Vagrant

by Gemma James

  I double-checked the locks, made my way to the bedroom, and peeked at the gun I’d hidden an arm’s length from my pillow. Rounding the bed, I came to a standstill at the end. The longer I stood like a statue, my cock hard as fuck as I feasted on the sight of her, the more I wanted to shake her awake.

  As if sensing my presence, she stirred, though she couldn’t move with her ankles and wrists secured to the anchors on the wall and floor. Grabbing her today had been a last minute emergency, but I’d been preparing for this day for a while, like a paranoid lunatic building a fallout shelter. Except I hadn’t been preparing for another threat against us—I’d simply wanted to be ready when the day came that I wouldn’t be able to stay away from her anymore.

  Not if…when.

  So I’d mounted anchors for restraining her, had tucked away whips, paddles, and other implements in drawers—ready to deliver painful strikes—along with clothing and barely-there lingerie. Assuming I let her wear anything at all.

  Her low groan brought me back from the dark pit of fantasies that teased from the edges of my mind. The drugs were wearing off, but not fast enough for my liking. I tugged on the chain to the overhead light. Her lids fluttered, revealing two jade eyes that zeroed in on me.

  She blinked several times then parted her lips. “Where are we?”

  A simple question, untainted by fear or doubt. That’s how much she trusted me. Shit, how I wanted to be worthy of her trust. If anyone was fearful here, it was me because six months apart had taught me only one thing; I needed her with every fiber of my sadistic being.

  “You’re home.” I peeled the hoodie from my torso and tossed it on the floor, then I lifted a knee and slowly climbed onto the bed. Crawling over the mattress like a lethal predator, I settled my knees between her spread thighs.

  “Where’s home?” she asked, chest rising and falling rapidly. Her dark curls trailed behind her in a riot on the pillow. I fisted my hand in those silky locks, keeping her immobile, and teased her mouth with mine. She darted her tongue out to wet her lips. Fuck, she was already killing me, and I hadn’t even kissed her yet.

  “Your home is underneath me, sweetheart.” I inched back, parted her jacket single-handedly, and took in the cleavage peeking from between the unbuttoned collar of her purple top. I couldn’t help but wonder how many assholes had raped that expanse of flesh with their eyes as she went about her day.

  She pulled at her bindings, her neck straining as she eyed the cuffs trapping her wrists. “Afraid I’ll run?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, quirking a brow in challenge. “Will you?” Grabbing her chin, I ran my tongue along the seam of her mouth, but she twisted her head to the side. “You’re mad at me,” I said.

  She scoffed, refusing to meet my eyes. “Hurt, mad. Take your pick, Rafe.”

  I winced. Hurt was much worse than mad, and she was both. I unlatched the buckles and gathered her hands above her head, telling her without words that she wasn’t to move.

  And that was the twisted beauty of us—we understood each other without making a sound. She’d lie there and take it, no matter how fucking angry or hurt she was. Silencing a groan, I gripped the collar of her shirt and ripped it down the middle. In the midst of flying buttons, my gaze traveled over the black satiny cups of her bra before coming to a standstill on the white bandage that covered her belly. Rage ignited, so intense and hot it was nearly uncontrollable. I was ready to blister her fucking ass.

  “Rule number one,” I bit out between clenched teeth. “The only one allowed to hurt you is me.” I wrapped my fingers around her throat. Squeezed. Watched her startled eyes grow huge.

  Frightened.

  Fuck.

  Breathing hard, I loosened my grip. I’d learned a lot about control during our separation, but I wasn’t about to push it—not when it came to her.

  “Did you cut yourself again?”

  “No,” she wheezed. “Look underneath.”

  Keeping one hand clamped around her throat, I slowly peeled back the bandage. Everything inside me combusted. The sight of my name inscribed on her belly, eradicating Zach’s claim on her incinerated me. But it went deeper than the layers of her skin. She’d found a way to brand me on her soul. The delicate letters flourished over her stomach, accompanied by butterflies with perfect wings.

  She’d found freedom in that ink. Swallowing hard, I met her gaze and cursed the sharp sting of vulnerability in mine.

