I glare at him, feeling venomous jealousy boiling within me. “How is that going to protect me?”
He steps towards me. “Because where we are going, this means no one can speak with you. No one can question you. No one-“
“So,” I cut in, “it protects you!”
“Baby.” He tilts his head, his eyes a soft vortex of sensuality and intrigue and goddamn his level of hotness. “No one will care that I lady-napped you.”
Shaking my head slowly, I take a step backwards. “How is that even possible?”
He moves until I am pressed against the wall of the RV, his body a dangerous frame crowding me. “Trust me.”
I arch my neck to meet his scorching green-blue eyes. “Never,” I whisper. As he reaches up, wrapping the leather behind my neck, I squeeze my eyes shut under the intensity of his gaze. I hear him hiss as he circles my slender column and fastens the collar together at my throat.
I open my eyes to find his full of hunger.
“You’re going to have to,” he whispers in my ear. And I almost melt into a puddle at his feet. Knowing I don’t have a choice, believing I don’t have a choice, ignoring the fact I may have a choice, I walk into the bathroom. Over at the mirror, I stare at the collar. I hate it.
I touch the leather.
Hate it.
He appears behind me and rubs his groin into my backside. I moan at the feel of his thick length between my cheeks.
“Thisis what thatthingand you do to me.” He dips his lips to my neck. His tongue lashes out to lick the leather, his breath heavy with arousal on my skin. Lifting his head to stare at me in the mirror, he says, “Will you wear it, baby? For your own protection?”
I stare at myself again, taking in my partly dry dark-brown hair cascading down my shoulders and the glow on my cheeks. I look a little wild.Who are you?
I’m surprised when my reflection nods. “Yes.”
He moves away from me and disappears into the rear of the RV. I fix my hair while in a trance of confusion, contradictory emotions mingling inside me. Uncertainty, yes. But also, happiness. Joy. I feel like I can play for the first time in years. That it doesn’t mean I don’t want to be a doctor. Doesn’t mean I don’t take life seriously. I take life very seriously. . . for the past eleven years, every decision I have made has been. . .constructive. Safe.
I glance down at my finger, bare without my engagement ring sitting heavy on it like a ball and chain, like the shackle I now realise it is and with Akila and a baby one day, I might as well be sinking to the bottom of his ocean. Looking back at my refection, I stare at the collar wrapped around tanned skin. It feels less controlling than the ring. God, I’m going mad.
He makes me crazy.
Always has.
Once my hair is done, I get the rest over with. As I slide into the skin-tight black dress, the boning frames around my torso and narrow waist, pushing up my breasts, accentuating my already generous mounds. The swell of each noticeably rises and falls with each breath. If I were to wear something like this with Perry, he would surely use it as a reason to undermine me. My actions. My feelings. My ability as a doctor. His actions always seemed to come from a place of support and kindness, of concern, but I often feel that he likes me best when I am low and confused or acting ‘up’.
I am his damsel in distress.
He is our hero - mine and Akila’s.
Perry likes boxes. Everyone should fit into a neat little box, sealed so the contents will never change or be tainted, then tied with a pretty bow. I can’t possibly be a doctor and enjoy the adventurous sexuality of a man like Bronson Butcher. My dad’s words the day before I broke Bronson’s heart hammer into my mind. ‘That’s the worst part of all though. . . isn’t it? What does this say about you? Loving a psychopathic boy like him.’
Perry and my dad would have liked each other.
After sliding the boots on, I step out into the back of the RV to find Bronson wearing black suit pants, a white shirt, and suspenders like a 1920s gangster might. I don’t fight my smile, feeling a shudder when his eyes heat at the sight of me.
A long, deep rumble comes from within his chest, forcing my lips to part and my knees to buckle. “This is going to be hard,” he says with a smirk, reaching down to stroke his cock through his slacks. And where I thought I’d feel embarrassed and undermined, I feel strangely empowered in this outfit.
I step towards him, and he lowers his gaze to meet mine. Getting within an inch of his lips, I breathe against them. “I will run the first chance I get.”
“Well,” he says, brushing his lips along mine, “I best not give you any chances then.”
Slowly, I walk towards the door and smile when it opens. Heat scorches my back, informing me of his intense gaze. I step out of the carriage and jump into the passenger seat, crossing my legs, the leather from my boots rubbing together, the sound coursing through me in an uncomfortably arousing way.
He slides into the driver’s side, and we take off. His gun is visible in the center console, and I wonder what would happen if I lunged for it. Wonder if I would have time to draw it on him before he simply snatched it from my grasp.