Page 83 of Captive Ruin

“Yes, it matters,” I say sharply. “I need to know if he’s going to try and take his revenge.” For having a goddamn finger cut off. “I need to know if he’s going to…” Shit. He could go after Lucy. Why didn’t I think of that sooner? “My sister.”

“She’s perfectly safe. So are you.”

“How can you be so sure?” I retort. “That’s what you said last time.”

“This time, I made certain my point left a mark.” His delivery is so cold that it prickles at the back of my neck. I suppress a shudder of unease, the sense of safety I woke up to sliding away.

Now I’m not sure I want to know what he’s done to Serranto, and can only hope that he’s right, that we won’t have to deal with the aftermath of whatever it was.

Yet lying here, with him, like this, my gut tells me that he has dealt with Serranto this time. That his word is good.

His hand slides up to grasp my throat. I don’t even read it as threatening anymore. It’s just Van Wyk being… Van Wyk. It still sends a shiver through me, my nipples tightening, my body reacting to being pinned down. Again. By him.

“I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” he says, voice dangerously soft. “I also told you it was a promise.”

“Yeah… you did…” It’s difficult to speak. My throat has closed up, and not because of his hand around it. He’s barely squeezing.

Is he aware of the effect he has? Holding me like I’m his?

He gazes at me, those steel-grey eyes as disconcertingly steady as ever. “Are you getting turned on, Little Stray?”

Goddammit. He is aware.

“…No…” Fuck yes. What’s wrong with me?

“Are you sure? Your eyes are half-hooded, your skin is flushed. Your heart is beating faster. You’re looking at me in that way you do when you want me to fuck you hard.”

I’m certain I have no idea what he means. I glance away, just to be extra safe.

“Do you have time to spread your legs for me before you go to the gallery?”

Jesus. Is this man ever not horny?

“Uh…” I bite at my lip, his words causing images to swirl through my mind. I’m not against the idea. I should be; I’m not.

Fuck it.

“All right,” I say, surprised at myself that I could make such a decision. But we’re in bed together, we’re both naked, and if there’s one thing this man is very good at, it’s making me come. “How long do we have? What time is it?”

He turns away, picking up his phone from the nightstand. “Quarter after nine.”

What?

“Oh fuck! My phone’s in the other room! I am so goddamn late!”

I’m out of the bed in an instant, heading for the shower.

To his credit, he doesn’t try to stop me, but rolls onto his back, the duvet across his hips and his distracting abs on display. “You were sleeping so peacefully, I couldn’t bring myself to wake you.”

I pause at the door. “You were watching me sleep?” Why doesn’t that disturb me as much as it should? “For how long?”

“About three hours.”

I blink, then steady myself on the door jamb.

Okay, that’s more disturbing.

And yet still so very… him.