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I’d been doing my best to ignore him, trying to “ice him out” so to speak. The only time I’d engaged was when he was between my legs and I had no choice but to scream out his name.
But…I was weakening. Getting tired of the distance between us.
I hated it.
I couldn’t believe this was a thought in my head, but besides the chain around my ankle, he’d been perfect.
He was making me even needier. He had started pulling me into his lap every time he brought me a tray to eat, and spoon feeding me. He’d pull me on his lap to watch tv at night. And he’d just cuddle me…constantly. Until I was more addicted to his touch than I’d been before.
I knew this was some kind of executed plan. Every move he made, every sweet word he murmured, it was with an end goal in mind.
Only, I was going back and forth on whether I hated the idea of the end goal so much anymore.
I was having crazy thoughts…like asking myself if what he’d done was actually so bad…
Because when I really looked at the consequences of what he’d done,I couldn’t deny I was better off.
Where had I been before? Barely making ends meet in a tiny apartment that should have been condemned, working two jobs while going to school. Dealing with sexual harassment at work. Starving a lot of nights.
And where was Iafterhis actions? Living in an enormous penthouse apartment right out of a dream, a closet full of designer clothes, a full belly of gourmet meals...and hotter sex than I ever could have dreamed or comprehended. He hadn’t done anything to interfere with school—which was the most important thing to me out of them all…he’d just bought me a new laptop and made sure I didn’t have to take the bus home at night anymore after late classes. Without having to worry about money, I could actually take daytime classes next semester if I wanted, and get my degree faster.
And he’d made me feel so freaking loved. For the first time in my life.
That was what crazy people said,I chided myself.
He’d lied. He’d hurt people.
He’d manipulated me.
I couldn’t trust him.
My breath caught in my throat as his gaze clung to me. He was in his workout clothes, his gray Knights sweatpants hanging low so I could see his V. His hair, damp from the shower he’d taken after the game, was tousled and sticking to his forehead. Knowing him, he would have raced home the second he was able to. The muscles in his arms bulged as he crossed them over his chest.
I was having a visceral reaction just staring at him. Heat was rising up my neck, my heartbeat was quickening.
Ugh. Fuck him for being so fucking hot.
I swallowed hard, feeling a fluttering in my stomach. "Hey," I finally replied after I’d finished eye-fucking him, my voice barely above a whisper.
He pushed himself off the doorway and sauntered over to me, a cocky grin spreading across his face. My heart skipped a beat as he approached, and I was practically drooling as I took him in.
Get yourself together. You currently have a chain around your ankle.
"You look amazing," he said, his eyes tracing over my body appreciatively. I stared down at the T-shirt and leggings combo I was wearing—the same outfit I’d had on when he left for the game this afternoon. Since I could only change when he was around to take off my cuff.
Unable to stop myself, I blushed, warmth blooming in my chest. "Thanks."
I hated that he was so sweet.
Lincoln leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from mine. "Did you watch the game?” he asked hopefully.
This was where I needed to lie to him. To tell him of course I hadn’t watched. That I hoped he’d lost. And fuck him.
“Yeah, I did,” I found myself saying instead, watching a beautiful smile spread across his already too handsome face. “Congratulations.”
I’d screamed and cheered after his two goals…and the accompanying heart signs he’d made just for me.
Because obviously, Stockholm Syndrome had sunk in much faster than I’d thought.
