What the fuck?
I’m not his to sell. I’m mine, and only mine. My hands shaking and my mouth dry, I lick my lips as I gather up my courage.
The huffing coming from behind me continues.
Is he fucking someone next to me on this bed?
Sliding to the edge, I hold on to my dress so it doesn’t slide up and sit up straight. My eyes lock on my shoes, which I love, that somehow now look dirty lying on the floor beside the bed. Or maybe it’s me who feels dirty. A shiver runs through me at the thought.
Can I run?
I should run.
What would they do to me if I ran?
Standing on shaky legs, I turn ever so slowly. My heartbeat is high, my palms are dewy, and my eyes are heavy. Managing to look past the blindingly white sheets of his bed, I see him, and in his hands are weights. He pumps them with force, and every muscle in his body goes taut each time he moves them.
Thank God he isn’t fucking someone. That’s not something I want to see after being fucking sold.
“Excuse me.” My voice is surprisingly even. Fucked if I know how, though.
As he stops lifting the weights, with a motion I never knew existed, he drops them to the floor and picks up a towel wiping his face before he turns toward me. His chest is bare, and I can see every bit of skin that was hidden under that black shirt last night. He’s the type you see in the movies. Those bad boys you know you should stay away from. Those ex-boyfriends who are simply bad for you, but you keep going back to because their appeal drags you in like some sort of magical spell that’s been cast on you.
But I don’t want to be some sort of rag doll who’s pulled every which way.
Been there, done that.
The man is Italian. I know it by looking at him and those strong features. Plus, I’m pretty sure he spoke it to someone as he threw me over his shoulder.
Asshole.
I try to look away, it would be the smart thing to do.
But this man has a body like no others. My husband has a nice body, but you can tell this man takes great pride in his and I appreciate that right now. Just looking at him alone is good for the vibrator bank. The way the veins in his arms pop as he moves, or the way he bites his lip as he pulls the weights up, yep great material for later.
My voice quivers when the next words leave my mouth. “I think it’s time I leave,” I say to him.
He gives me nothing, simply leans down and lifts his bottle of water, holds it to those delectable lips, and swallows. I watch as he takes each gulp, his throat moving with precision, the sweat trickling over his neck to his chest then further down his stomach. When he’s done, he places the bottle back down and walks to my side. My heart starts pumping hard, my eyes on the verge of watering, with the thought that he may just kill me. I never feared my own death before, but with him, I do. You simply can’t help but be concerned with your own mortality when a man like this stares at you like you are nothing but shit on his shoe.
His mouth curves up as he steps closer and says, “Good legs, strong arms, a handful of tits. I think I may very well just keep you.” And with those words now spoken my jaw drops.
My mouth opens in complete and utter shock. No one has ever vocalized something like that about me before. So damn crudely. I step back away from him, but he smirks and steps closer.
Managing to gather myself and not smack him where I know it will hurt, I say, “I need to leave. I have work to do.”
“If you leave, you forfeit your life and your husband’s.” His words stop me in my tracks.
What the fuck does he mean?
He can’t be serious, can he?
He turns, his back now in view and it’s nothing but muscle, and when I realize what I’m doing, I take a deep breath and look away.
What the fuck is going on?
And how many more times am I going to ask myself that?
He throws over his shoulder, “I’m showering. Stay where you are. We aren’t finished.”
Like hell we aren’t.
He walks off and leaves me standing in his bedroom. Well, I think it’s his bedroom.
Looking back at my shoes, which I know are going to cost me a fortune to replace, I leave them where they are and head straight for the door. I’m not sure what hurts more, leaving those shoes or what’s happening to me right now. Getting to the door, I turn the handle, and a rush of breath leaves me when it opens. My hands are shaking, and my body feels cold, but I don’t stop. Why the hell would I?
Then his words run through my head. “If you leave, you forfeit your life and your husband’s.” My bare feet pause on the cold tiles beneath me, and a shiver like I have never felt before runs up my spine. Turning my eyes to the side, I see a glass case. Inside that glass case are guns. There’s a lot of guns and not your average ones either.
Holy shit.
Who are these people?
The mafia?
What has Dillan gotten me into?
Looking back over my shoulder to his door, I contemplate going back, but that would be stupid.
But …
… what if what he said is true?
What if he will do as he says and kill Dillan and me? I mean, I shouldn’t care what happens to Dillan, because clearly, he is an asshole and doesn’t give two shits about me. But I do care about him, I guess some part of me still loves him, so I don’t want to see him dead in a ditch.
My eyes glance at that gun case again. If he has that many and isn’t afraid to kidnap women, what else is this asshole capable of? I’m not sure I want to find out.
Licking my dry lips, I rub them together to get some moisture into them as my bare feet turn on the cold tiles, and I make my way back to the bedroom door. Pushing it open, everything is as I left it. My shoes are on the floor by the side of the bed, the white sheets are messy from where I left them, and his weights are lying in the corner.
“Didn’t get far?” That voice—it rocks me to my core.
I turn to see him standing naked at the entry to his bathroom with just a towel, and might I add, it’s not wrapped around his waist. No, it’s wiping his face and hiding incredibly high cheek bones and a jaw that looks like it was carved from granite.
Try as I might to keep my eyes from wandering farther down his body, because I’m a married woman, I lose the battle. But then again, I am a woman, and with my betraying eyes I follow the dips and planes of his chest and abs until I get to …
Shit.
No wonder he has the confidence to walk around naked. If I looked like him, was hung like him, I would probably do it as well.
Gathering up my wits, I remove my eyes from his cock and say, “I want to go home.”
“No can do, lollipop.”
My brows scrunch at his words. Lollipop? Who the fuck calls someone that?
“You can’t own me. I am not for sale. You can’t buy people,” I argue with him.
He lets out a soft chuckle and turns his back on me. “But I do own you. Now, shut the fuck up and get naked.”
Chapter Four
Sailor
“Naked?” My voice squeaks unusually high.
“Did I stutter?” he snaps back.
I make no move to do as he requested. Instead, I stand there stock-still, waiting for what will come of my disobedience.
Because getting naked sure as shit is not happening.