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He picked up his pace, rocking his hips back and forth against her, and while holding her gaze with his, he pulled his hand from between their bodies and started sucking the wetness—her arousal—from his fingers.
That sight alone had another smaller orgasm rushing through her, and she lifted her hips, needing friction. It felt good … he felt good on top of her.
Once he stopped rocking against her, he pushed himself away. He sat on the edge of the bed for a second, neither speaking nor moving. But she didn’t know what in the hell to say.
After the fact she felt like what they’d done, what she’d allowed herself to experience and feel, was wrong on a deeper level.
Fury got up and kept his back to her. He turned and looked at her then, and she couldn’t help but notice the way he had a wet spot on the front of his jeans.
A thrill moved through her at the fact she’d been the one to cause him to lose control and get off from dry humping her.
“Fuck,” he said on a harsh whisper and turned from her once more.
Angelina pushed herself up so she could look at Fury. He ran his hand over his hair. His muscles flexed from the act, and the atmosphere changed, the room becoming chilled.
His body was stiff, and he reached out and grabbed the door handle without turning it. It seemed like minutes passed before he finally left her alone in the room.
In that moment she didn’t know if she’d just sold her soul for a few seconds of pleasure, or if what she’d done would forever change the course of events in her life.
Either way, it scared the hell out of her.
16
Fury sat on the porch and stared at the sun as it rose. He brought the whiskey to his mouth and took a long drink.
He sure as fuck didn’t need any more alcohol, but after what he’d done with Angelina, he needed something to take the edge off. The only problem was he wasn’t so drunk he passed out. Oblivion sounded really fucking good right about now.
He needed to get to Sal, to find out where the fucker was, but without help from the MC—because they didn’t know what in the hell he was up to—he’d have to do this alone, which he had no problem doing, or find some shady fuckers to help.
Pushing up from the porch, he leaned against the banister for a second, the world tilting slightly. Fury turned and headed inside, the screen door slamming shut behind him.
As the floor started to twist and rise up, he realized he’d had more to drink than he thought. He was just going to bed, but he changed direction and made his way toward the bathroom, a shower sounding pretty fucking good right about now.
Not only did he need to clean off the sweat and drunkenness from the night, but also he was still wearing the damn jizz-covered jeans. Yeah, he’d come in his fucking pants like a teenager.
Dry humping Angelina like he was fifteen and didn’t know where to stick his cock was ridiculous, but fuck had it felt good.
I can’t keep her chained up like a fucking animal. I have to let her go.
He’d been a fucking idiot to take her, kidnap her from her home. What the fuck had he been thinking?
He braced a hand on the wall and made his way down the hallway and toward the bathroom. Looking at the closed door where Angelina was had his cock coming to life despite the amount of whiskey he’d consumed and the fact he’d already gotten off.
He stood there a moment just staring at that door, and finally made himself go into the bathroom.
Fumbling for the light switch, he turned it on and winced at the harsh light. But the room started to spin, and soon the floor rose up and greeted him.
17
Angelina sat on the edge of the bed, the room dark, and the light from under the door coming through. She got up and opened the door, seeing the morning light fill the cabin.
Her heart was beating fast and hard, and she was nervous about what in the hell the next step was. She’d gotten off at the hands of Fury, and although it had only happened last night, her body was still warm, still lit up from the experience.
She’d thought a lot the past few hours, and as much as freedom from the life she’d led was all she’d ever been looking for, a part of her, a little voice, told her she could have that.
Angelina was experiencing that, in a sense, and as fucked as it all was, and screwed up she was even thinking about how this wasn’t “so bad”, she reminded herself where she’d come from.
Murder.
