Lulu

I hissed out a breath. “Shit.”

Blood bubbled up under my fingernail, but I ignored it, carried on working on the small window above the toilet. Hunter hadn’t cuffed me this time. He also hadn’t searched me. I discovered the spare key for Sara’s house was good for more than opening doors. Whoever had decorated the small bathroom had painted the window shut. The paint was old and thick, coming off in sharp flakes, but the key was cutting through it easily. Only one side left and I should be able to pry it open.

I hadn’t heard Hunter since he locked me back in here. But it was only a matter of time before he came back. I had to get away. Josh needed me.

Panic rose up inside me again and I fought it back down. I needed to keep a clear head.

Hunter hadn’t hurt me, though he’d had plenty of opportunity. I believed him when he said he’d let me go. And no matter what, I had no intention of going to the cops. Whatever this was, he was going easy on me, and we both knew it. I deserved a lot worse than being locked in a bathroom.

But there was another threat. One I had no defense against. I could feel it building between us, breaking through the harsh words and the disgusted looks. It was volatile and fierce. So hot it had the ability to burn me alive. If he chose to act on it, not fight it like I knew he was, I wouldn’t be able to say no. I could never say no to him.

I couldn’t let that happen, for my own sanity.

If he touched me like that . . .

I jammed the key into the dried paint, slicing and chipping at it. I couldn’t allow myself to think about that, or I might give up. I might put the key back in my pocket and do nothing. I might sit here and wait for him to come for me. I might let it happen. I squeezed my eyes closed.

Shit.

How did I become this, this weak, broken person? Hunter might hate me, but not as much as I hated myself.

I don’t know how long it took, but I’d been in here all day—working on the window for half of that time at least. My fingers were cramping, but finally I’d removed enough of the paint around the sides to open it. Shoving the key in my pocket, I grabbed the latch and tested it. The thing barely moved. Gripping the latch with both hands, I pushed as hard as I could. It opened with a loud squeak. I paused, listening, holding my breath.

Nothing.

I went up on my tiptoes on the toilet seat, pulling the window open farther, and poked my head and shoulders through. It was dark outside, silent apart from the rustling leaves and the sound of insects chirping. I wriggled and dragged myself up to my waist. The intense darkness, the lack of sound that wasn’t bug or tree related, gave me pause. I didn’t know where I was, had no way of getting away. My only option was to go on foot and hope like hell I didn’t get lost, that another car came along so I could hitch a ride.

Shoving down my fear, I pushed up farther, shimmying, working my butt though the small gap.

A hand wrapped around my ankle. “Going somewhere?”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I stayed where I was, ass in the air, head dangling, afraid to move. He gave my leg a tug, and I kicked out in a last ditch effort to break free. The hand left my ankle and then two were at my hips, dragging me back in.

“No! Let me go.” I fought his hold.

It did me no good. I was pulled back inside, ass hitting the toilet seat a second later. Hunter reached up and shoved the window shut, then lifted me off the toilet and carried me into the living room, slamming the door shut behind him.

I landed on the couch hard, head bouncing on the firm cushions. I stared up at him, but he ignored me, walked away to the kitchen, and came back with a bottle of water and two slices of pizza.

“Eat.”

He was pissed, so I kept my mouth shut and did what I was told. Plus, I was starving. I finished both pieces quickly and half the water. He grabbed my arm again and dragged me to my feet, but went past the bathroom door and toward a room at the back. “Where are we going?”

“Bed.”

“What do you mean, bed?”

He didn’t answer and flicked on the bedroom light.

The room was small. A double bed with a slatted headboard and a floral quilt sat in the middle, a dresser beside that. Nothing else. I wanted to run screaming from the room.

“Lie down,” he barked.

I did what I was told, without protest. Protesting would be pointless. I heard the chain when he lifted it, threaded through the baseboard. He wrapped it around my ankle, padlocking it into place. The chain wasn’t too thick, but it was cold and uncomfortable.

“Now what?” I whispered.

“Now I get some fucking sleep.”

He yanked his T-shirt over his head, revealing all that beautiful inked skin. His jeans sat super low, a trail of dark hair leading my gaze even lower. God, I remembered kissing my way down that taut stomach, tracing those abs with my tongue. His chest was more defined, arms thicker. I’d never seen a man more beautifully made. He turned his back, and I traced every stunning inch of him with my hungry gaze. Across his shoulders and back, down to his narrow hips . . .

I closed my eyes, blocking out the sight of my name inked into his skin. It hurt to look at it, to look at him. To look at what was once mine. What I’d been forced to give up. But Hunter wasn’t just a gorgeous body. When he let you in, like he had me, you were the luckiest girl in the whole damn world. I’d never get over it. Never get over him.

