by R. Linda
“Why does everyone think that?”
“What?”
“That I should hate you?” I turned in his embrace, letting my fingers rest on his shoulders.
“Who thinks that?”
I shrugged. “Everyone. The police. The doctors. Nurses. The therapist they made me see before letting me leave. They all believe I should resent you, hate you, not want anything to do with you. They think I’m suffering Stockholm Syndrome. But that’s crazy.”
Hendrix tilted his head back and gulped. “They could be right.”
“What? No! I’m not. I love you, Hendrix. I’m not suffering anything.” Tears filled my eyes. How could he agree with them? He had to know how I felt had nothing to do with Stockholm Syndrome. I refused to believe that.
“It’s not crazy, Lucy. What you think you feel could be from whatever attachment, bond we’ve formed.”
“I know what I feel. It’s real. Tell me it’s real for you too,” I cried, lowering my head to his chest too afraid to look in his eyes and see the truth I didn’t want to see.
“It’s real for me too,” he whispered, pinching my chin between his fingers and forcing me to look up at him. “It was real before. It was real in the house. It’s real now.”
And then his mouth descended on mine. His fingers threaded through my hair as a weight lifted off my shoulders and my body relaxed, melting into him. I grasped at his shirt, pulling him closer but not able to get close enough.
The flames were back, and I was burning. I pushed him backwards, directing him down the hall toward my bedroom. Kicking the door shut behind me, I gripped the hem of his shirt and lifted.
“Wait,” Hendrix gasped, removing his mouth from mine, and stopping my hands from attempting to pull his shirt over his head.
I froze.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my shoulder and pulled me over to the bed. Sitting down, he grasped my hips and looked up at me. His eyes were darker than usual, glassy, wide. He dropped his head forward and rested it on my stomach and took a deep breath. Something was bothering him. My heart squeezed in my chest, and I brushed my hands through his hair to provide comfort.
“Hendrix?”
“I need to tell you something.” He glanced up at me and bit his lip.
I nodded.
“I found out something, in the house, that I couldn’t tell you earlier because Ray would have heard.” His voice trembled.
“What is it?”
Hendrix hesitated and squeezed his eyes shut. “Ray wasn’t my father.”
“What?” I gasped.
It didn’t make sense. Only it did. They were so different but, how?
“The day our honeymoon ended I found a chest in the basement full of news clippings, photos, articles. All from Ray. He’d collected them over the years. They were all about missing women. I recognised so many of the photos.”
I didn’t know what to say. Hendrix sounded so defeated. I wrapped my arms around him and held him close.
“One of those articles was about a missing child from more than twenty years ago. It was about me, Lucy. I knew it was. He stole me from my mother in the supermarket when I was two. That’s why I didn’t know any different. I don’t remember my real parents at all. Every memory I have is of Ray. His wife, that I thought was my mother, died during childbirth and that was what caused him to spiral out of control. Everything I thought I knew was a lie.”
“Oh, Hendrix.” I bent forward and pressed my lips to the top of his head. I didn’t know what to say. It made perfect sense. They were different in so many ways. “What are you going to do?”
“Try to find my real parents.”
“What can I do?”
He shrugged and wound his arms tighter around me. “Right now?”
“Yes. Now. Tomorrow. Next week. Whatever you need.”
“Make me forget,” he whispered. His hands trailed down my back and gripped the bottom of my shirt. “Just for now. I want to forget the world and focus on you. On us.”
Without another word, I stepped back and removed my shirt before unbuttoning my jeans and slipping them off. Hendrix’s dark gaze travelled the length of my body. A small smile graced his lips as he pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it onto the pile of my clothes, along with his jeans.
He was naked.
The scars on his chest stood out, barely hidden by his tattoos.
He swallowed, and I fought the urge to fidget under his intense gaze.
Hendrix reached for me again and pulled me between his legs. His hands caressed my thighs, slowly working their way up to the waist band of my underwear as my fingers wound through his hair. I stood perfectly still and waited to see what he’d do next. I was letting him lead. His lips grazed my left hipbone, tracing the top of my underwear making their way across to my right.
His fingers hooked into the top of my underwear and dragged them down my legs. I stepped out of them and kicked them to the side, standing before him, completely naked. I should have felt nervous, or self-conscious. I was fully aware that my body was too skinny, my bones protruded in places that used to be curvy. But I didn’t. I felt confident. Special. Loved.
Adored.
I leaned down and pressed my mouth to Hendrix’s. He groaned and pushed his tongue between my lips and at the same time, he wrapped his hands around the back of my knees and pulled me down onto his lap. Knees on either side of his hips, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him, explored his mouth, delighted in the feel of his lips against mine, his tongue massaging my own, and moaned as he pushed his hips up and eased into me.
