Page 45 of The Catcher

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, tossing it over to me. I caught it clumsily.

“I’ve got it narrowed down. I put the dates of your last period in the tracker app. Put in there how wet you are.”

What the fuckI thought, looking blindly down at his phone. The bubbles to enter the passcode lit up.

“It’s 2021,” he said. “The year Salvador Perez hit 48 home runs. I want to beat that record.”

I put in 2021.

“He only hit 33 of those as a catcher,” I said, and his mouth curved up. “Clever girl, Em. You know baseball. But don’t give me lip.”

I flicked through his phone to see what he was talking about.

“Did your old phone break?” I asked, remembering how I’d seen him hurl it more than once in the corner of the dugout after striking or grounding out.

“No,” he said. “Too many people knew my old number, and I don’t want to fuck any of them anymore.”

I felt a sudden, unwelcome flash of excitement mixed with fear. Did that mean he didn’t want to have sex with anyone else? On the one hand, it was frightening to think he was still obsessed with breeding me. On the other hand, I couldn’t help feeling atinyflare of pleasure.

“There,” Tanner said, pointing at the app. I flicked it open and found the start and finish date of my last period, as well as the projected date of my ovulation, signs to watch for that I was ovulating, and tips to get pregnant. I clicked out of it rapidly and handed the phone back to him without looking.

After what had happened the last time Tanner Courtenay had me, I had gotten approved for a NuvaRing, so I wouldn’t have to worry about him tearing through my stash of birth control pills or patches.

I felt a sinking sense of déjà vu as we pulled into Tanner’s private garage, and into his personal parking spot. I followed him silently to the elevator. I had absolutely nothing with me—no clothes, no toiletries, nothing but a box of school supplies and my purse.

But that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Me totally under his power.

Tanner grabbed me as soon as we got inside his big penthouse apartment, peeling my shirt off, pulling down my skirt. Oh, I remembered what it was like to be overpowered by him—torn at with strong, angry hands, hair and clothes pulled impatiently until I was where he wanted me.

We fell onto the bed, Tanner on top of me. He pounced over me, caging me in, his hands ripping at my bra. I began to feel that squirmy sensation in my panties, still wet from the car. His mouth fell on my neck, his hands running up and down my body. I heard his groan vibrating from his chest into mine and his lips took my sensitive flesh in his mouth again.

“Shit, Emrys,” he said, his hands moving from grabbing and pinching my nipples to rip at my panties, jerking them off and throwing them down. My pussy felt like it was vibrating with expectation. I tried to keep my wet thighs together, in a last-minute desperate bid, but he drove his knees throughthem, parting me savagely. I felt a brief moment of terror and anticipation, then he sunk his cock into me.

“Fuck yes,” he called out, loud in my ear, glorying in how he sunk into me and he pulled out and thrust again, as hard as he could.

“You’re not going to leave again,” he warned me over the slaps of our flesh connecting. “I won’t let you.”

He took me so hard and fast that I didn’t know if he could stop, pinning my arms, his lips and teeth falling greedily to the skin that had been unmarked.

“Mine,” he growled, his mouth opening to suck my nipple, then bite the soft skin at the hollow of my collarbone, my back arching off the bed with the contact, and I could feel his thighs already tensing, releasing into me with a harsh guttural groan that reverberated through my skull and seemed to flay me alive with the power of his obsession.

“Fuck, I needed that,” he said, rolling off me.

I watched Tanner through sleepy eyes, swinging his tall, lean body into his sweatpants again, then grabbing his pack of cigarettes and stepping onto the balcony, the lights of the city glittering behind him. He left the door open, settling into the chair, his eyes still on me.

I felt self-conscious and hyperaware of his gray eyes on me. I didn’t want to stand up to let him see my naked ass, so I slipped into the big T-shirt he had been wearing, then crossed my legs underneath me.

That was probably the wrong thing to do when I saw his eyes sharpen.

“Come over here,” he said.

I hesitated, but I knew I would do what he said. I always did.

I got off the bed and walked slowly toward him. He still sat in his chair on the balcony. No shirt and his low-slung sweatpants, his legs fallen open. He watched me with narrowed silvery eyes as he sucked in on his cigarette, the motion hollowing his cut-glass cheekbones.

When I stopped in front of him, I saw his eyes look me slowly up and down.

“What are you waiting for?” he said. “Sit down.”

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