  “I just got the last touch up today,” she whispered. “I couldn’t let you go, no matter how hard I tried.”

  Strength failed me. I collapsed onto her belly, my lips brushing over my name on her pale skin, and squeezed my eyes shut. Somewhere inside me, the beast had clawed its way out and now it was snarling, impatient to claim and own. That’s why I’d left the note and drugged her. Never mind her phobia of water—at the base of my being I’d wanted to mess with her head, show her that she belonged to me, even if she was a willing captive.

  Especially because she was a willing captive. A headstrong, sexy captive with a self-destructive streak I was determined to break. I intended to be a hard ass, a consistent enforcer. She’d have zero fucking wiggle room with me from here on out.

  But fuck, I hadn’t expected this.

  “Thank you,” I said, dotting kisses over her stomach, following the path of my name.

  “For what?”

  “For being mine.”

  And she was. Fuck she was, even if I didn’t deserve her.

  Being his was the culmination of my life. Even when I became old and gray, assuming I made it that far, I knew his name would be the last vow on my lips, his face the last image in my mind.

  I was born to be his.

  Until he threw me away again.

  I wanted to believe this time would be different. I had no desire to escape him. My prison was beyond Rafe Mason. The world and independence and freedom held nothing but shackles for me. He made me fly. He made me feel alive. Rafe had the power to quiet the hissing between my ears that begged for pain because I knew he could issue it better than I ever could. But could I trust him not to annihilate my world all over again?

  For the first time in my life, I was truly fragile. Zach had hurt me for years, but I’d constructed a wall of numbed acceptance to cope. Lucas and his men had tried to destroy me with the strike of a whip and the threat of Rafe’s death, but we’d survived. At least, I thought we had until he’d disappeared.

  How ironic that the guy who loved me most ended up being the one to break me to pieces.

  The soft, warm brush of his lips over my tattoo was so out of tune with the dark thoughts roaring in my head that I had to give myself a mental shake. I was a boneless puddle underneath him, laid out in pure vulnerability. Shell-shocked.

  “How long was I out for?”

  He lifted his head. “About five hours.” His lips curved downward. “I had something I couldn’t get out of tonight. Trust me, I wanted to be here with you instead.”

  Trust him.

  But where the fuck was he six months ago? Jax’s words echoed from that morning, as clear as if he’d uttered them now.

  He didn’t make it.

  The branded image of him flashed in my mind. Eyes lowered, and his shoulders slumped as soot and blood bathed his face.

  There was a fire…I’m sorry…

  I’d sat chained to Rafe’s bed in that safe house, my voice refusing to work, so all I’d been able to do was shake my head. Denying. Trying to convince myself Jax was a lying bastard, which technically, he was, but somewhere deep inside, I’d known. Rafe wasn’t coming back.

  Now here he was months later, asking me to trust him as if nothing fundamental had changed between us, but everything had changed the instant he’d decided to bolt.

  The urge to smack him was overpowering, but I tamped it down. Instead, I feathered my fingers through his dark hair, brushing away a lock and revealing a red gash above his brow. “What happened?”

  “Had a fight
tonight.”

  So the ghost of Rafe Mason fighting underground wasn’t a ghost after all. “How bad are you hurt?”

  “Not as bad as the other guy. Which reminds me…” He pushed to his hands and knees and scooted down the mattress, then rose to his feet. “I’m a mess.” He bent and released my ankles. “I want you naked when I come back from showering.”

  Tingles shot through me, straight to the core of my being. Fear, desire, even fury, and it all coalesced into a boiling pot of turbulence in my stomach. My body wanted him. God how I wanted him. But my mind and heart overruled, reminding me of the nights I’d sobbed into my pillow with a gun in my hand because I was scared of the shadows in the bedroom.

  Because I couldn’t fucking breathe without him.

  “We need to talk.” I glared at him. “I’m—”

  “Gonna get naked,” he finished for me. His eyes undressed me with the heat in them, and his inflexible jaw challenged me to fight him.

