Page 30 of Hunting Harbor

I wrap myself in blankets, not for the cold but to hold myself together. My eyes won’t close. My breath won’t slow. I wait for something to happen, something I’m not even sure I don’t want. And I keep waiting.

If my phone worked, I would call Lila, get her to come pick me up, to shake reason into me. But it doesn’t, so I have to get myself out of here. The longer I stay in his orbit, the deeper my fantasies run.

Giving into them will only bring me trouble. Looking out the window, I spot his car. My escape plan forms.

If I leave, all of this will disappear. I’ll burn this manuscript, go back to writing about my cowboys.

His breath is deep, a lullaby of false safety as my fingers tremble on the lock of my door. I'm silent and barefoot, feeling the chill of the floor bite at my toes, holding my breath so I don't scream. I tell myself I want to run. I tell myself lies. Each creak of wood is loud, each step towards the door a battle with myself. My need to escape, my need for him. I reach it. Locked. Panic blooms. Panic... and a thrill.

Then his hands on me, and I can't pretend. I can't breathe. I'm spinning out, my mind falling into a haze of lust, desire, fear andneed. My chest against the door, against him.

“Where do you think you’re going, little rabbit?”

A scream bubble up in my chest and I try fight him off, even as he chuckles and those dark eyes bore into mine. I wanted him to let me go, but not really. I wanted the mask to follow me. I wanted to be caught.

Excitement.

No.

Oh god, yes.

He turns me around so fast, I don't even know I'm moving until my back hits the door. Until he's pressed against me, a wall of heat and muscle and want. "Going somewhere, Harbor?"

I shake my head, the motion half panic, half surrender.

His hands are on me, rough and strong. "Liar."

His voice is a growl in my ear, and I feel it, deep and low. My heart is a fist pounding against his chest. My treacherous pussy is already wet, already excited for the trauma he is about to inflict. The room spins and settles, spins and settles. The key. The door. His arms caging me in.

I'm trapped and I love it, even as I fight it.

He's bigger than I thought, taller, stronger. Every inch of me screams to be let go, to be held tighter.

"You want to leave, baby girl?" He’s taunting me, knowing I don’t, knowing I can’t.

He steps back, just an inch, and I breathe, just for a moment. Just long enough to feel him pull me back, closer, tighter. I gasp, all the air leaving my lungs. "I… I don’t know."

His grip is a bruise. A promise.

I don't fight him. I can't, even as his hand trails down my body, up my thigh and under the shirt I wore to bed.Should have put pants on.

His hands are everywhere, pulling me apart until I'm raw and wanting. Pinching my nipples, twisting them as his mouth leaves open kisses on my collarbone, across my neck. I try to push him back, but he catches my wrists, forces them above my head. My body arches, and his knee presses between my thighs, opening me, exposing me. My body has a mind of it’s own as I grind down on his thigh, seeking friction, seeking relief.

Fingers thrust inside me, filling me, relentless and bruising. I’m fighting, squirming, helpless. He runs his thumb over my clit and a spark blooms across my stomach.Fuck, this is everything I should hate and everything I don’t.

I’m gasping for air, for him. My back hits the door again and again, my need for him and need to escape bleeding into one frantic beat. A brutal kiss, teeth on skin, and I’m begging.

"You want this," he says, and it's not a question. It's an accusation, a taunt.

His voice is a low growl that matches the wild tempo of my heartbeat.

I bite his lip. I taste blood, and I'm drowning in it. "Fuck you." I spit it back at him, even as I pull him closer, even as my breath tangles with his and I don’t know which one of us is lying.

His fingers are slick, ruthless, inside me. His other hand tightens on my wrists.

“Oh, baby, I see it. The fucking need in your eyes. Such a pretty little liar.” His laughter is dark and thick. I’m ready to hate him for it, ready to give in, ready to need this more than air.

And then I'm the one laughing, half mad, half gone. Maybe all gone. Maybe I want to be. "You don’t know me."

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