by Josie Litton
Any lingering doubt I had about how to deal with her vanished. So far as I was concerned, she was clearly the person in the wrong. All I was doing was defending myself. If she wanted to fight dirty, fine by me.
To that end, I pressed my arm harder against her throat to let her know that I was serious and snarled, “Stop it!”
I was using my chest to keep her trapped up against the wall. One of my thighs was wedged between hers. Bastard that I am, I couldn’t help noticing that she was all long legs, full breasts, and willowy curves.
That was distracting but I still had enough sense to know that my first priority had to be securing whatever weapon she might be carrying. Still, as I moved my hand over her, feeling for a gun or knife, I may have lingered a little longer than was strictly necessary.
Her breath started coming in shallow little pants that I associate with a different kind of physical activity. That definitely didn’t help the situation. Nor did the fact that she was still struggling, so much so that the softness of her flat, smooth abdomen kept rubbing against my groin.
After the shower I’d just taken, I wasn’t wearing anything other than a towel around my hips and it wasn’t much of a barrier between us. It sure as hell didn’t conceal the fact that I was suddenly getting hard.
That was just downright disturbing. I like my women compliant, purring under my hand and begging for more. Trying to crush my balls and rip my eyes out doesn’t do it for me. Still, the truth was that I was becoming aroused for reasons I didn’t care to examine--caveman stuff on the level of controlling the furious wildcat in my arms and bending her to my will, definitely not my usual style.
I was trying to sort that out while coming to terms with the fact that she wasn’t armed when a shudder ran through her, her eyes rolled back and she suddenly went limp.
Shit!
I yanked my arm from her throat and caught her as she started to slide to the ground. Holding her, I stared down at her in shock. I didn’t think that I’d put so much pressure on her throat that she could pass out from it. I sure as hell hadn’t intended to no matter how she was trying to hurt me but the evidence was there all the same.
For a moment, all I could feel was disgust at what I’d done. In an instant, I confirmed that she was breathing, thank god, but out for the count. Scooping her up, I carried her into the living room and laid her down on the couch.
As I did so, I couldn’t help noticing that my earlier impression that she was a damn attractive woman wasn’t mistaken. It just fell far short of the mark. From the top of the silky blond hair tumbling loose from a twist at the back of her head to the bottom of her long legs, she was the stuff of dreams, the wet kind. Her face was oval, a little softer than the angular look a lot of women strive for, with a gently rounded chin and a mouth…
Sweet lord, that mouth. Luscious didn’t begin to describe it. Full, moist, soft, a perfect shade of pink ripening toward rose that looked entirely natural. All too easily, I could imagine it wrapped around my cock while she--
It was official; I was a sick bastard. She was lying there unconscious and all I could think of was--
That I had a good opportunity to figure out who she was before she came to. But first, I didn’t want to take the chance that she’d wake up suddenly and try to leave. Or do me some serious bodily harm, which by now I might just possibly deserve. That she wasn’t armed didn’t matter. There were plenty of items within easy reach that could be turned into a weapon.
At least that’s how I justified in my own mind what I did next. Yanking a fancy tie-back off one of drapes hanging to either side of an arch at the entrance to the living room, I hesitated only a second before using it to lash her wrists together.
Looking down at the dark fabric against her smooth, pale skin, I was shocked--yet again--when my hard-on went to a whole new level. I’d played with bondage with partners who were inclined that way, and I’d enjoyed the sense of dominance but this was different. It didn’t feel like a game. It was real.
And I was responding to it in a way that I’d never suspected I was capable of.
Later, when this was all over, I could figure out what had come over me or better yet just forget it had ever happened. But for now, I checked her breathing again. It was slower and deeper, a lot closer to normal.
Reassured that she’d be fine--at least until she woke up and realized what I’d done--I headed back to the pantry. Sure enough, several items were still in the dumbwaiter, including a pair of slim, flat shoes, a cell phone, and a small purse.
I went for the purse first. The wallet tucked into it yielded a driver’s license from the State of New York. The picture confirmed that it was hers.
So who exactly had taken a ride up a pitch black shaft, crammed into a space just big enough for a few grocery bags, in order to break into the apartment where I was staying?
I held the license up and read the name on it.
Emma Whittaker.
She was twenty-one, at least for another month, didn’t need corrective lenses, had O positive blood, was willing to be an organ donor, living at--
Emma Whittaker?
As in the Emma Whittaker?
The young woman who just a few years back was at the center of the fire storm that rocked the financial world and for a while at least made her the top target of every bottom feeding paparazzi and internet troll on the planet?
That Emma Whittaker?
Well, shit, this was starting to get interesting.
A hard and, I’m sure, not particularly pleasant smile curved my mouth as I wondered why exactly the woman America loved to hate had suddenly walked--or better yet hurtled--into my life.
CARESS is Complete! No waiting, no cliffhangers!
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This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2018 Josie Litton. All rights reserved.
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