The light flicked off, and a second later the mattress dipped. He didn’t touch me, kept to his side of the bed. He used to roll me into him, even if he was asleep. He’d pull me close, tangle his legs with mine, arm around my waist, hand going to my chest. Always.

I rolled away, onto my side and listened to him breathing in the dark.

How was I supposed to sleep with him right beside me?

It wasn’t going to happen . . .

I woke warm, deliciously warm, cocooned in heat. I made a contented sound in the back of my throat and snuggled deeper.

Something warm tickled my ear, then the sound of steady, even breaths reached me through the dark.

That’s when I snapped out of my sleep haze and remembered where I was.

Hunter was pressed against my back. One of his thighs was wedged between mine, his arm draped over my waist, big hand cupping my breast, like he always used to.

Oh shit.

He was still asleep. I could tell by the way he was breathing.

My body revved to life, full-on need humming through me from head to toe. I tried to move, to get some distance between us, but his fingers tightened, curling, digging into my now aching flesh. His knee lifted higher, pressing more firmly between my legs.

I groaned. God, I couldn’t help it.

That’s when he woke. His body stiffened, fingers flexing. I expected him to pull away, but he didn’t move, stayed right where he was.

I blinked into the moonlit room, unable to move, to speak. Jesus, too afraid to breathe. My mind told me to shove him away, my body wanted to push back, seek more.

He pressed his hips into me from behind. Oh fuck, he was hard. I shivered, desperate to squeeze my thighs together when a hot, insistent pulse began throbbing deep inside me. I was trying to work out what to say, what to do, when he released a shaky exhale, dropped a hand between my thighs and shoved my legs farther apart, cupping me firmly, possessively. He ground into my ass, and I internally combusted.

This is wrong. Stop it. Now.

I flung my hand back to shove him away, but the growl that vibrated through his chest, had my nipples tightening into hard peaks, and I found myself fisting his hair instead. I pulled on it hard, twisting my head, and yanked him down. As soon as that tempting lower lip was in range, I sucked it. He growled again, reaching up, fingers curling around my wrist, squeezing before pulling my hand away and shoving it onto the mattress. He took over the kiss, biting and sucking at my mouth, tongue thrusting against mine. He kissed me hard and urgent, almost painfully. Rough, hot, angry. He’d kissed me in a lot of ways during our two-year relationship, but never like this.

God help me, I wanted more. I tried to roll toward him, but he tightened his hold on me, keeping me on my side, facing away from him. His free hand dropped to my waist and he yanked at my Hooters tank roughly, tugging it up over my head, flinging it aside. Then he was working on my shorts, shoving them and my panties down my legs. I kicked my unchained foot free, and he hooked my thigh over his. I reached back, grabbing his ass, digging my other foot into the mattress so I could grind back against him.

His harsh breaths filled my head as his hand furiously worked between our bodies, tearing at the front of his jeans. I helped him shove them down past his ass, desperate to have him inside me.

Then finally, our bodies were skin to skin. I moaned as his erection prodded against my ass, dragging through my ass cheeks, down to my slit.

Then his cock was notched at my entrance. “Hunter . . .”

“Don’t talk,” he gritted. Fingers sinking into my flesh, he jerked my hips back, slamming up inside me.

I cried out as he planted a hand at the base of my neck and bent me forward. I twisted, watching him over my shoulder. He’d dipped his chin, eyes locked on where we were joined.

His big body shook as he stretched me, filling me like no one else, wrenching a helpless moan past my lips. Hunter was big. I’d forgotten how big. I didn’t have time to catch my breath, though, because he pulled out suddenly then slammed back into me. Then he kept on slamming, hard and relentless. He hissed, cursing over and over before breaking off on a gasped cry that lifted the hair at the back of my neck. His hands were hard, rough, demanding—holding me down, jerking me back—fucking into me with a desperation we were both feeling. I dug my nails into his ass, clawing at the taut muscle, mindless, hungry for more, for everything he had.

My belly clenched at the fire, the rage—the lust, burning from his eyes as he watched himself fuck me, teeth gritted, nostrils flaring.

I twisted, reached back, desperately needing some kind of connection. I tried to touch his face, but could only reach his throat, the pulse there pounding thick and heavy. His eyes shot up, locking on mine, and all that anger and heat scorched me, burned me from the inside out.

“Hunter . . .” I gasped, on the verge of begging him to give me more, something, anything.

He jerked, a shudder slicing through him. His eyes flared for a split second, and what I saw flash through them was painful to look at—then the shutters slammed down. And it was gone.

Nothing.

I flinched, my hands flying to the tangled sheets in front of me, fisting them, holding on tight as he pounded into me from behind.

I could feel those now dead eyes locked on me the whole time. His hands were at my hips, slamming my body down on his cock at the same time as he thrust inside, drilling me hard enough to knock the oxygen from my lungs. I turned away from him, stared at the fraying, floral curtains across the room, trying to fight the orgasm building hard and fast.

