Page 3 of Bunker Down, Baby

Evan

My head tips back against the tile, water streaming down my face. My entire body is too tight, muscles coiled, breathing unsteady.

I can feel her watching me.

Maple. Maple Grace Fucking Monroe.

She’s so fucking close.

I should shove her back. Should say something sharp and final and stop this before it starts.

But then her hands move.

Soft. Slow.

Trailing soap over my shoulders, down my chest, lingering just long enough to make my skin prickle with heat.

She hums, dragging her palms lower, watching me like she’s memorizing every inch of me.

I growl.

My hands snap to her wrists, tight, hard, and she lets out a soft, startled sound.

Good.

She should be startled.

Because I am one second away from pinning her to this wall and taking back every ounce of control she’s stolen from me.

Her breath comes quicker now, but that smile? That wicked, dangerous little smile?

It’s still there.

“Careful,” I warn. She has no idea what she’s asking for with those innocent eyes and not so damn innocent lips.

“I like careful men,” she whispers, voice dripping with pure fucking sin.

My fingers tighten around her wrists. “No,” I breathe, dragging her hands up, pressing them above her head against the wet tile.

She gasps.

“You like men who lose control,” I say.

Her lips part, eyes locked on mine, heat swimming in them.

And fuck, fuck, I should stop.

I should.

But I don’t.

Instead, I do the exact thing she wants.

I press into her, letting her feel exactly how much she’s getting to me.

Her breath shudders.

My grip tightens.

She’s so fucking soft. So small against me, and yet, she’s the one who brought me here. The one who stole me.

I should punish her for it.

I should walk away.

I should…

Her hips shift against mine, just the barest movement, and a groan rips out of my throat.

“That’s more like it,” she purrs.

I’m already lost. I know it. But I don’t stop. Can’t.

I press in, pinning her against the wet tile, my grip still tight around her wrists. She’s so fucking soft under my hands, but she’s not fragile. No, she’s looking up at me like she won something, like she knew I’d snap.

And I hate it.

I hate how she’s right.

I hate how much I fucking want her.

Her hips shift against mine, and a low, wrecked sound rumbles in my chest before I can stop it.

Her grin turns lethal. “That’s more like it.”

I let out a sharp breath, crushing my mouth to hers.

Her lips are soft, too fucking soft, but the way she responds isn’t. She meets me bite for bite, pure, unrepentant hunger, her teeth nipping at my bottom lip, her tongue sweeping into my mouth like she owns me.

Fuck.

She tastes good. Sweet and rich, like chocolate and sin and everything I shouldn’t have.

I should slow down. I should take my time.

But I can’t.

Not when she’s already arching into me, not when she’s driving me insane with every little sound that leaves her mouth.

I shove a thigh between hers, grinding against her just to hear her gasp.

She purrs.

I growl, biting her bottom lip. Hard.

She moans.

Jesus fuck.

The hot water slicks her skin, sliding between us, making her impossibly smooth under my hands.

I drop one wrist, grabbing her ass instead, yanking her up against me, and she doesn’t hesitate, her legs wrap tight around my waist, arms snapping around my neck.

She’s bare, soaked, and wrapped around me like she fucking belongs there.

Maybe she does. Maybe that’s the problem.

“Say my name,” I breathe against her mouth.

She shudders, lips curving. “Evan.”

“Say it like you mean it.” I tighten my grip on her ass, dragging her against me.

“Fuck me, Evan.” She shivers.

And I feel it everywhere.

I lean in, biting along the curve of her neck, and she whimpers, her fingers digging into my hair.

God, I love that sound.

And I hate how much I love it.

She shifts against me again, slick, hot, so fucking ready.

And then she grabs my cock.

I curse, slamming my hand against the tile beside her head, bracing myself because, holy fuck.

She hums appreciatively, her grip firm, expert, stroking just once, just enough to make my breath stutter.

She leans in. Mouth to my ear. Voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re mine now.”

Her words slam into me like a goddamn truck.

You’re mine now.

It should piss me off. Should make me fight harder.

Instead, it makes something primal snap in my brain.

I slam my mouth back onto hers, growling into the kiss, biting at her lips, dragging my hands down her perfect, soaking-wet body.

Her legs are still locked around my waist, her bare skin slick against mine, and when I roll my hips forward, she gasps into my mouth, breathy, desperate, needy.

Fuck.

I need more.

I need all of her.

I shift, gripping her thighs, hoisting her higher, until she’s right where I want her, her back pressed against the shower tile, water trailing down her flushed skin.

She looks so fucking good like this.

Wild-eyed. Dripping. Hair a mess. Lips kiss-swollen and parted on a ragged breath.

And the way she’s looking at me, like she already owns me. Like she’s waiting for me to admit it.

I clench my jaw, grinding against her again, letting her feel exactly how hard she’s got me.

“Say it again,” I growl.

She blinks, dazed. “Say what?”

I lean in, teeth grazing her jaw, her throat, her pulse.

Her breath catches.

“Tell me I’m yours,” I whisper. “And I’ll fucking ruin you.”

