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I’m kneeling before my captor topless, but this is only the beginning because when his wicked gaze drops to my shorts, I know I’m only halfway done. “Don’t be like them,” I beg softly. “You’re not like them. You’re different.”
“You’re right,” he affirms with a nod. “I am different. Unlike everyone else, I don’t want to fuck you.” My cheeks blister as I chew my bottom lip. “I want to break you. But it appears the two are clearly linked. So I ask you again…strip.”
“No, please, don’t,” I beseech. His detachment begins to scare me, which is exactly why he’s doing this.
This is a different form of torture, and it’s working.
“You have three seconds,” he warns, stepping forward, and I instantly leap to my feet. “One.”
“No!” I cry, backing away, but he only advances forward.
“Two.”
“Don’t do this, please.”
But Saint is way past my pleading.
“Three.”
He lunges forward, intent on stripping me himself, but I refuse him the honor. If he wants me naked, then so be it, but it’ll be my own hand.
“Fine!” I scream, baring my breasts to him as I spread my arms out wide. “Is this what you want, you sick bastard! To see me humiliated? Fuck you.”
I tug my shorts down my legs, kicking them aside, anger overtaking me. My underwear are still on. For now.
Saint hisses and takes a small step back, but his retreat only spurs me on as I hastily advance. “At least I’m not the one hiding behind a mask! Look at you,” I mock, a fierceness spurring me on. “You’re pathetic! All you are is someone’s dog…jumping to command.”
I’m walking a very dangerous line, but I have nothing left to lose.
“You think you’re big and strong, but you’re not.” I saunter toward him, my near nakedness suddenly making me feel like a goddess, dancing under a full moon. “You’re a fucking coward.”
Saint rushes forward, gripping my wrists, stopping me from moving an inch. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” His grave tone reveals I’ve struck a nerve, and it inspires me to continue.
“You can’t even show me your face.” I laugh, mocking him. “If that doesn’t spell coward, then I don’t know what does.” Standing on tippy toes, I level him with pure hatred. “Maybe you’re afraid of what I’ll see. It’s easy to hide behind a mask…but being honest, that’s what a real man does. He doesn’t hide.”
We are caught in a deadlock as Saint’s heavy breathing and heaving chest reveals I’m moments away from being gagged forever. But so be it. “So it’s safe to say, you’re not a real man…Saint.”
Oh…shit.
The already small room grows impossibly small as Saint shoves me backward and does something which rips the air from my lungs. He claws at the bottom of his ski mask and tears it from his face, throwing it across the room.
Time stands still.
My brain is unable to process the sight before me because for eight days, I’ve only been given a glimpse into those hypnotic eyes, but now that I’m faced with the entire picture, I don’t know where to look first.
I start with his hair; the long, wild, dirty blond locks that frame his chiseled face. I instantly think of the surfers down at Venice Beach because his thick waves appear sun kissed and windswept, embodying the perfect mussed style.
His eyebrows are thick and dark, giving shape to those unusual green eyes and also emphasizing those angular cheekbones. His upturned nose only adds to his arrogance. His mouth is a succulent pink. His top lip is not overly thick, but it is slightly bowed in shape. However, his bottom lip is plump and undeniably fierce.
His sharp jawline complements his cleft chin. He has thick, unkempt stubble, but it only adds to his hardness.
I stagger backward, as Saint is entirely wayward and rebellious, but more than anything…he is absolutely epic. A bad boy every mom warns their daughters about.
Unable to help myself, my gaze drifts down his hardened body as I know what lies beneath that long-sleeved shirt. Now that I have a face to go with his body, I am utterly speechless. I never thought he would look like a freaking…supermodel—a bad boy, no, scrap that, a badSaint, as he isn’t groomed or pretty. He is rough, hard, and totally sinful—a perfect look for everything he encompasses.
He allows me to eat him up, clearly knowing the effect he has on people. But that only lasts a second before he swoops forward and drags me toward him. It’s the first time we’ve been this close unmasked, and it seems unfair that his good looks are only emphasized, up close.
Without the ski mask, he seems taller, and his shoulders broader somehow. “I’m not afraid…” he whispers in response to my claims. His wicked lips are in full view for me to see when they twitch, a lopsided smirk leaving me winded. “But you should be.”
