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“ T his music is hurting my fucking ears.” Ringo protests next to me on the bed, but I saw his foot bopping to the beat of it a second ago.

He’s lying.

“Liar. Just admit you like One Direction. There’s nothing wrong with that.” I grin down at him from where I’m leaning against the headboard with his phone in my hand.

I’ve been chatting with Lexi and Tahli through the Koala-roo app for the last hour, playing my music on his phone while he pretends to try and nap.

“I will never admit it, because it’s not fucking true,” he barks, and a second later the corner of his lip twitches.

“Liar. You’re about to smile.” I call him out and he cracks one eye open, peering up at me.

“Stop perving on me, Angel.”

I roll my eyes, and this time he releases a chuckle that works its warm comfort into my bones.

Why does he have this effect on me?

Even after the whole cop thing and me shooting him and then helping to stem the flow of Brody’s bleeding leg until the paramedic arrived yesterday, I was so shaken up, but his hand slipping into mine somehow quietened the chaos.

That’s the only way I can explain it.

Yesterday was a lot. Almost too much, but the moment Ringo was back by my side, it was like a switch was flipped inside me and the trauma was more bearable.

We went to sleep facing each other last night, and today since the compound has been quieter than usual with some men and Doxies leaving now that lockdown has lifted, while those that remain have huddled together like they are planning something, Ringo and I stayed hidden away, taking the day to just breathe.

“Talk to me about your sister and Lexi. What news do you have from home?” Ringo asks, shifting to slip his hands behind his head on his pillow as he looks up at me.

“Well, Tahli said the police have been by a few times, but it was only to say they hadn’t found me yet. She did say that when they were at Monday night’s mass a couple of police officers attended and she and Maggie were told to stay seated while they talked quietly with my parents and Minister Banes across the room.”

Ringo’s brows shoot up. “Interesting. Tell me about Minister Banes.”

I frown. “Why? ”

“Because I want to learn about this so-called church your family attends. How long has Banes been the minister there?”

“Umm, not long, actually. The other ministers were brothers, and they were killed when the old chapel burned down at the end of last year, but then Minister Banes turned up and took over like he’d been there the whole time, moving the congregation to a new location.”

Ringo’s eyes squint a little like he’s deep in thought before they lock with mine again.

“What’s different about that place compared to the old church you grew up attending? Like did they do anything differently besides read different Scripture?”

“Well, yeah. Confession is a lot different.”

His brows shoot high.

“How so?” He shifts, sitting up on the bed next to me, and now instead of looking down at him, I have to look up.

“Men’s confessions were group confessions. They’d all go into a room with Minister Banes for a while and then come back out. I asked Dad one time what happens in there and he just said confession, so I really have no idea.”

“And the women?” Ringo asks, “Did they do the same thing?”

I shake my head. “No, when it was time for women to confess, the men would remain in the pews, and the women were escorted out of the main room, and led back in individually to confess before all of the males.”

“The fuck. Did you have to do that?”

My gaze lands on my lap as my cheeks heat, and I nod. “Every time I did something wrong in my mum’s eyes, I had to confess before the men. Even if I tried to downplay it or lie, the minister always knew the story from my mum and would call me out. ”

“Hey,” Ringo whispers, his finger hooking under my chin to turn my head back up to him. “You know how wrong that is that they did that, right? That’s not the way it should be.”

I nod, letting my gaze fall to his lips momentarily to help keep me from crying.

“Was your dad there when you had to confess?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Daniel? His dad?” Ringo asks, and I nod. “How revealing were the confessions?”

I shake my head, not wanting to think about that, and try to pull away, but Ringo’s big hand slides over my shoulders and presses me into his side.

It’s not rough. His touch is kind of gentle, but it’s enough to tell me he’s not letting me get away.

“Nearly every detail about the particular infraction was discussed,” I admit.

“So when you were sprung by your mum having sex with that fuckwit, you had to stand before all the men, your dad included, and describe the sex act you did?”

“Kneel.” I blurt and Ringo frowns. “We were made to kneel before the men.”

His jaw ticks, and his grip on my shoulder tightens as he holds me to him.

“I’m going to kill them all, Angel.”

I nod, even though by all, he also means my dad.

It’s been a week since Ringo kidnapped me, and now that I’m away from that life, it’s even clearer to me how wrong and crude it was.

Why would my dad stand by and let them treat me that way?

Why didn’t he ever fight for me ?

