Page 10 of Enraptured

CHRISTOS

“WHY ISN’T SHE WAKING?”

My soft Italian loafers pace across the plush carpet in the master bedroom of my Gulfstream.

“It’s hard to say.”

My fists grab Beckett by his collar, hauling him three inches off the floor. Jaw clenched, the veins in my neck throb, “I didn’t pay you a half a million Euros for that answer.”

He places his palms up begging me to let go. Casting him away in disgust, my hands run through my disheveled hair. I’ve been lost without my little dove. Lost, horny as fuck and angry; enraged that she got inside the black heart I was told would never beat.

But she made it beat, harder than it ever has before.

And if I thought I couldn’t feel she proved that to be dead wrong—all I’ve felt is the bitter pain, emptiness and despair of losing my sweet little pet. I hunted every inch of Europe for her. I knew she was here somewhere. My connections at Interpol were on the look out for her passport everywhere. But she never tried to run home. I lost my mind knowing she was so close but so hard to find.

When I did finally locate her, the giddy feeling that rushed through me rivaled even the first time I came in her.

She will be mine, again. And this time she won’t escape my sweet captivity. If only she’d wake up. Fists clenching, I growl sitting next to her on the bed as the incompetent doctor checks the saline IV dripping down to enter her bloodstream.

“It’ll work,” he tries to reassure me. “It might take two bags. But it should flush the drugs from her system.”

“Can she hear me?”

“There’s no way to know.”

Taking her frail hand in mind, my finger traces the blue veins. “I think you can hear me, little one. You can’t ever escape this… escape us.”

Her fingers twitch.

“She’s trying to fight the drugs.”

“It seems that way.” The doctor replies.

My lips find hers, my hand cups her mound hard through the silk nightie I changed her into myself.

“Leave us,” I bark.

He hesitates eyes wide at my hands on her unconscious body. “Sir? You wouldn’t?”

“It’s none of your business. Get out!”

His face is beet red, embarrassed but the tent in his pants betrays him to be the sick fuck of a doctor who’s easily bribed. He reluctantly leaves, shutting the door and I turn back to my sweet broken bird. “I... think I might love you,” I whisper, hands stroking her breasts and thighs over the silk. Her lips part, chest flushing but she stays hanging somewhere between reality and dreams.

My hands clutch the V of the silk between her breast, ripping it apart to expose her flesh to my greedy eyes.

She’s thin.

The lines of her ribs are showing; her round hips are trimmer.

But I like my woman meatier, thicker in the ass and breasts. I’ll force feed her if I have to, but I’ll get my dove back.

“Your body betrays you, little one. No one understands this but you and me. Never doubt I’ll do what I need, to get you to come back to me.”

My lips roll her pale pink nipple. I almost come in my two-thousand-dollar Armani pants at the feel of her gumdrop tit rolling on my tongue.

My long finger slides up her hot, wet slit.

She might be incoherent but she’s not immune to my touch.

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