Images of War flood my mind and my lip quivers with unshed emotion. “I’ll never be yours.” My voice comes out in a hoarse whisper.
He sits down on the bed beside me and grips my jaw in his brutal grasp, turning my gaze to meet his. “This was all part of the plan, Baylee. Remember? I promised you I’d be back for you and I delivered. I’m going to take care of you now. I love you.”
This delusional bastard thinks he loves me.
Love doesn’t make you kidnap someone.
Love doesn’t make you violate someone.
Love doesn’t make you murder someone.
No, psychopathy does. And Gabe is a complete psychopath.
Screw him!
I spit in his face. “I fucking hate you.”
He assesses me silently, his only movement coming from his free hand, which reaches up to wipe the saliva from his face. A slow smile lifts one side of his mouth. Oh God. In an instant, his hand slips from my jaw and seizes my throat, squeezing me until I’m choking.
His nostrils flare as he leans forward and practically spits his words at me. “Do that again and things will go very bad for you, Baylee. I’m not against punishing you into submission. This will work between us. And if it doesn’t, I will cut your broken heart out because if I don’t get to have you, nobody else can. Do you understand, baby?”
Stars glitter before me, but I manage a small nod that immediately rewards me relief. His grasp is gone and his large palm slides down my throat and between my breasts. He fondles my nipple between his thumb and finger while I suck in air with greedy gulps.
A violent shiver courses through me—the chill of the air, the frightening man before me, and the painful loss of my lover, all taking their toll on my body.
“Look at me,” he says in a deceivingly soft tone, and sits up on his haunches. His dark hair is wild and unruly on his head. A pair of demented eyes snare me and my gaze locks with his. “Good girl.” His praise doesn’t comfort me, only haunts me, causing me to shudder again. “You’ve been through so much. I’m sorry about that. But I promise I’ll make it better.”
He slides his hands to my knees and parts them. My resistance is futile as he easily settles himself on top of me, his hardened cock pressed into my belly. I expect him to enter me, but instead, he pulls the covers up over us, and then buries his face against my neck. His scent envelops me and I feel as though I might choke on it. Thick. Heady. Wicked.
Silent tears roll down my cheeks as he presses soft kisses against my neck just under my ear. It would be preferable for him to just fuck me to death rather than whatever the hell he’s doing. I don’t want his comfort or solace.
I want War.
A sob pierces the air and he coos in response, his hot breath tickling my ear. “Shhh, baby. Let me fix you.”
The world around me tilts and I’m nauseated. I don’t want him touching me—invading me—in all the places I’d given to War. I’d willingly given every part of myself to War and belong only to him.
Gabe cradles my cheek with his palm and regards me with tender eyes. “I don’t know what all went on with that asshole, but you have to know we belong together. I promise, it won’t always be so hard, Baylee. One day you’ll be the mother of my children and my wife. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Ever since the moment I moved in next-door to you, and laid eyes on my wise, sweet little neighbor. I knew you belonged to me in that moment.”
I’m too stunned to speak and his mouth covers mine, further silencing me. He sucks on my quivering bottom lip before biting it gently. When his tongue shoves its way into my mouth, I close my eyes and mentally retreat.
I can’t do this.
I can’t be his prisoner for life.
I refuse to be his kept woman.
When he starts sliding his cock against my clit, I jolt my eyes open. He breaks from our one-sided kiss and looks between us as he thrusts.
“Gabe,” I manage to choke out, “I don’t want to do this.”
He flashes me a warm smile. “Not yet, but you will. Just like last time, sweetheart.”
I shake my head as he continues to slide back and forth between the lips of my *. He doesn’t enter me, just continues to rub against me. Unwanted sensations—my body being manipulated into responding to his touch—begin to ripple through me. I clamp my eyes closed and focus on anything other than what he’s doing to me.
I won’t let him win this time.
I’ve grown up a lot since the first time he took me.
I have control over my body, not him.
A jolt slices through me and I cry out. It’s a quiver of pleasure, of want, and I hate it. Absolutely hate the way his familiar touch once again steals the rein of control from me.
“You love it when I do this,” he tells me smugly as he continues his gentle bucking against me. “I bet your * is getting wet.”
I shake my head at him and the tears continue to roll out. “I hate you.”
He groans when the tip of his cock slides against my opening. I attempt to clench my thighs together, but with him between them, there’s no stopping him. I’m granted a momentary reprieve when he pulls away just a bit.