My nerves sparked to life. The flames licked at my body, threatening to consume me. Hendrix left hot kisses on my collarbone, my neck, behind my ears. His fingers digging into my back were painful in the best way. I savoured every movement, every breath, every sensation as we moved together.
Perfectly.
As though we were made for each other.
Hendrix
LUCY APPEARED IN the doorway dressed in nothing but her bathrobe. A sight I had yet to get sick of. I smiled at her as she watched me work. Paper covered the dining table. The laptop was open, and I was going crazy trying to track my parents down.
“Want some help?” Lucy asked.
“No, it’s okay. You can go to bed. I’ll be in soon,” I said, and she chuckled softly knowing that was a complete lie. After many long discussions we decided that I needed to find my real parents, if for no other reason than to get some closure. I didn’t want to walk in and mess up their lives, but I wanted to at least find them, see them.
“You’re staring,” I said to Lucy, not looking up from the paperwork in front of me. The private investigator we’d hired was more than thorough but still wasn’t turning up any results.
“I know.” Her voice was soft, thoughtful and I was immediately on alert.
Was something wrong?
“Why?”
“Just thinking how great you are.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Kind. Caring.” She walked over to me and put her hand on my shoulder, leaning against my side. “Sweet. Loving.”
“Lucy?” I pushed the laptop away and turned to face her.
“I’m pregnant.”
It hung in the air between us, and I wasn’t sure what to say. I wasn’t sure I was even breathing. Time stopped. I froze.
“Hendrix?”
I opened my mouth, but words wouldn’t come out.
“Hendrix, please? Say something.” Lucy was getting frantic, but I couldn’t think. I didn’t know what to think.
Should I be happy?
Scared?
Was Lucy happy?
Scared?
I knew she absolutely didn’t want a baby while living with Ray, and neither did I, but now that we were on the outside, had her mind changed?
I stood up and walked to the kitchen where I poured myself a whiskey and downed it in one shot, before po
uring another. Lucy was sobbing quietly behind me.
I couldn’t be a dad.
I didn’t want to be a father.
I was in no position to raise a child, not after my upbringing.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Lucy cried. Her footsteps thudded on the tiles as she ran from the room.
Shit.
I made her cry.
The one thing I swore I would never do again was be the reason for her tears.
Taking a deep breath, I made my way into the bedroom where she was curled in a ball on the bed. Sobs wracked her body, and when I approached her, she rolled to the other side so she wouldn’t have to face me.
My stomach churned.
I couldn’t be a father.
What if I screwed the kid up?
But the look on Lucy’s face, the pain in her voice as she said, “I’ll make an appointment tomorrow. You won’t have to worry about it then. We’ll pretend it never happened,” had me freaking out.
An appointment?
Meaning she was going to terminate the baby.
My child?
Not a chance in hell.
I climbed on the bed behind her and wrapped my arm around her waist, pulling her until she rolled over and rested her cheek on my chest.
“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to react that way. It’s just...” I paused, unsure how to put into words what I was feeling. “I don’t want you to make that appointment.”
“You don’t?” Lucy sniffed and raised her head.
“No. I want this.” I placed my hand on her stomach where my son or daughter was growing beneath the barest of bumps. “This baby, with you. I do.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I’m just shit scared, love. Terrified. What if I am more like him, like Ray, than I thought?”
The thought that I could snap and hurt Lucy was crippling on the best days, but now, knowing that I was going to be responsible for a tiny life, I wasn’t sure I could do it. I wasn’t sure I could overcome the fear.
“You won’t be.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because you have me. And our child. And we love you more than life itself. We can do this, Hendrix. I know we can.” She placed her hand over mine on her stomach and tilted her face up until her lips pressed against mine.
And just like that, all fear was gone.
We’d be okay.
Together, we could overcome anything. Do anything we wanted to.
We could raise this baby in a happy, healthy, loving family.
It would be perfect.
The way life was meant to be all along…
Stay tuned for the sequel
Deranged Love
Releasing 2019
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About the Author
R. Linda drinks wine and writes books. A coffee-addicted, tattoo-enthusiastic fangirl with a slight obsession for a particular British boy band and solo artist, she is a writer of Contemporary YA/NA Romance and Suspense, sometimes dabbling in Paranormal as well. Renee lives in Melbourne, Australia, with her husband and two sons. When not writing, she can often be found reading books to her children and cuddling up with them on the couch to watch their favourite movies.
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Are you a fan of steamy billionaire mafia romances?
Check out an excerpt of Asher Black by Parker S. Huntington:
It’s odd being in an alley that’s not actually an alley—more like an outdoor room with asphalt for floors and the night sky as a ceiling. I’m grateful for the privacy the surrounding walls give, though, because a dark alley in New York City isn’t exactly the safest place for a girl to be alone at night.
I jump in alarm when the doorway opens beside me. “Just another minute or so. I promise,” I say, turning to face the bouncer.
Instead, I find the guy from earlier.
