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Chapter Six
Ava
Gage comesin to see me like he does every day after he gets home from whatever the hell it is a criminal does all day. I hate myself for secretly looking forward to his visits every day, but he’s the only real human contact I have. The servants are only quickly in and out to bring me food and other necessities, and I quickly figured out they won’t speak to me at all unless it’s concerning something of that nature.
I don’t have Stockholm syndrome, but Gage has effectively made himself the center of my universe—hell, the only one in my sphere—and I hate him for it.
I hate him for making me crave his presence. Even when he just sits there and stares at me while I ignore him, it’s better than sitting here alone.
I try not to speak to him much. I don’t want to grow any closer to him. I want him to get bored with me and let me go.
None of it seems to be working, though.
He comes every night like clockwork, charging the air with his electricity, though he rarely touches me beyond a gentle finger on my face or a chaste press of his lips to my forehead.
I instantly know something is different tonight, though, when he comes through the door with more agitation than usual. The air around him is crackling with energy, but he addresses me the same as usual, greeting me as his princess and asking how my day has been.
And I treat him the same as usual, pointedly ignoring him and continuing to read, though my hands are shaking so much that I drop the pretty, tassled bookmark I’m holding behind the open book.
That’s another thing. Not only did Gage make sure to stock this room with all the types of books I like to read, but I also woke up one day to find an assortment of gorgeous bookmarks on display by the shelves. I don’t know how he did it, but it’s like he somehow crawled into my mind and learned all my preferences and then started fulfilling them.
It only makes it that much harder to hate him, which, ironically, only makes me hate him even more.
It’s complicated.
I can’t reach the bookmark from where I’m sitting on the couch, so I stand and then bend over to pick it up.
Only when I rise and turn back around, holding the book open to the page I’m reading with a finger pressed between the pages and the bookmark clutched in the other hand do I realize my error.
Gage’s hungry gaze is trained on my legs, and my face heats as his piercing blue eyes travel up my body to meet my own eyes.
My fingers curl tighter around the bookmark and my breath hitches when I see what can only be described as animal lust in his eyes.
Damn it, damn it, damn it!
This fucking dress. I knew better than to wear one of the little floral dresses that looked so much like something I’d pick out myself I could almost believe it came from my own closet back home.
But I’ve run out of oversized shirts and leggings to wear. It’s like Gage is purposefully denying me washed clothes because once the maid takes something away for cleaning, I never see it again.
I figure it’s his way of eliminating my choices until I’m forced to wear the sexier, more revealing items he bought me.
I forgot about the fucking dress, and in bending over, I no doubt gave him a nice flash of my ass in the cheeky panties I put on this morning. Yes, I’m down to the cheekies now. My panty supply is dwindling as well. I’m two cheekies away from a thong, and I’ve never been a fan of those. A man obviously invented the thong because no woman in her right mind would think it’s a good idea to stick a string up her ass and call it coverage.
Although judging by the look on Gage’s face, my cheekies don’t offer much coverage either.
He begins to stalk over to me, and I take a step back, the hard, laminated edges of the bookmark cutting into my palm where I’m gripping it so tightly.
When he continues to stalk toward me, I feel my heart begin to race in my chest, and I break my code of silence.
“Gage, what are you—“ I begin, but he cuts me off when he pulls me roughly against his chest, knocking the book and bookmark out of my hands as he smashes his lips against mine.
And, oh my god, it’s fire. He’s fire and passion all around me, burning me with his heat. I can’t even think about how I’ve lost what page I was on in my book, something that would normally trouble me to no end.
No, all I can do is feel. Feel the strength of his huge arms around me, the solid press of his massive chest against me, the burning rod of hard steel between his legs pressing against my stomach through his pants.
His hot, wet tongue, stroking into my mouth, staking a claim on not just my body but my soul.
Jesus, he’s going to destroy me with this kiss.
