Page 8 of His Dark Purpose

Sitting up straight, her heart pounded faster.

He’s back!

A lurid combination of apprehension and excitement lurched in her tummy at the news. She should have been afraid, and on some level, she was, but there was no denying the other jangling emotion—that low-lying attraction to the man that had slapped her in the face from the first moment she’d spotted him in the grocery store.

She swung her legs around to sit on the edge of the bed, conscious of her spiking pulse as the noise of the key turning in the lock reverberated around the room.

“Well, well, well…” His irritatingly handsome visage appeared as the door opened. “So, my little girl can be good after all.”

Chapter Three

Fractured

Amy

Shoving her free hand between her legs, Amy ignored his goading tone.

“Well done.” Kyle turned, revealing the same taut ass she’d enjoyed grabbing while he’d pounded her. Her thighs pressed together at the salacious recollections. He’d be a lot easier to hate if he wasn’t so damn tempting. “You’ve impressed me.” Straightening, he spun slowly to reveal a tray before wandering into the room.

Unwilling to meet his eyes, she turned back to the window.

“Nothing to say for yourself?” His voice had the same sardonic air as before.

“No, sir,” she mumbled, adamantly refusing to look at him. “You told me to be quiet.” She couldn’t resist that small dig, pressing her mouth into a straight line to avoid any risk of the smile that threatened to appear.

“True enough.” He shoved the door closed with his foot, and even though she pretended not to be watching him, she noticed how he didn’t lock it behind him.

For some crazy reason, that one miniscule faux pas offered the first bloom of hope she’d sensed since she’d searched for a key to the cuffs. Presumably, he intended to lock the door, but until he did, there was a slim chance that if she could rid her arm of the cuff, she could flee.

“I’m proud of you, little girl.”

She fidgeted on the bed, vexed at his patronizing response. He had no right to be proud.

He had no basis for any of it.

Grimacing with annoyance, one lingering question nagged at the back of her brain—a question she couldn’t find an answer to. If he’d told her the truth that first night—if he’d said he used to own their house in Aspen Way where she’d raised her boys, would it have stopped her from accepting his offer?

Why would it have?Her jaw clenched at the inevitable next query. Much though she disliked the choice, he hadn’t been doing anything wrong. Landlords were allowed to raise their rents.It wasn’t his fault we couldn’t afford it.

Pulling in air, she intentionally avoided his gaze as he lowered the tray onto a nearby table. Balling her free hand into a fist, she pressed her nails into her palm, the pain assuaging her as she grudgingly considered seeking his permission to speak. She detested needing to ask at all, but the threat of an erotic repercussion was more than she was willing to tolerate.

“Sir.” Her voice sounded tiny. “Can I speak?”

Deliberately sidestepping a ‘please’, she stilled, waiting on his verdict.

“Since you’ve been so good, I guess so.” He approached in her peripheral vision, thrusting a glass of water in her direction. “Here.”

“Thank you.” She took the glass in her left hand, her brow furrowing. There should have been something so normal about her lover bringing her a drink that belied her being cuffed to his fucking bed, but the glass had changed nothing.

He had her restrained there.

She was, in effect, his prisoner.

“What do you want to say?” He folded his arms in front of her, though, still, she stubbornly snubbed the invitation to look his way.

“I was wondering…” She inhaled. “Why you didn’t tell me about Aspen Way?”

“That again.” His gruff tone was dismissive, and she imagined him rolling his eyes.

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