  I wanted to fight him. I wanted to slug him. I wanted to fuck him. But mostly, I needed him to explain. “I’m not on birth control anymore,” I said, hoping that would be enough to slow him down.

  The left corner of his mouth veered up. “I can use your ass just as well, sweetheart.”

  “Wh-what?”

  “I’ll be the first, won’t I?”

  My jaw gaped open, and I managed a stunned nod. No one had done what he wanted to do, and I didn’t know how I felt about that. He’d said something similar on the island before everything had blown up in our faces.

  “Good,” he said. “I’ll be the one and only then.” He disappeared through a narrow doorway, leaving me frozen on the bed.

  Why his immovable attitude shocked me, I didn’t know. Everything about this night shocked me, from the instant I’d seen the note on my door to this moment as he switched on the shower.

  Rafe was here, just beyond that wall. Naked.

  Alive.

  And wanting to fuck me in the ass.

  I scooted to the end of the bed and pulled my jacket tight. With each movement, a rocking motion made my stomach drop, and a heavy ball of dread formed. I didn’t like this. I didn’t like this at all.

  I tilted my head and gazed around the room. The space was tiny, bordering on claustrophobic, and a musty scent permeated the air. Up near the ceiling, where it connected with the wall, an odd-shaped window sat above the circular anchors Rafe had used to restrain me.

  Directly above my head, another anchor threatened all kinds of interesting uses from the ceiling. It matched the ones on the wall. In fact, it matched the two rings on the floor at the end of the bed. They were small, the type of protruding contraption one would stub a toe on if they forgot they were there. He must have installed them because they were a custom touch, asymmetrical to the lines of the room yet aligned perfectly with the bed.

  Where had he taken me? He’d said he was drugging me because I wouldn’t want to know, but that was akin to waving a red flag in front of a bull. I tiptoed through the narrow doorway, past the sound of water running behind a closed door, and trailed my palm over the table on my right. On the other side, a built-in seating area sat between two rustic wood panels. Ahead, the kitchen was unusually small, the type I’d expect to find in an RV.

  Or on a boat.

  Sucking in a noisy breath that fractured the quiet, I clung to the metal poll that spanned vertical from the sloping roof to the thin carpeting under my bare feet. Either I was dizzy from the drugs…or the floor was moving. A staircase called to me, daring me to climb and see what lay beyond, but I couldn’t get my hands to let go of the bar. The floor swayed again, and I heard his steps an instant before his fingers curled around my bicep.

  “What are you doing out here?” His voice traveled down my spine, and for several moments, silence blared through my ears like a reprimand. My limbs stiffened, muscles tensing to keep from shaking. He pried my fingers from the metal and turned me around to face him. Water dripped from his hair, running down his chest, squiggling down the lines of his tattoos. His green eyes drank me up, and the weight of that stare wrapped around me like a blanket, entrapping me in the cocoon of his ire.

  “C’mon,” he said, tugging me back into the stifling bedroom.

  “Can you stop for a minute?” My heart pounded in my throat as I fought his grip.

  “What part of naked did you not understand?” He whirled me around and abruptly let go. I stumbled backward and plopped onto the bed.

  “The part where you let me think you were dead! That’s the part I don’t understand.”

  He swung his arms out to the sides. “What do you want from me, Alex?”

  “I want to know how you could walk away like that? How you could say you love me one minute then fucking disappear the next!”

  With a sigh, he lowered his head. “I can’t give you an explanation.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  He peeked up through thick lashes. “Won’t. You begged for my fucking darkness, well here it is, sweetheart. You’ve got it.”

  I studied him, struggling to catch my breath. He was holding something back, something he didn’t want me to know. Because he was scared? I folded my arms, all too aware of the sound my jacket made with the movement, and how he wanted it gone along with the rest of my clothing.

  “Whatever you’re hiding—”

  “Who says I’m hiding anything?”

  I held his gaze. “The way you’re looking at me is telling me you’re hiding something. Please, Rafe. I need you. All of you.” Like he’d promised, with no walls standing between us. No secrets.

  “Please,” I begged again in a whisper. “Why’d you do it?”