Blue Eyes.
He’s staring at me with amusement in his face, so different from the coldness I witnessed earlier. “I think this will take longer than a minute.”
My breath catches in my throat as I take in his words and the dark promises they hold. His eyes are devouring me, skimming the length of my body and holding me captive. I scare myself when I take an unconscious step in his direction, wanting to be closer to him. To touch his face, his body, wherever he’ll let me.
I clench my fists, forcing myself to stop that ridiculous line of thought.
Now I understand what heroines in romance novels are feeling when they meet their alpha males. It’s not insta-love. It’s insta-lust, and it’s so strong and overwhelming, it’s easy to confuse the two. Lucky for me, I have my head screwed on tightly enough to realize that what I’m feeling is simply pure, unadulterated lust.
And it needs an outlet.
But this is a man that followed me into an alleyway. A man I neither know nor trust.
I level him with an accusatory glare. “Did you follow me out here?”
“Yes.” There’s no hesitation nor remorse in his voice, just a lingering truth that hangs boldly in the air. He eyes me warily as I take an instinctive step back, pressing myself against the wall again. “Tell me you don’t want me here, and I’ll leave. No questions asked.”
I wonder if he’s telling the truth. If he is, it would do wonders to ease my safety concerns. Because the truth is I do want him here. I want this. I want the promises of pleasure his eyes are giving me. I want to kiss those full lips. I want his hands to ravage me. I want everything.
So, I test him.
“I don’t want you here,” I lie, waiting to see if he’ll leave.
He nods his head and turns around, rapping on the door three times—the signal to open up. I’m relieved to learn he was telling the truth. That I can have this night of pleasure without worrying for my safety.
When the door opens and the guard sticks his head out, I say, “Wait.”
I mean it. I want this. I want him.
Call it instinct or insanity or probably a little bit of both, but I can already tell that, when he touches me, it’ll be electrifying. Just from looking at him, I can see that this is a man who takes what he wants. Right now? It’s me. Tomorrow? Who cares? That’s not what one night stands are for.
Blue Eyes nods to the security guard, who closes the door again. He turns my way, and the fascinated look of approval on his face sends a shiver of delight down my spine. “You were testing me.”
I nod. “I was.”
He takes a step closer to me. “And if I hadn’t passed?”
I hook a finger into his belt loop and pull him nearer. “We’d probably be in the same position, only I’d be lying to us both when I tell you I don’t want this.”
He places his hands against the wall on both sides of my head, caging me in. “And now?”
My left toe brushes against his ankle, trailing its way slowly up the length of his leg until it’s hooked around his waist. I use it to push him forward until we’re pressed tightly against one another.
“I don’t have to lie. I want this.”
His lips are on mine before I can blink, his tongue fucking my mouth the way I hope he’ll do to my body. I respond eagerly, my tongue brushing against his and savoring the distinct taste of spearmint and amaretto. It’s a filthy kiss, harsh and violent and messy, filled with the sinister promises I can’t wait for him to unleash on my needy body. It’s unfathomable how much I want this, how much
I’ve thirsted for this since my eyes connected with his and saw the desire lurking within their depths.
His lips move to the skin below my ear, sucking lightly before he bites down gently, sending a jolt of pain straight to the stiff peaks of my nipples. An animalistic groan escapes my mouth as his tongue flicks over the sensitive skin he bit, lapping away the delectable pain. His lips trail down my throat, meeting his hands at my breasts.
He pinches a nipple with one hand, while his mouth sucks roughly on the other pebbled bud through the thin fabric of my dress. My hands tangle themselves into his hair, pushing him lower, wanting him there. He lets me, chuckling at my lack of patience, while purposely trailing his fingers slowly along the length of my inner thighs in a teasing touch.
I groan, taking the leg that was wrapped around his waist and hooking it over his shoulder. The movement lifts the skirt of my dress higher, exposing more of my skin to the crisp fall air. He leans forward and digs his nose into my sensitive flesh, dipping it into my slit through the cotton fabric of my underwear.
Hooking my fingers into the elastic band of my panties, I shove them downward, too eager for the skin to skin contact to wait. The vibrations of his responding growl send my hips thrusting forward, forcing our lips to clash.
I cry out at the feel of his tongue, tracing the length of my mound. He takes one of my lips fully into his mouth, sucking softly, before releasing it. The pad of his thumb brushes against my clit, spreading the wetness from my opening onto it and rubbing in slow circles.
When his lips take over his thumb’s position on my clit, I nearly lose myself. He swirls his tongue around it, teasing me with the slow pace. I’m panting by the time one of his fingers enters me, pumping into my body with ease. A second finger joins the first one, and I ride them both, savoring the feel of his warm mouth on my clit and his long fingers in my body. With each thrust of his tongue, I can feel myself reaching the edge, coming closer and closer to the release I desperately need.