A blast of sunlight hit her face. Floor to ceiling, the two-story wall of glass towered over her. Trees of every size and shade of green spread out as far as she could see. Trails wound through clutches of thick trunks. Any random person could've been out there, gawking at her through the windows.
She flinched away from the exposure and curled against his chest. She wasn't dressed properly. Her hair hung in strands around her face. Full-body tremors arrested her lungs and strangled the shriek in her throat. He hooked an arm beneath her knees, another at her back, and carried her through the room of windows.
She screamed then, clutching his shoulders and hiding her ugly tears in his neck. “The windows...the windows. Please...” She sobbed, desperate, miserable, her skin rippling with terror. “You have to close them.” She clawed at his back, choking.
His arms dropped her, yanking her hands from their grip on his shoulders as she fell. Her back hit cushions on a couch with a full frontal view of the windows.
She scrambled backwards, fighting for air and losing her robe in her hellfire hurry to get away. He watched her, his brows sharpening into a V over narrowed eyes. Fuck him. She kept going, backing up and over the arm of the couch. Her ass crashed into a small table and sent it sprawling to the floor with her. The hard tiles bit into her tailbone, and tears burned her cheeks. Escape. Hide. Where?
The great room extended into an open kitchen and more windows. The stairs went to the loft and no escape. A door below the railing opened to...the bathroom?
Gasping, she jumped to her feet, staggered, and righted herself in a clumsy spin of naked limbs and jiggling tits. She was so fucking humiliated. Her chest contracted painfully, and her shoulders ached with tension.
The path to the door stretched out in an eternal walk through windowy hell. Eight running steps. Two sets of four. Focus on that. Her knees wobbled as she lurched forward, her body growing heavier with each step. Goddammit, she could do this.
His arm caught her waist and dragged her to the couch, flipping her to her back. She kicked and spit as he landed atop her, pinning her arms above her head and kneeling on her thrashing legs.
“Jesus.” His Adam's apple bobbed, and his beautiful face contorted into a blur. “Calm the fuck down.”
She roared and bucked beneath his crushing weight. “Let me go!”
“Are you possessed?” He leaned in, nose-to-nose, stealing her oxygen. “Are you going to start spitting Latin and tell me to lick you?”
His amused tone heightened her embarrassment and fueled the panic. The windows closed in, compressing her chest. She grabbed at the cushions and dug deep, for air, for strength, determined to have the last word. In one rage-filled burst of breath, she shouted, “Shove it up your ass, you cunting dick!”
He jerked back, and faster than the hammer of her heart, his fist slammed into her face. Fire burst through her cheek. Then the sun burned out.
A fuckstorm of conflicting emotions pounded in Van's chest. He sat back on the couch and stared at the gorgeous, complicated woman beneath him. All it had taken was a swift punch to the cluster of nerves below her ear, and the panic attack went poof. Lights out. But every time he hit her, it cut open a squishy, remorseful spot inside him, one he didn't know existed.
This wasn't discipline training. It wasn't kinksual pain play. He wasn't experiencing any of the violent, fist-swinging rage Liv used to bring out in him. This was Amber, and hurting her when she was scared felt so goddamned unforgivable.
He rubbed a hand through his hair and jerked at the strands. Fuck, he needed to tread more delicately. Just like the others, the abduction and the sex had pissed her off, but the windows? He shifted to take in the peaceful landscape of wilderness, a view that soothed him on his worst days but terrified the fucking sense out of her.
If she were just dealing with the trauma of captivity, he wouldn't have been second-guessing himself. But the agoraphobic and OCD triggers added layers of complexity. Once upon a time, it might've been an interesting experiment to play with—tormenting her with sex and pain then forcing her outside—just to see which would break her first. But the appeal wasn't there. In its place coiled something else. He wanted her whole.
He climbed off the couch and yanked the drapes shut, buttoning up all the windows on the first story. He glanced at the top row of glass and sighed. Nothing he could do about those.
The open-plan cabin included a kitchen, sitting room, bathroom, and loft. The bathroom was the only windowless space. Except the garage... No, he wasn't ready for her to see his little hobby.