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In my bed.
My entire body went stiff.
“Oh, but you were so open before. Pry your creamy thighs so I can taste you.”
I moved the comforter and saw his tumbling black hair and electric eyes as he peered up at me, his mouth rimmed with scruffy hair poised just over my center.
I was frozen with fear and arousal, my instincts at war with one another. I wanted to run. I wanted to feel him.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Waking you up,” he murmured before using his strong hands to pry my thighs open even further. I watched him.
I watched him even though I knew I should have been horrified.
I watched him even though I knew I shouldn’t let him control my body like this.
I watched him and my mind raged. My body ached. My clit begged to be licked.
“I like that you don’t wear panties to bed, Wildflower. Makes it so much easier to see your pretty pink pussy.”
“Declan. How did you get in? How did you know where I live?” I asked, because that was what I was supposed to ask. Because I’d always been the sensible one.
I was supposed to be the fucking sensible one.
He chuckled. “You think I left that knife out by accident? I wanted to see you fight, Wildflower. I followed you. And the new locks on your door are cute, but you should make sure your windows are shut.”
In a moment of sanity, I pushed on his head, trying to get him away, but it was like shoving a brick wall. A shudder of revulsion traveled down my spine. For a moment, it wasn’t Declan between my thighs. It was James, the asshole that violated me. My breaths turned shallow. My vision blurred.
“Stay with me, Wildflower. Tell me who’s about to taste you,” Declan said.
I shook my head, my pulse racing with phantom adrenaline, reminding me of the horrific thing I’d endured. I was still fucked in the head about it. Still devastated. Still dealing with everything.
I thought about how I ran to Declan. How he killed those men. How he tied me up. How he made me feel things I shouldn’t have felt so soon after being . . . fuck, I hated that word. I didn’t want to say it.
But I was raped.
I was fucking raped, and then right after, Declan did something that felt a whole fucking lot like rape but maybe wasn’t.
And then I couldn’t go to the cops. Because there were six men dead, and I was now technically an accomplice.
How I couldn’t tell my sister because I didn’t want to put her in harm’s way.
How I spent all night trying and failing to figure out what the hell to do. I even packed a suitcase, prepared to run, but I couldn’t leave Avery or my horses, and I didn’t have a truck.
“Tell me who I am,” he whispered. “Stay here with me. Chase those nightmares away, baby.”
I swallowed. “Declan.”
“Good girl. You want to know what I’m going to do?”
I was still too scared to speak. This was fucked up on every level.
“I’m going to make you feel good. That dead bastard that hurt you was all abouthispleasure. But you know what, Wildflower? All I want to do is makeyoufeel good.”
“It’s too soon,” I choked out.
“Says who?” he asked.