Her moan is almost too soft to hear, but I feel it.

Every.

Single.

Fucking.

Vibration.

And then, her fingers tangle in my hair, yanking my head back just enough to meet my eyes. Her grin is pure fucking sin.

“Oh, baby,” she purrs, arching into me. “You are mine.”

And fuck.

That’s it.

I lose it.

I slam into her, swallowing her moan as she clings to me, tight and perfect and fucking heaven.

And Jesus fuck, she’s so goddamn wet.

Her nails dig into my shoulders, her hips rock against mine, and she takes every inch like she was made for this, like she was waiting for this.

For me.

I grab her ass, grinding her down onto me, hitting deep, deep, deep.

“Fuck,” she gasps, biting my shoulder, and it makes me snap.

I fuck her harder.

She takes it like a dream.

Moaning, begging, biting at my neck, my jaw, my fucking mouth.

I keep one hand locked around her hip, the other gripping her throat, tilting her head back, forcing her to look at me.

I want to see it.

I want to watch her fall apart.

Her pupils are wide, her lips parted, her body shaking around me. “You’re mine,” I growl.

She laughs. A soft, wicked little sound. “No, baby.” She moans, tilting her hips just right, squeezing around me. “You’re mine.”

I curse, slamming her against the tile, taking her harder, rougher, deeper.

“Fucking say it,” I demand. “Say it, Maple.”

Her head falls back. She gasps, moans, fucking whimpers as I drive into her, hitting every perfect spot, over and over, until she shatters.

Hard.

Tight.

Fucking perfect.

Her whole body clenches around me, her nails raking down my back, and I lose it, too.

I bury myself deep, groaning into her throat as I come so hard I fucking see stars.

Her body milks every last drop out of me.

And when it’s over she smiles.

That slow, lazy, I fucking won smile.

I’m still catching my breath when she slides off my cock, stretching like a satisfied little hellcat while I’m still reeling.

I don’t move.

I can’t move.

My body feels wrecked, my legs useless, my brain absolutely fried.

What the fuck just happened?

She ruined me.

That’s what happened.

I should be plotting my escape.

But instead, I’m standing here half-conscious in a bunker shower, my knees questionable, my cum sliding down her thigh while she hums like she just had the best meal of her life.

She flicks the water off and steps out like this is a normal-ass morning in our normal-ass married life.

And then, as I’m standing there, still gripping the goddamn tile for support, she tosses a towel at my face.

“Dry off, baby,” she says so sweetly I almost don’t notice how smug she sounds. “I got you some clean clothes.”

I catch the towel in one hand and narrow my eyes.

I should not be taking orders from my kidnapper.

And yet, I wipe my face and follow her back to the room.

She’s already bent over a bag on the bed, ass on full display.

“Fucking menace,” I say.

She just giggles, pulling out a fresh T-shirt and tossing it onto the mattress.

I freeze. Because I know that shirt.

It’s mine. Not just mine. One of my favorites.

I blink. “How the fuck do you have this?”

She grins, completely unbothered. “Packed your bag for you. You weren’t very organized, so I took care of it.”

She took care of it.

Like I’m some wayward boyfriend who couldn’t be trusted to pack his own damn suitcase.

“Packed my bag,” I repeat, voice flat.

She nods, still rummaging through my things. “Mmhmm. Jeans, shirts, socks. Oh, and your boots, obviously. I even made sure to grab your house shoes, ‘cause I know you like to be comfy.”

House shoes.

I scrub a hand down my face. “Jesus Christ.”

“Nope, just me.” She winks.

I glare at her.

Then, the final fucking insult.

She pulls out my cologne.

I stare.

She beams. “Thought you’d like that,” she says way too proudly. “I already stocked up. You don’t have to worry about running out. I also have your shampoo and soap and even that floss ribbon you use.”

I exhale so hard my soul leaves my body. “I don’t… Maple, I don’t even know how to respond to this.”

She tilts her head like I just said something dumb. “You say ‘thank you, baby, you’re so thoughtful.’”

I stare.

She stares. She waits.

And then, the absolute worst part.

I laugh.

A short, sharp, exasperated-as-fuck laugh that I did not authorize.

Her face lights up. “Oh, see? You’re already losing your attitude,” she says brightly, tossing me a pair of sweats. “That’s good, because if you behave, you get to stay uncuffed.”

I catch the sweats mid-air, stepping into them because fuck it, I need pants. “You’re rewarding me for ‘good behavior’?”

She nods, completely serious.

I towel off my hair, glaring at her. “I am a grown-ass man, not a goddamn puppy.”

“You say that,” she says, grinning, “But you’ve been a very good boy for me so far.”

I nearly choke.

She just giggles again.

I shake my head. “Maple, you are fucking insane.”

She just shrugs. “Oh, Evan, you’re gonna love it here.”

I scowl, pulling the clean shirt over my head. “Yeah? What happens if I don’t?”

She smirks. “You will.”

I hate that she sounds so fucking sure.

And the worst part?

I think she might be right.