Page 69 of Captive Souls
Except I’d never been tame to begin with.
That’s what I was then. Tamed by this magnificent creature delicately padding on bare feet through the cabin that was meant to be her doom yet had turned into my salvation.
She was nervous. I could feel it in the air. See it in the way her body moved, the slight stutter in her step, the downward cast of her eyes, her teeth nibbling the soft flesh of her lips.
Those full lips I itched to feel moving over mine, the mouth I was desperate to claim. Yet those needs were clouded by something wrong, a buzz just under my skin, punishing me for having those needs, convincing me that I wouldn’t be able to fulfill hers.
The sheets smelled of her when I’d climbed into them. Floral, fruity, sweet with the faint spice of her sweat. A delicious combination, one I held on to as she traversed the short distance across the cabin.
Her eyes roved over me in the bed, and it took every ounce of control I had to stay still, to keep my expression free of any of the bubbling need that singed my skin.
It was a great effort not to explore the exposed skin of her legs in tiny sleep shorts that were basically panties, a tight camisole showing off peaked nipples that I couldn’t fucking stare at for a second longer or they’d be in my mouth, my teeth grazing them over the fabric.
No.
The voice was sharp in my mind.
Resist her.
I’d made the concession of sleeping in the bed because of the determined glint in Piper’s eyes when she’d declared I’d be sleeping in it, knowing she wouldn’t give up that fight. She was concerned for me. Wanted to take care of me. Never in my life had anyone wanted to take care of me. The feeling was overly warm, uncomfortable. My nature urged me to push her away, hurt her before she could get close enough to hurt me. Strike first, damage her as a warning to show her what happened when she thought she could get close to me.
Two of my baser instincts battled against each other as she climbed into the bed. One itched to claim her, bury myself deep inside her. The other sought to break her, hurt her in a way that would ruin whatever lay between us beyond salvaging.
It took all of my effort to lay still as the bed depressed, my body stiffening as her bare arm brushed across the sleeve of the shirt I was wearing.
I was fully dressed, ensuring my bare skin wouldn’t touch hers. Sully it.
I could feel the nerves radiating from her as we both lay there, staring at the ceiling, the closest we’d ever been. Though we were physically only inches apart, the depth of the emptiness inside of me formed a yawning distance between us.
She was also coiled with expectation, waiting. For something to happen between us. For me to cross the chasm and show her affection, prove I was capable of it. I imagined bringing her soft, pliant body into my arms, her head laying on my chest, burying my nose into her sweet-smelling hair. I imagined the honor of her feeling safe enough to sleep there, in the arms of a murderer. And she would. Trust me enough to lapse into a state of blissful unconsciousness
She’d give me that gift without hesitation.
The tension lingered between us, her breathing sparse and shallow, as if she was scared too deep of an inhale might spook me. Her hope was what did it, coming off her in waves, hope that I might be the man, underneath it all, to bring her into some sort of safe embrace.
With a sharp and uncomfortable sensation in my chest that had nothing to do with the gunshot wound, I turned my back on her and went to sleep.
Piper
It went on like that for a week.
It should’ve been nice. The truce we made, the truth we shared. The acknowledgement of what we were to each other. The redefining of our roles.
Itshould’vebeen a relief.
Except I felt more on edge than I had since the moment I met Knox. Back then, there was fear, yes. Plenty of that. Anger too. At him for being the omen that signified the end of life as I knew it. He was the villain.
But there was a distance. There was a separation between us.
Now we were closer than I suspected a kidnapper and abductee ever had been. We’d shared our insides, our ugliness.He’d exposed parts of himself I knew had never seen the light of day.
My fingers had been in his flesh, sewing him back together. We slept in the same bed. We spent most of our days together. We ate together.
It was the closest I’d ever been with a man. With a person, for that matter, my sister included. Except the distance between us was wider than ever.
Though we slept in the same bed, we didn’t touch. Didn’t cuddle. Although it had been expressed that Knox wanted to have sex with me, nothing had been acted on. Not even a kiss.
A kiss seemed so pedestrian, so juvenile. Yet my lips burned with an unyielding need for him. To taste him. I didn’t act on it, not with the wall he’d hastily put up, not with the fear of rejection, heartbreak. I had to survive lingering on the sidelines, waiting for him to yank us both onto the proverbial playing field.