Page 6 of His Keepsake

How could any gentleman leave his play partner out here, exposed like this?

Then again, maybe this was all part of his game. Maybe he was waiting not far away, playing head games with her and waiting for her to let her guard down.

If he was near, I didn’t see him.

I found myself running through the items I could use to restrain her, just as a mental exercise.

The tie in the glove compartment for one. My belt. The belt from her trench coat. The weightlifting tape in the gym bag in the trunk—it was similar to bondage tape. When I started thinking about how to use it as a blindfold, then imagining the fear in her eyes, I knew I was getting in deep.

Time passed, the tightness in my groin arguing with my conscience, trying to take control.

Emme pulled out her phone again, the bluish light from the screen casting across her face. She must be freezing even with a coat. It was too dark to see her reactions, but the wind was rustling past the car and flipping at her dress. She squeezed her arms over her breasts, hugging herself, then pulled the coat in tighter.

The bastard wasn’t coming.

I smiled. The man hadn’t really wanted her—not like me.

The wind picked up, shaking the tree above, rustling the grasses, and pushing pieces of litter along the road.

She’d glanced my way several times as though hoping I was the one coming to get her, but then she had written me off—likely forgotten about me—or my car, at least. It had become part of this forbidding landscape. Her coat flailed about in the wind. Although she tried to keep it in check, the wind flung the coat higher, almost to her waist. Her legs were in dark stockings but at the top, I glimpsed the paleness of her thighs and also a garter belt. Cute and exposed.

Her, naked and under me, squeaking as my mouth closed on her flesh. Biting her, leaving marks, tasting her, fucking her hard…that fantasy was looking more and more achievable.

She looked fragile, innocent. She wasn’t a girl who went to gyms and made her body hard. She was waiting for someone to come and take her away from her monotonous life, and I was exactly the right man to give it to her.

Hard.

Fuck waiting for this asshole.

I was taking her. She was mine.

If he showed up and tried to claim her now, I’d slit his fucking throat.

I took the tie from my glove compartment, folded it, and put it in my coat pocket.

While the wind was still high, I left my car, leaving the door ajar so I wouldn’t alert her to my presence. I slipped closer, ready to bolt if Mr. Perfect happened to show.

Were goose bumps rising on her arms?

Did she know a man was hunting her?

The wind muffled the sound of my steps as I moved closer, and the gothic, feral animal I usually kept shoved down deep in my psyche—and my pants—it tore loose and grabbed the controls. I tried to fight it, to make this a pristine and calculated stalking, but my base instincts dominated.

Take. Fuck. Hurt.

I wanted to feel her soft flesh in my hands—feel her struggle, hear her squeal.

This was too easy.

I didn’t enjoy easy.

I loudly cleared my throat, and she gasped and whipped around. Her next gasp ended in a high pitch and was steeped in fear.

She leapt away, running like a young creature with a lion after her, all gangly legs going fast and awkward, and she was making mistakes. She fell, tripping over something, then hauled herself up again and sprinted.

I followed, casually jogging.

The girl ran a few more paces, heels wobbling, catching, and scraping on rocks. I kept coming, slow and sure, toying with her. She wasn’t very fast, though I could tell fear was spurring her to make a legitimate effort.

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