  He stepped forward though he didn’t touch me. Not yet. Slowly, I lowered my gaze to his erection then met his eyes again, wondering if he’d really force anal. The guy who’d kidnapped me all those months ago, before the memory loss, would’ve fucked me any way he wanted. I saw that guy in Rafe now.

  “I did it because I was a spineless dick.” He grabbed my chin. “I don’t have that problem anymore, so I’ll give you one more chance to get naked.”

  Hurt flared behind my breastbone. “Or what?”

  “Don’t test me. I know exactly what buttons to push.” He ran his thumb over my lower lip before letting go of my chin. We were engaged in a standoff, one I wouldn’t win, but I’d be damned if I didn’t put up some sort of fight.

  Just to piss him off, I took my time shrugging out of my jacket, took even longer removing my tattered shirt. He retreated, giving me room to stand, and it irked me that he didn’t seem the least bit bothered by my slow strip tease. I pushed my jeans and panties down my thighs until they dropped to the floor. Carefully, I stepped out of the puddle of clothing, my gaze never breaking from his, and reached behind me to unclasp my bra. The straps slid down my arms, inch by inch until my breasts tumbled free. He pulled his lip between his teeth.

  “Lay down,” he said, voice thick and raw. “Spread your legs.”

  “Rafe, please—”

  “Fuck, baby.” He hissed in a breath. “Keep begging.”

  His rugged tone knocked the wind from me. Shit, I was in trouble. Swallowing hard, I reclined on the bed and gave him what he wanted, but without the begging part. A cool draft of air danced across my breasts, and I parted my trembling legs. My nipples puckered from the chill of winter that penetrated the walls. My body did the begging for me. For his touch, for his hot mouth sucking my nipples, one then the other, against his tongue.

  Heat throbbed between my thighs at just the thought, and most of my anger vanished. I’d merely existed without him. To have him back was overwhelming, exhilarating, and I was aroused as all hell, ready to fly apart at the slightest touch, despite the confusion of emotions all vying for prominence in my heart.

  His attention stalled between my spread thighs. “Wider.”

  Biting my lip, I did as told, bending my knees to fully expose the most private part of myself. “Wide
enough?” The words came out breathless, coy even. But I felt far from coy. My heart was pounding so hard and fast I had trouble catching my breath.

  He came toward me, one step at a time. “You’re fucking perfect.” Dark ink rippled over the muscles in his chest, sending me into a trance-like state, and I wasn’t prepared for his fingers curling around my ankles. He yanked me to the end of the bed, pushed my legs even wider apart, and plunged a finger inside me.

  “So fucking wet already,” he said.

  “Rafe!” I bowed above the mattress, my hands fisting the blankets.

  “I think we need to set some more ground rules,” he said, and through the haze of desire clouding my vision, I saw him lick his lips. “Rule number two…you aren’t allowed to leave.” He slid another finger in and circled my opening.

  “Rafe,” I moaned, arching into his touch, panting with trying to hold back. “I’ve never left you. It’s been the other way around.” He thumbed my clit, and I couldn’t bite back another moan. I rode his hand, my body hungering for release, aching for it.

  “I’m not talking about that. You’re stuck with me, for better or worse. I’m talking about the fact that we’re on a boat.” He paused and let those words sink in. I’d already guessed as much. “I don’t want you setting foot off this thing without me. If you do, I’ll chain you to the fucking floor, got it?”

  Nodding, I chewed on my lip. He drove me to madness with his fingers, and I moved with him, pushing upward with each plunder. But I couldn’t get there. It was like he knew and was doing it on purpose.

  “What’s the third rule?” I ground out between clenched teeth. There had to be a third rule. There was always a third rule.

  “When it comes to me, the word ‘no’ isn’t part of your vocabulary. So when I tell you to get naked, you’re gonna fucking strip.” He withdrew his fingers, his thumb. God, my clit throbbed for his thumb.

  “You ripped my heart out, Rafe.”

  “I know I did. And you can yell at me all you want. But you’re gonna do it naked because that’s how I want you.”

  “So you say jump, and I ask how high? Is that how this is going to work?”