Probably wants to learn how the doors are opened. That's okay. It won't do her any good just yet unless she manages to cut my thumbs or index fingers off. She also needs to see how isolated we are out here so she won't try to run away. I wouldn't be averse to a quick game ofStalk the Captive, but I don't think I could stop myself if she roused the beast within me.
I tilt my head and tug on her hand. "This way." The closer we get to the front door, the more her breathing picks up.Calm down, kitten. You're not leaving me.She’s actually taking everything in stride, considering the way I ripped her from her life. Her stare lasers in on the silver box on the door as my free thumb lightly presses on the reader. The cylinder whirs, and releases the lock.
The warmth of the sun hugs us as we cross the threshold. Such a gorgeous early summer day, eclipsed by the croaking of frogs and chirping of birds all coming together to create a symphony for the forest.
The landscape is beautiful in its solitude. Our house is built on a slope, and standing here on the porch, we can see the dark green shadow of the forest stretch out for miles in every direction. Mercy walks to the wooden porch railing and rests her elbows on it.
"I didn't realize Pleasant Plain had such a dense forest."
"Yes." I mimic her stance but face her. "It's such a rural area, you know. We're actually on the outskirts, so around twenty-five miles to reach town. About forty to get to the next big city."
At my statement, her gaze flits to my truck parked in the driveway. Better nip that in the bud, too. "The truck also has a biometric lock in addition to requiring a PIN before the engine starts." That's a new feature I installed on it a few weeks ago in preparation for this. It's worth the few extra seconds it takes to start the truck up.
Her expression grows pensive as she turns her head to take in the thick trees stacked in on each other. The saddest smile graces her lips. "Is it even worth asking you if I can have my cell phone? Never mind. Don't answer. I can already see that I don't have a chance."
The resigned acceptance in her voice almost breaks my heart. Almost. But she's right. "No. Not a chance. Even if you did make it out of the house, you couldn't start the truck. If you took off in the woods, you'd likely get lost very quickly. And I don't want that. I can't have you getting hurt trying to get away from me." I reach out a finger and trace her soft lips. Petal soft. "And Mercy, the last thing you want to do is run. Do you know why?"
Her nostrils flare and her eyes close but she doesn't say anything.All right, then. If that's the way you want to play it, I'll play.My hand slides down from her mouth to firmly grasp the sides of her throat. Not squeezing, just holding.
Green eyes fly wide open as she instinctively clutches my wrist, a gasp involuntarily escaping her. Through the thin walls of her neck, her pulse pounds rapidly against my fingertips.There she is.
Dropping my face to hers, I lick around her lips with my tongue, tasting her bitter nervousness. "Do you know why?" I repeat through the gravel in my throat as I flex my fingers.
"No, Amos. I don’t—I don’t know why. Let...let go. Please."
I capture her hands with my free one, forcing them to rest between us on my chest. "I'm not going to hurt you, Mercy, but I don't like being ignored. I needed to get your attention. DoIhave it?" The frantic bobbing of her head causes the silky black strands of her hair to brush over me. "I can’t hear you. Do I have your complete attention?" Another gentle squeeze.
"Yes—yes, Amos," she chokes out. My grip isn’t tight enough for her to sound like that, but I loosen it a bit just in case.
"The last thing you want to do is run. Because if you run, I'm going to hunt you. And if I hunt you, Iwillcatch you. And when I do, you'll be mine in every way. There'll be no more waiting until you're not bleeding anymore.Soit's all up to you, sweet Mercy. Are you going to run?"
"I won't...I won't run. I swear."
"That's my sweet kitten. And do you believe me when I say that you're beautiful?" She didn't answer me earlier. I can't have my Mercy thinking she's anything less than absolutely stunning in my eyes.
Her lashes close as she hides her eyes from me. "Yes," comes her hoarse whisper.
"Look at me. Look me in the eye and tell me you believe me."
Her shiny gaze meets mine, wavering before holding strong. "I... I believe you."
"Good girl." I remove my hand and Mercy falls back against the railing, softly rubbing her throat as she warily watches me. "Now, let's enjoy this fresh air."
I lower onto the nearby oversize hanging swing chair. Perfect. Big enough for me to hold my Mercy and get to know more about her. A pull on her hand sends her tumbling onto my lap where she stiffly sits, trying to touch me as little as possible. That will never do. Turning her sideways, I grab her legs and prop them on the cushions.
"What sorts of things do you like to bake?" I ask as I softly stroke her hair and draw her head to rest against my chest. Maybe feeling my heartbeat and the vibrations of my voice will help to soothe her. My dad held my mom like this day in and day out when he first brought her home to us.Two things usually make a woman feel better,he always said.Food and hugs."You mentioned your last day at work that youmightmake a dessert, but it didn't smell like you'd been baking when I got there that night."
Calmly petting her, I don't miss her slight flinch at my reference to taking her. No use pussyfooting around it, though. It's over and done with and we're moving on as we were meant to be.
"Umm," she inhales deeply. I almost feel jealous when I imagine her breathing in the smells of the forest over my own scent. "I...anything, really. Cookies, cheesecake, bread. Nothing with fruit, though. I don't like fruit."
That's interesting. Should a diabetic be eating those things? "So...fruit. Not at all, or not baked?"
"Mostly not at all. I don't mind apples or apple pie, but I don't care for any other fruit."
I pick up her hand from where she was tracing imaginary ninety-degree angles on the folds of her dress and bring it to my chest. "Do that to me."
More flaccid than a limp cock, her hand lies slack against my shirt. "What?"
