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Seems that Alana is just as irresistible. An addiction too fucking strong for me to deny.
She continues fighting with the wall, desperately searching for the way to get inside, as if there will be something as simple as a fucking door handle to allow her to slip through and descend the stairs.
Who’d have thought she’d be so desperate to go back down there now that she’s been granted a little freedom?
I guess she was always a little too comfortable in her cold, almost uninhabitable cell.
My mind cycles back to what Reid said in her bedroom—the accusations he made.
If it weren’t for her reaction to hearing the names he said to her, then I might not believe it.
But the fear was too pure, too intense for it to be lies.
Anger unfurls inside me as I think about what they might have done to her.
It’s no secret that Victor and his closest men are a bunch of sick scumbags.
But pedophilia.
My fingers curl, my grip on the bottle so tight, I’m amazed it doesn't shatter.
As murderous as the thought of anyone touching her without permission makes me, I know it’s the truth. Everything we did to her in the basement, how she unraveled for us, how the most twisted of things turned her on… All of it makes so much fucking sense. And as much as I loved the reaction she had to us, I fucking hate it as well.
My skin continues to itch with self-hatred. But with my sights set on her, thoughts of that razor in my bathroom cabinet or the knives in the kitchen are far from my mind.
Reaching out with my free hand, I wrap my fingers around the doorframe, letting the square edges of the wood bite into my skin as I continue to watch her.
There’s something else that will help squash the incessant need to remind myself that all of this is real, that I’m alive and that there is something worthwhile sticking this shit out for.
Forgetting herself, she lets out a quiet wail of frustration when the wall refuses to allow her entry. Her voice echoes around the ancient building, making the hairs on my neck stand on end. It might help if she’d found the actual door, of course. Maybe if she paid a little more attention when she was backed up against it the other day, instead of being too busy sucking my fingers into her cunt, then she might have more of a clue where to find the entrance.
Taking another swig from my bottle, I wince when the whiskey sloshes, but she’s too focused on her task at hand to notice.
With a smirk, I close in on her, my mouth watering the second her scent hits my nose.
Placing my bottle on the dresser that usually houses our keys, I move silently, stepping right up behind her as the first signs of dawn begins to light up the space around us.
It takes her a moment to register the heat of my body, and I make the most of that millisecond to suck in a lungful of her scent.
She stills, and just before she screams, I move. Clamping one hand around her mouth and wrapping the other around her waist, pinning her against my body.
“Looks to me like someone is being a naughty girl.” I growl in her ear.
She shudders in my hold as my breath rushes down her neck.
“Looking for something?” I ask.
“Let me go,” she snaps the second I release her mouth, collaring her throat instead.
I chuckle, my chest vibrating against her back.
“I don’t think I will,” I confess, my lips brushing her ear, my cock quickly growing against the fullness of her ass.
“JD,” she hisses, trying to fight against me.
“Keep grinding against me like that, little dove. I missed the feel of your body against mine.”
“Not interested,” she lies.
