“I—”
He twists rough fingers into my hair and drags my mouth to his, his breath a warm tease on my lips. “You like our games. Do as I say. Let me fuck you a new way.”
“Yes,” I whisper, and while I do like our games, there is something different about him tonight, an edge that frightens me. Or maybe it’s my inhibitions, my weaknesses, winning.
But he doesn’t let me go with my agreement, the twist of his fingers in my hair tightening, his mouth closing down on mine, the swipe of his tongue rough with demand I should revel in, but do not.
He releases me and sets me away from him, crossing his arms over his chest to watch me. I undress, but he does not, which is never the case, and my unease expands, burning in my chest. Once I’m naked, feeling at his mercy, his gaze rakes over every part of my body, and I expect him to come to me, or to order me to him. Instead, he turns and walks to a drawer, opening it and returning with a long piece of rope.
“Hold out your hands.”
This man has been my hero, and I should trust him, but I don’t want to do it. I want to grab my clothes and run. His gaze sharpens and I feel trapped, unsure of what to do. He arches a brow and I offer him my hands. Satisfaction gleams in his eyes as he binds me.
“Lie on the bed with your hands over your head,” he orders.
I do it, telling myself he’s always made me hot. He’s always been good to me. He will fuck me in some amazing way, and my nervous reaction is silly. He walks to the headboard and grabs my bound hands, and somehow, I’m not sure where, he ties them over my head. And then he just leaves. He walks out of the room and leaves me tied to the bed. And for the first time since I met him, I feel alone.
I return to the present
with a flutter of my lashes and a splintering pain in my skull, and that song is still playing, reminding me of him, whoever he is. I want it to stop. Please make it stop . . . But still it goes on . . .
My church offers no absolutes . . .
I’m pulled back into the past, expecting, and dreading, seeing that man again, but I do not return to him or his bedroom. This time I’m at the church where Kayden found me tonight. And Kayden is there too, pressing me against the wooden door, his big body framing mine, his hands cupping my face as he kisses me. And I can taste his desire, his passion. His claim to me . . . the possession. And clearly now, when it had not been in the moment, I know that he wants—even needs—to own me. This discovery should scare me, but the scent of him, warm spice and vanilla, is so damn familiar, both soothing and arousing. I cling to him, kissing him back, hungry for more of him. And with him, I am not alone like I’d been in that room, tied to that bed. He is the answer I need. Kayden.
I open my eyes, and I feel like a hammer is pounding in my head. The song is over. The rain continues. And I don’t want to think about why my mind showed me him and then showed me Kayden. I just want to go to sleep.
I wake with a gasp and shoot forward, grabbing the dash, panting. The car isn’t moving. There is no rain and there appears to be a wall in front of the car.
“Easy, Ella.”
Looking right, I find a strange man with brown hair and eyes kneeling at the open passenger door. “Who are you and where is Kayden?” I ask.
“I’m here,” Kayden says, replacing the stranger by my side. “That was Nathan. He’s a friend and a doctor. You were grabbing your head and rocking back and forth. I pulled over and you passed out.”
“I passed out?”
“Yeah, sweetheart, you did. You scared the shit out of me. Nathan just gave you something for the pain.”
The man appears above Kayden’s shoulder. “And something to help you sleep. I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“What’s wrong with me? I feel like someone is hammering in my head. I can’t remember who I am and now I passed out?”
“I saw your medical records,” the man says. “You have a very bad concussion, and from what I understand you weren’t kind to yourself tonight. You need to rest.”
“I’m not even going to ask how he got my medical records.”
“Matteo,” Kayden says, taking my hand. “The hacker who’s trying to find you by your first name. This is his house. We’re staying here until we’re ready to deal with Gallo.”
“Okay. I don’t think I want to know what that means either right about now.”
The doctor, Nathan, I guess his name is, says something to Kayden in Italian, and I’ve given up fighting over speaking English. At least for tonight. Kayden kisses my hand, a gentle, intimate gesture that does funny things to my stomach. “Give me a minute and we’ll get you someplace where you can lie down.”
He stands and faces Nathan, and I don’t even try to listen to their conversation. My pain eases, but I feel kind of floaty and weird now, and I don’t like it. In fact, it’s freaking me out to have this little control over everything, including my own body.
Kayden squats back down beside me. “Ready to go upstairs?”
“I feel weird.”