As if he can’t bear to hold himself back, Ringo shifts, cupping my face before pressing his lips to mine.

“I’m sorry, Angel,” he rasps between nips, and I kind of forget what we were talking about as his entire presence wraps around me like a security blanket.

Finally, I feel safe. Even after everything that went down in the last twenty-four hours, I feel safe just being in his presence. Safer than I have in years.

With each nip of his lips, heat builds between my legs, that familiar ache that’s been building for days returning. I can’t believe how horny I am. I never felt like this with dickhead Daniel. I thought I did, but this… this is something else.

Breaking the kiss, Ringo eases back just enough to press his forehead to mine, our eyes locking as we stare at each other.

“I can’t seem to control myself around you. But I’m trying really fucking hard to.”

His admission means a lot. It reminds me that he, for some reason, wants me too, but also that he won’t press for more.

But more is what I ache for, yet I’m too terrified to let him touch me more than this.

“I don’t have to touch you.”

He told me that yesterday, and honestly, those six words have been bouncing around in my head ever since.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, slowly drawing back to get a better look at my face.

I open my mouth to tell him, but the words lodge in the back of my throat.

I can’t talk about this.

“Angel,” he says in warning, yet still I don’t say anything because I need him to demand it. I hate that I need that, but it’s the only way I can accept revealing what’s going on inside my head. I need the choice to be taken from me.

He studies me for a long beat, his dark eyes dancing between mine before his jaw ticks and a low growl rumbles in his chest.

“Tell me, now,” he demands, and just like that, the heaviness that was holding me back somehow lifts and I cave.

“What did you mean yesterday when you said you don’t have to touch me?”

His brows furrow at my question, but then lift as realisation sinks in.

“You want to know how I can help ease that ache without touching you?”

I nod, biting my lip as heat flushes my cheeks. Ringo must notice because his thumbs start stroking over the searing apples of my cheeks as he holds my face in place.

“The other night out in the courtyard, you liked watching me, didn’t you?”

I nod, remembering how he looked sitting with his legs parted wide, his hand fisting his thick, hard dick as he stroked himself. I’ve thought about that a lot. Like what would have happened if I had gone to him?

I want to tell him that, but the words won’t come, my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth, not wanting to say the words, and he smirks.

“Did it turn you on, Angel?”

I nod again, and he sucks in a slow, deep breath.

“Did you see how hard my cock was?”

His deep rasp does something to me. The way he says cock sounds so sensual and not at all dirty in the way I’ve heard it used in the past.

“Yes,” I admit on a whisper, and he presses his forehead back against mine.

“That was all for you, Angel. That’s what you do to me.”

“I do?” I whisper again, like I can’t bear to ask such a thing out loud.

“Fuck yes. For years I haven’t wanted anyone to touch me, but then you were watching me, and all I could think about was having your hand wrapped around me.”

Heat rushes between my legs at his words. It’s almost shocking how much there is, but I don’t fight it. I want it. So much.

“Did seeing me like that turn you on? Make that ache worse?” he asks, pulling back and brushing his thumbs over my cheeks again, and I nod quickly.

“Then how about you watch me again?”

I’m the one to pull back this time, Ringo’s hands falling away as my gaze darts to the window, and he chuckles.

“Not out there. In here, just you and me.” He gestures between us.

For a long beat, all I can do is stare at him.

He’s suggesting… just him and me in here, while he…

Ringo shifts off the bed, standing next to it and pointing to the couch.

“I can stand right here so you get a good look, or if you want me further away, I can sit there on the couch, and you can be over here on the bed. You can hide under the blankets if you like, so I can’t see what you’re doing, and you can watch me while you touch yourself. ”

All the air leaves my lungs, even as my heart starts to race in anticipation.

“I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can.” He smiles warmly, even as he reaches behind his neck and tugs off this tee.

Oh dear lord, I can’t think now.

Abs.

Hard ridges.

Ink.

Skin.

I feel thirsty just looking at him.

When he flexes his pecs, I jerk out of my daze, meeting his intense stare.

“I can’t do that… you’ll see my face.”

He grins wide, and one could almost call it a shit-eating grin.

I think he likes making me uncomfortable like this.

“You don’t want me to see your come face?”

He did not just ask me that!

Shit. My cheeks are on fire.

I shake my head. “Not really, that’s embarrassing.”

“No, it’s not really, but we can work on that later.” He chuckles and I shoot him a glare. “I’ll close my eyes if you like, Angel. Or you can hold the sheet up so only your eyes are uncovered to watch.”

