a helluva high maintenance demanding chick.”
“Where does one apply for such a position?”
“Oh!” she elaborates smirking. “He would have to audition with an adequate response to my rape ad.”
I chuckle, picking her up. She straddles her legs around me. “Are we doing this?”
“We’re testing the waters,” she teases.
“I’d like to test your waters.”
She giggles. “May I have rhinestone boots?”
Echo
I hold his arm in my new teal-colored boots with pink stitching and plentiful bling as we walk through the small hardware store in town. He waves at a couple of people. “You know a lot of the townsfolk?”
“I grew up here,” he says, studying the chainsaw blades. “They know me.”
“Was Axel raised here?”
“No,” he says, undeterred. “Mom raised Axel.”
“Why did she not raise you?”
“Because I was always a radical firebrand,” he chuckles, turning to face me. “And my grandmother adored me.”
We check out. He buys me a Dr. Pepper, a bag of pork rinds, a wide-brimmed straw hat, and a pair of sunglasses. “Do I need cheap sunglasses?”
“Yes,” he replies, opening the truck door and biting the tag off of them. “Put them on.”
I ask, “What kind of trouble?”
He gets in the driver’s seat and licks his lips. “Dad caught me following in my mother’s footsteps at a very young age,” he mutters, glancing down at the dash. “She had a thing for pills and booze. He took Axel and me to his Mom’s—Grandma. Axel was a Mama’s boy, though, and after about two days, he threw a pissy bitch fit, which he still does. My brother is a piece of work—the kind of guy you would shun in two seconds. If he has to work for food—cracking crab claws, sunflower seeds, pistachios—he deems it beneath him. Says he is not a savage male,” he informs, and I giggle, popping open the pork rinds and offering him one. “Anyway, Dad came and got him. I stayed with Grandma, off and on until she passed.”
“What do you mean taking after her?”
“I was drinking with my mother when I was six.”
“Jesus!”
“Yeah, she is also a unique piece of work,” he says with a deep breath. “I stay on a fairly even keel now, but I’m always one drink away from what I consider losing sobriety.”
“But you drink.”
“I do,” he admits. “But I’m careful to know where my head is at before I start. I try to keep my shit in check now. At one point, I didn’t give a damn. I wound up in jail.”
I blink. “… For? Don’t tell me! Abduction, rape, and murder?”
Glancing out the window, he explains, “Stalking a girl I was trying to protect, but I was bad, breaking into houses and selling drugs. I’m not innocent. I’ve never raped or killed anyone. Or abducted anyone until you.”
“First times,” I playfully say with a wink. I’m unscathed by his history because no man that will drug a woman is an angel. But I don’t need an angel or a saint. “Where is she now?”
“My best friend, Chuck, murdered Celeste,” he begrudgingly mutters. “Can this therapy sessi
on be over?”
“Yes! Drive!”
I quietly munch on the pork rinds with occasional glances to check on his well being. We’re doing tough stuff—real, hardcore emotional shit. It’s not going to be easy on either of us. As much as he wants to correct my frame of mind, I want to heal his bleeding heart. He’s not bad, just a misguided lost boy due to environmental circumstances. We stop at a hole in the wall Mexican restaurant on the outskirts of town. “Stay here.”
He quickly returns. “A dozen tacos and a gallon of tea, my dear.”
“There can never be too many tacos!”
Spending all afternoon on the tailgate of his truck, I feast on tacos and slurp down tea while watching my stalker chop up tree limbs. He’s disgustingly dirty. “Okay, feed me a taco.”
“Is this a sexual innuendo?”
“No, Ma’am. Feed me. I need food.”
“I have eight left.” I unwrap one as he pulls off his hat, gloves, and sunglasses before dumping my bottle of water on his head. “It’s ridiculously hot out here.”
“Tell me,” he says, biting into the taco. “Fuck, that’s good. More.”
“What are you doing with all the wood?”
“Building you a bonfire on the Fourth of July,” he replies, promising a future—at least until Independence Day. With a wide smile, I scoot to the edge of the truck and spread my legs around his torso. His truck is jacked-up with a lift kit and oversized tires. He had to help me up into the back. “What? Do you want down, Shorty?”
“No, Jynx.”
I shove his last bite in my mouth as he rants, “You thief!”
Taking another, I offer him a bite, but the playful look in his eyes is almost more than I can handle. I squeal and kick my legs. “Eat that taco!”
“I’m so going to get you.”
I lean closer. “I’m hoping that you will.”
He pulls my ass to the edge and brushes his lips against mine. He slowly backs away like he cannot believe we just kissed. His blue eyes rush over my face as he places his hands on my cheeks and does it again. His gentle tongue swoops over mine for a brief tease. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
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