Precarious

“Where are you? What happened?”

“I’m . . . I can’t really say right now, but I just want you to know I’m safe. I needed you to hear that.”

“I’ve been so worried,” she sobs. “I thought you were dead.”

“I’m okay,” I say again. I feel like it’s all I can say.

“Should I call the police?”

“No,” I say quickly. “No, it’s fine. I . . . things are going down, and right now I don’t know what’s safest. Just sit back; I’m okay, and if I need to I will contact you again.”

“Put. That. Fuckin’. Phone. Down.”

Beau’s voice is like a whip, lashing across my nervous system and causing my hands to shake.

“I have to go, I love you,” I whisper, hanging up the phone.

I turn slowly to see him standing at the entryway, towel wrapped around his waist, his body still damp, hair dripping down his forehead. He obviously heard me, because it’s clear he’s just jumped out of the shower and hasn’t dried himself. I slowly put the phone down, placing it on the counter. Beau storms towards me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I needed my friend to know I was okay. I didn’t call the police.”

“You fuckin’ idiot,” he roars. “You didn’t need to call the police; all she needs to do is go to the cops and they’ll fuckin’ tap her phone, find where the call came from.”

“I . . .”

“You don’t fuckin’ think,” he barks. “Do you think I stole you just for any good reason? That I just thought ‘hey, this’ll be a fuckin’ hoot’. Fuck me, Ash. Shit is goin’ down, big shit that could put your life in danger. I have you here for your protection, when I really could have left you in that fuckin’ truck.”

“Oh no you don’t,” I growl. “You aren’t protecting me. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s the only reason I’m here.”

“Fuckin’ shit,” he snarls, crossing his big arms across his chest. “I pulled you in here because I wasn’t goin’ to let them put a bullet in you. I coulda left you there; don’t you fuckin’ forget that.”

“My family need to know I’m okay, do you understand me? She won’t call the cops. I made sure of it,” I yell, throwing my hands up.

“Fuckin’ women,” he hisses, storming forward and taking the phone. He picks it up and dials.

“Maddox, it’s me. We got a problem.”

His jaw tics.

“Ash made a fuckin’ call.”

I hear Maddox blow up on the other end.

“Yeah, it was my fuckin’ fault. I left the phone, it won’t happen again. She didn’t call the cops.”

He sighs and closes his eyes. “I fuckin’ know. The phone will get smashed.”

A deep breath.

“I fuckin’ know,” he bellows. “She said her friend won’t ring the cops.”

I shift, feeling a little guilty.

“Well, I have no choice but to believe her.”

He growls once more and then ends the call, spinning to me. “Get in your room, now.”

“Not sure that’s a good idea,” I say, taking a step back.

He lunges for me, catching hold of my wrist and hurling me so hard against his body he loses his towel. I squeal, but he keeps his arm pinned around me, pressing my thighs against his very naked body. His cock is resting on my belly. Even though I can’t feel the skin, I can feel its presence there.

“Your . . . your . . .”

“My fuckin’ cock is on your stomach. If you keep misbehaving I’ll find a better place for it.”

Shit.

“Get it off me,” I yell, squirming.

It twitches against my belly.

“Oh my God, stop it!”

He snorts, spinning me around. He presses my back to his chest and shoves us forward, heading down towards the room. The moment we reach the door, he pushes me inside. I stumble forward, landing on my knees. I turn without thinking, and come face to face with his cock. His very large, thick, pierced cock.

My eyes widen at the piercing. It’s a big barbell going right through the head of his cock—I mean in one side, out the other. That would have hurt like a bitch. When I realize I’m staring, I throw myself backwards with a squeal.

“Jesus, do you want to take a fuckin’ picture?” he growls, finding some jeans and jerking them on. “That’s the second time you’ve looked at my cock.”

“Well it was right in my face,” I yell. “It was kind of hard to look away.”

“Just admit it,” he mumbles, lifting me up and throwing me on the bed. “You want it.”

“Kiss my—”

“With pleasure, babe.”

Asshole.

He leans over and ruffles through some drawers, and takes out a set of handcuffs. Oh hell no. I launch myself off the bed, but his hand wraps around my ankle before I get the chance to even get off. He jerks me backwards kicking and screaming, and then he flips me over effortlessly as if I’m merely laying here. He throws his body over mine.

He jerks my hands above my head and wrestles the handcuffs on. “Get off me,” I screech, bringing my knee up to hit him, but he presses his body over mine so hard I can’t get it high enough.

“You want to disobey me, you can stay attached to this bed.”