Holy crap, he looked scary.
It took me less than the three minutes to get a bag together. I had no idea where we were going or for how long. I threw in two pairs of panties, a bra, however many pairs of shorts I grabbed in my wild handful: ditto with my shirts. Thankfully, I always keep a toiletry bag packed and ready to go.
I ran back to the living room. A worried part of me expected to find Lucas unconscious on the floor. What would I do if that were the case? He obviously didn’t want the paramedics to see him, but I still didn’t know why.
Another part of me considered the possibility he was insane. No one knew what he got up to when he went missing. Maybe he had a split personality and the Lucas currently in my house was a delusional psychopath. Of course, if that was the case, the delusional psychopath had tongue-fucked and finger-fucked me to the most incredible orgasms of my short life, so I didn’t really know how I felt about that.
An even smaller part of me pondered the notion—in the few seconds it took me to run from my bedroom to the living room—that this was all a big prank Lucas was playing on me. That when I arrived in the living room, he’d be laughing and wiping away the bloody wounds
from his body with a tissue. I could almost hear him say “Gotcha, Ronnie. You sucker!”
He was neither laughing nor unconscious when I arrived back in the living room, but to be honest, I had my doubts about the psychopath part—delusional or otherwise.
He’d killed the lights in the room, plunging it into darkness. It was only the fact my DVD unit had the world’s brightest LCD display, thereby throwing the room into a dim blue hue, that I could make out what was going on.
He stood at the window, one finger parting the drapes barely a sliver, watching the world outside. He was still naked. Despite the surreal moment I found myself in, I couldn’t help but notice the way the LCD’s light emphasized the sculpted hardness of his muscular body.
When this was over, I was having a damn good conversation with myself about the way I was sexually reacting to him.
Stepping a few feet into my living room, I opened my mouth to tell him I was ready, but before I could utter a sound, he released the drape and turned to me.
The darkness made it impossible to see his eyes. If he really was delusional, I had no way of knowing.
“Let’s go,” he said, although it definitely sounded more like an order.
“Where?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he strode past me, scooping up the blanket he’d worn earlier as he did so. I heard what sounded like my car keys chink, and then he was at the door leading into the garage.
“Oh,” I muttered, hitching my bag farther up my shoulder as I followed. “We’re going there? I always wanted to go there.”
“Of course you have, Ronnie,” his low response came to me from the darkness a split second before he opened the door.
A moment later, we were in my car, Lucas wrapped in the blanket behind the wheel, me buckled into the passenger seat, frowning at him with a mix of frustration and concern.
Turning over the engine, he threw me a grin. By the light of the dashboard, I could see his eyes had that same scary and yet at the same time sexy as all hell intensity they’d had inside when he’d told me I had three minutes to get ready to go.
“Ready?”
I snorted, my tummy knotting. “Sure.”
His grin stretched wider. “That’s my girl.”
“I’m not your fucking girl,” I snarled.
He drew his head closer to mine. “You’ve been mine, Ronnie, since the very second we met.”
Before I could tell him what I thought of that statement, he crushed my lips with his.
The savage kiss made my head spin and my pussy throb. By the time he pulled away, I was giddy with breathlessness. Or something far more disquieting—concentrated lust.
He chuckled, as he threw the Camaro into reverse. “Buckle up.”
I had a split second to think, shit, the garage door, and then we were speeding backwards and out of the garage.
I blinked. When had he opened the automatic door? While he was kissing me? Had he pressed the button while he was kissing me? While I was drowning in lust and aching with hungry, debauched need, was he pressing the button on the remote control?
The thought sent a hot, dark lick of anger through me.