“Fucking look at me, Lulu,” Hunter snarled.

An anguished sound, like a wounded animal, tore from my throat. I didn’t want to look at him. I’d survived the last few years greedily reliving memories of this man when the lights went out, the only man I’d ever loved. I couldn’t look into his hate-filled eyes, not while he was inside me. I couldn’t.

He leaned forward and rough fingers grabbed my jaw, forcing me to do as he said, twisting my head to look at him. “I said look. At. Me.”

I could tell him to stop. I knew he would if I said the words. I could fight him. But I didn’t, I wouldn’t. Shame flooded me—that I’d allowed this to happen, that I’d done this to myself. And that despite everything, I wanted it still. Was so desperate for something, anything from him, that I would lay here and take his punishment, and enjoy every damn second. Because in the end, I was as messed up as him.

His lip curled in some twisted version of a smile. It wasn’t a nice smile. He knew what I was thinking, was reading every thought in my head through my eyes. He’d always been able to do that.

“You’ll always spread for my cock, won’t you, Lulu?” He let go of my jaw and trailed a hand to my breast, squeezing hard then tugged on my nipple. I felt it in my pussy. He felt it too, his eyes getting heavy before he grinned.

Humiliation burned my cheeks. “I hate you,” I whispered. It wasn’t true, but right then I wished it were. He certainly didn’t deserve my hate. But hating him would hurt a hell of a lot less than loving him. Maybe if I said it enough times, I might actually start to believe it.

His grin vanished. “Oh, I know you do, sweetheart. But you’re still going to come all over my cock, aren’t you?”

He trailed his fingers down from the corner of my eye, the action painfully slow, then over my flushed cheek to drag across my bottom lip. His thrusting hips had slowed as well.

“Such a lovely face for such a traitorous bitch.”

“Please,” I gasped and shook my head, even as I shamelessly arched against him, silently asking for more. I needed him to stop. I couldn’t listen to the contempt in his voice, his hate-filled words. But my body was betraying me. Even as I pleaded with him, I’d sunk my nails into his skin, holding him close, grinding my hips back, silently asking for him to move faster.

The grin returned because I still hadn’t said the words. I still hadn’t asked him to stop and we both knew why. I wanted him. I’d never stop wanting him.

He dragged his thumb roughly across my lip and when his gaze came back to me, that coldness had dropped, the fire and anger was back, and burning brighter than ever.

“How many other poor assholes did you screw over?”

He tugged on my nipple again, making me gasp.

“How many times did you follow orders like a good girl and take one for the team?”

“No . . . that’s not . . .”

He ground his cock deeper, and I broke off on a whimper because it felt so damn good. Better than good, better than anything.

“They have a name for that. You know what that is, don’t you Lulu?”

“Shut up.” Tears slid down my face. I gritted my teeth to stop from falling apart.

He grunted and started to move faster, pounding harder, and the burn, the delicious burn between my legs intensified. I was on the verge of coming, but I didn’t want it, not like this. I didn’t want it. But instead of telling him to get off, I squeezed my thigh over his, reached back and gripped his firm ass tighter, afraid he’d pull away.

But he didn’t pull away. He tugged down the cup of my bra, leaned over, and sucked a nipple into his mouth. His teeth grazed then bit down before he slid his tongue across the aching peak to relieve the sting, doing what he always used to do, what always did it for me. I thrashed against him, panic grabbing me by the throat as everything inside me tightened. My emotions were all over the place. I wanted to come so bad it hurt, but this was wrong, so damn wrong. I dug my nails into his skin hard enough to draw blood. He laughed, rough and low, because he knew what was about to happen.

Reaching down, he slid his fingers over my swollen clit and thrust deep once more. And I was coming, screaming through it until my throat felt raw. Releasing all the anger, the pain, pounding through me. My body convulsed uncontrollably against his. I felt him looking down at me, watching me. It didn’t matter that I had my eyes closed—I knew he hadn’t taken his off me once.

I didn’t remember doing it, but my hand was now at his back, and I shivered at the way the muscles tightened. I felt his grunt when he came, setting off aftershocks of pleasure inside me. My body jerked with each one, strange little mewing sounds coming from the back of my throat, sounds I had no control over.

He collapsed behind me, breathing hard, skin slick and hot. I lay limp beside him.

The bed shook when he moved suddenly, pulling from my body and climbing off the mattress. I felt his come start to trickle out of me, and the realization of what I’d just done hit me. God, how could I have let this happen?

I rolled to my back. “Hunter . . .” What? What the hell could I say after that? I shoved my hair off my face and sat up.

He didn’t look at me, just yanked his jeans up and tucked himself back in.

I waited for him to say something, anything.

He said nothing, turned his back on me, and, without a backward glance, walked out.