This will be a long fucking night.
And I’ll enjoy every second of it.
19
CECILY
What the actual hell?
In the beginning, I’m stunned into silence, completely caught off guard by the sudden change of events. Soon after, everything explodes into focus and I’m assaulted by sensory overload.
My middle easily bends on Jeremy’s rock-hard shoulder as he imprisons me in place with a mere arm around my legs.
Blood rushes to my head, both due to the position and the way he’s manhandling me.
I ball my hands into fists and bang at his back. “Let me down!”
The more I hit, the farther he marches into the cottage as if I’m banging on a wall and not his physical body.
“Jeremy!” I scream his name, hoping someone will hear and save me from his barbaric clutches.
No one does.
No one will.
Instead of taking me to the Heathens’ mansion or a public place, he strategically chose this secluded gothic cottage where no one will be able to stop him.
Like two weeks ago, it’s just me, him, and the creepy night animals outside.
Unlike back then, however, I didn’t come of my own accord. He forced me and threatened to expose me in front of everyone I care about.
He twisted my arm and crossed a line that should never be crossed.
The moment I start to forget his monstrous nature, his devil peeks out his head, ready to destroy every normal thought I had about him.
Jeremy hits the light switch on the way inside the cottage’s living room. His measured steps fall with a thudding sound on the wood flooring.
With every move, every breath, and every squeeze of his large, powerful hand on my thighs, he’s engraving his presence deep in my chest.
It’s like I’m being carried by a giant.
He oozes masculinity, whether it’s his height, enormous build, harsh features, or skin-chilling scent.
He’s toxic masculinity, though.
When he reaches the middle of the room, he places me on my feet with a softness that startles me. I don’t know why I expected him to throw me on the nearest object just to prove a point.
I take a few steps back, scanning the space for an escape. Aside from the front door, there’s the stairs and another door that leads to the kitchen.
I know because I actually took a tour of the cottage the last time he abandoned me here. But I was foolishly trying to find him, not explore.
“Don’t.”
There’s that word again, a little bit low and very much commanding. It’s like he’s reading my mind without me needing to express my thoughts.
“I’m not doing anything.”
He slides his finger on his jeans, up and down, like a fucked-up lullaby. “But you’re thinking of escaping, which is both impossible and futile. The moment you run, I will chase you, Cecily. I don’t have to tell you what I’ll do if—when—I catch you, do I?”