Page 23

The day he said that, it scared me. I didn’t want my friends to know what happened at night in my home.
I was embarrassed.
So, I stayed quiet.
My parents didn’t enroll me in Boy Scouts or baseball or kung fu lessons. I was told to do my homework and do as my father told me.
My spare time was spent sucking old men’s cocks or bending over for them, while my mother drunk herself to death downstairs.
Eventually.
I lead Kyra down the hall to my bathroom where the first-aid kit is located and tell her to sit on the closed toilet seat. She turns her head, peeking through the half-open door leading to my bedroom.
“Is that where you take your prisoners when they’re good?” she asks bitterly.
I snort.
She has a little sass in her, and it just makes her more attractive. Which isn’t good. She will use it as a distraction if I let her.
I won’t.
I have survived strong, evil, and dangerous people. This innocent won’t get a jump on me. In saying that, as I lay on top of her earlier, the desire to rip open her robe and delve my fingers through her pussy was more than overwhelming.
Would she have been wet?
Is she still wet now?
Christ, I need to stay focused.
Kyra is lucky I didn’t act on my desire. There is nothing and no one here to stop me doing as I please with her. Except my deeply sacred morals.
Images of spreading her thighs and tying her up, making her completely and utterly powerless, consumed me in that moment.
God, imagine being able to spend hours touching, licking, and fucking every orifice in her body.
But I won’t.
What I will do is keep an eye on my little prisoner, so it seemed like a smart move to set up cameras. Which was how I’d seen Kyra throwing a tantrum from my big screen in the living room.
That and I could hear her.
The moment she picked up the bowl and I saw the glint in her eye, I strode down the hall. It smashed against the door as I was right outside.
The pretty little idiot.
I grab her hand to clean the wound, and she hisses.
“Well, it’s clear you’re not going to be good.” I rumble, my skin roaring to life as we connect skin on skin. I feel her shudder under my touch and can’t help lifting my eyes.
Fuck me.
Hers are rich with desire.
“Why are you marrying my father?” I ask, focusing back on cleaning her cut hand, forcing my attention away from the chemistry rushing between us like a wild storm.
She’s silent until I glance back. This time, those pretty blue globes are filled with tears.
Anger fills me.