Page 45 of Cry, Little Dove

I should show Cain this place, I think and flinch like I got whipped.

A heavy sigh streams from my lips. What if I actually got away from Cain?

My shoulders drop and I pick up a rock, tossing it into the water. I watch the ripples spread, attempting to decipher the vague, cold heaviness in my chest.

Did he give up this easily? Am I not worth the effort of the chase?

A crack comes from behind me, and I turn, eyes wide. Nobody. I’m still alone. It’s probably an animal that—

A hand snaps onto my mouth, and a scream dies in my throat. I’m yanked back, against a warm wall of muscle.

Cain.

The ice behind my ribs melts. I breathe in the scent of tobacco clinging to his fingers, and my heart swells. Even as metal presses against my temple, I feel like giggling—with a damn gun to my head.

Maybe Cain is right, and I’m as fucking crazy as he is, but I don’t want to waste any thoughts on that.

Only one thing matters in this moment:

Cain didn’t give up on me. He found me.

“You shouldn’t’ve stopped running,” he whispers, and my skin pebbles, my nipples hardening. “Or do youwantto be caught, my little dove? Do you want me to break your wings and make you cry again?”

His tongue slithers along my cheek, leaving a wet, hot trail. I make a keening noise as I push my ass against him and he groans, his cock already stiffening.

“I got you all figured out,” he drawls. “You’re a masochist, but nobody before me managed to drag that part of you into the light. I reckon you didn’t know about it or tried your hardest to ignore it. You fantasized a little, but you never thought it was real until I showed you the truth. I think that’s why you haven’t tried to escape this far and why your attempt now was half-assed. You let me catch you because you’re addicted to the pain, and you know only I can satisfy your cravings. Only I understand you.”

His words shake me to the core, uprooting what is left of my sanity. A tide of fear and lust rises in my chest, stealing my last breath.

Cain lets go, spinning me around so fast I get dizzy. He aims the revolver at my head. “Strip,” he orders.

He’s a walking contradiction in his dirt-stained slacks and muddy suede loafers. His right sleeve is torn, the top buttons of his shirt ripped open. His body shadows mine, and I can feel myself falling into those dangerous green eyes.

He’s the wolf in sheep’s clothing, a villain in the guise of a normal man, and I have never wanted him more.

I undress with shaking hands. My panties come off last and I flush when I notice the dewy spot in the crotch. I stand naked opposite Cain in the middle of the woods, adrenaline rushing through me.

I can’t separate terror from arousal any longer.

They feel the same—that breathlessness, the racing heart, the light sweat on my brow—the difference doesn’t exist.

“Brace yourself on that flat boulder and bend over,” he says through gritted teeth, pointing with his revolver. “If you disobey me again, the next bullet will be in your head.”

Pleasure aches pulse in my pussy. I bite my lip, the urge to submit warring with the temptation to provoke him further to see how far he’ll go. My need to please him wins.

“Yes, sir,” I respond and walk to the boulder, bending over to press my palms against the smooth, sun-warm stone.

“Spread your legs.”

I do, but he tuts with disapproval, nudging a foot against the inside of my calf. “Wider,” he grunts, satisfied once my thighs are straining from the position. “That’s better.”

There is movement behind me and crinkling, and when I glance over my shoulder, Cain is slipping a condom over the revolver’s barrel. The confusion must be plain on my face because he smirks, giving a one-armed shrug.

“Your pussy is mine, Erica, and I take good care of my things. I don’t wanna wreck that perfect, tight hole with a piece of iron. That’s what my cock is for.” He juts his chin out. “Now look straight ahead and stand still. You don’t move until I tell you to.”

Cool metal touches the bend of my knee, sliding upward, and the hairs on my arms rise. The thin, lubricated condom lets me feel everything, almost as if it isn’t there, but it can’t protect me from bullets.

My skin prickles and my breath stutters as the tip of the barrel travels between my legs. He drags it along my center, parting my wet seam, and a shiver rolls through me. I have no brain capacity left to consider how wrong it is that being chased is amazing foreplay to me and I’m literally about to get a gun shoved up my cunt.

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