Oh. My. God.

Am I really considering this?

My gaze tracks his hands as they move to the fly of his jeans and he pops open the button.

More heat gushes between my legs as the ache flutters teasingly .

I need… something.

“I can’t,” I whisper breathlessly, not meaning the words in the slightest as I watch him ease down his fly.

“I think you can, and I think you want to, but you don’t want to admit it. Why is it so hard to admit to wanting something like this?”

He parts his open jeans just enough to reveal red boxer briefs underneath, and as I watch, unable to drag my gaze away, he rearranges himself, the hard outline of his dick now showing through the fabric.

I shrug, not even remembering his question.

What did he ask again?

“Eyes up,” he demands, his fingers gesturing upwards, and in a flash, my gaze is back on his.

“Do you trust me, Angel?”

“Yes,” I say easily.

“Do you trust that I won’t touch you?”

“Yes.” Again, with ease, the word slips past my lips.

“Do you trust that if you tell me to close my eyes when you’re going to come that I will?”

I’m not entirely sure about that one, but I also don’t know if I care now. “Yes, I trust you.”

“Then I’d really like to get my cock out for you, Angel.”

Oh.

I press my thighs together as the ache becomes almost too unbearable to ignore.

“Will you let me do that?”

Omg, I can’t, can I?

“Can I take my cock out, Angel?”

I lick my lips, and before I realise what I’m doing, I nod quickly .

Instantly, he shoves down his jeans and kicks them off, rubbing the heel of his palm over the hard steel outline of his erection in his boxers before hooking his fingers in the waistband and removing them, too.

All the breath stays trapped in my lungs, my eyes not wavering from the sight before me, this man with strong thighs, rippling abs, and the biggest appendage I think I’ve ever seen standing before me without an ounce of shame or fear.

God, was it that big the other night?

It’s so hard, thick and veiny, and the tip is almost purple. Looks so different up close like this. So tempting compared to what I’ve seen in my past.

So much better than Daniel’s.

“Are you ready to watch me?” he asks, gaining my attention again and I nod, desperate for it.

“You want me on the couch or here?”

“Can you stay there like that?” I ask breathlessly.

“Of course. Are you going to hop under the sheet?”

Oh yeah. The sheet.

Nodding, I hurry to reposition myself, dragging up the sheet to my nose as he watches.

Am I really doing this? This is so wrong, isn’t it?

But I ache for it.

For him.

Fuck it, Abbey. Just let yourself feel good for once.

“Do me a favour, Angel. Let go of the sheet with one hand and slip that between your legs.”

Oh.

“I can’t,” I whimper and he sighs before rolling his shoulders back and clearing his throat .

“Hand between your legs, now.”

His demand does the trick.

Damn, why am I like that?

As I shift under the sheet, positioning my right hand between my legs, Ringo’s eyes flare with something I’m not familiar with but also not scared of, and then he grips his dick and starts to glide his hand up and down.

Damn. That’s hot.

Okay, so maybe I can do this. I can be quiet. I can do this.

Gently running my hand over the seam of my shorts, the ache builds at my touch, and I know that this time, even my touch won’t repulse me.

“Fuck, Angel. I love having your eyes on me.” His abs ripple as he grips his dick before he leans over and opens his bedside drawer.

I frown, wondering what he’s doing, but then he brings out a bottle, and I’m not na?ve enough to not recognise lube when I see it.

His gaze flicks to mine as he tips up the bottle, squeezing until a stream of the substance shoots from the nozzle. It drizzles over his hardness before he covers his hand with it and starts stroking himself again, the action making a wet sound.

“Are you wet between your legs, Angel?” he asks, his hand busy but his eyes on me.

“Yes,” I admit easily, like I’m his puppet.

“Is your hand over or under your clothes?”

“Over,” I say as I press a little harder against the ache.

“Put it under.”

His demand has me stilling. “I can’t. ”

“Yes, you can. No one can see what you’re doing. Just slide it down the front of your shorts and feel how wet you are.”

My breathing quickens as my hand obeys him, even as my head thinks this is a bad idea. Shifting the hoodie up just enough, I find the top of my shorts and slip my hand under the fabric into my panties, and the moment I feel my swollen wet heat, I moan.

I gasp in embarrassment, but Ringo ignores that.

“Are you wet?”

“Yes.” I nod behind the sheet, and he does another one of those animalistic growls.

“Show me.”