Page 10 of Stolen Vows

I pace for a while, and eventually pull an armchair around to face the largest window that looks out over the forest.

It’s dark, but not entirely silent, interrupted by a few hoots and rustles from animals out there in the night.

My ears are perked up to every little thing, but after everything that has happened today, I am struggling to keep my eyes open.

I knew taking her from her own wedding was risky. And in the back of my mind I knew there was always the possibility that the timing would be all wrong, that no one would leave her alone long enough for me to grab her.

It’s like fate knew she needed to get out of there. My timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

But her dad won’t stop looking until he finds her. This much I know. My body sags as I allow myself a moment to relax.

Eventually, I lean my head back against the soft plushness of the chair behind me, my eyes drifting shut for a moment.

They’re not going to come looking for her here tonight,I assure myself.They’re still trying to figure out what happened in the first place. If I’m going to rest, it needs to be tonight, because soon, I’ll have to put up a fight for my life...

I’m not sure exactly when I slip into sleep. I linger between waking and sleeping for a long while, not quite sure whether I am in the real world or not. Shooting looks towards the bedroom door, my head is full of her—what I am going to do with her, how we are going to keep her here, how difficult she is going to make all of that for me.

There’s something sharp-edged about her, something more intense than I had predicted. Most girls like that would just curl up and let it happen, hope that they didn’t get hurt in the process, but she stands her ground as best she can, even when she must know it will land her in danger...

All at once, I can see her in her white dress, ready to walk down the aisle and give herself to that man, the man that her father chose for her. As I linger in that place between sleep and waking, the images flow together with ease; the skirt rippling around her waist, the flowers clutched in her hands, the strange, unreadable expression on her face that looked something close to relief.

And, suddenly, there I am beside her in my dream—not pulling her out of the window, as I did in real life, but behind her. My arms slipping around her waist, pulling her against me, taking the very thing that her father has tried to offer up to someone else, the warmth of her body pressed to mine as though she belongs there.

I know it’s wrong. I know she doesn’t want me like that. But there is a part of me that desires her—perhaps just misplacedpossessiveness, perhaps something else entirely, but I can’t deny it.

The dream is so vivid, I can almost smell the scent of her skin, the fragrance of her coursing through me and filling me to the very brim. I let myself sink into the dream, at least for now, a brief moment of respite from the stress that has surrounded me these last few weeks as we put together this plan of action.

I move her against the wall, pressing myself into her, the silk and lace of her dress bunching up between us. She half-glances over her shoulder, and I can see that flash of fear in her eyes again, but mixed with something like wanting—something that demands my attention. I gather her skirts in my hand and pull them aside, slipping my hand between her legs and sliding it over her lips, and I can already feel how wet she is for me, how much she wants me.

Tell me,I order her, my voice sounding as though it comes from someone else entirely.Tell me what you want...

But she has long since lost the ability to speak, her eyes communicating everything I need from her. I sink my fingertips into her thigh, feeling the way her soft flesh gives below me, and it strikes me how vulnerable she is... but instead of scaring me off, it only draws me in closer. As though she is an unwritten tablet, and I am the first to write my words upon her.

I draw my hardness into my hand, guiding it against her body, letting her feel the thickness of me pressed to her for a moment, and I slip my arm around her waist, hand flattening against her belly. I hear a slight gasp escape her lips, and her eyes search for mine again, as though making certain that I am not going anywhere. But as I hold her to me, all I can think about is keeping her close. Making her mine. My mind blurring thelines between taking her and having her, kidnapping her and consuming her...

I buck my hips forward, thrusting deep into her, and listen to the slow gasp that escapes her lips as she feels me within her. Her jaw slackens, and I slip my hand to her face, guiding her gaze around to me. Her eyes are distant, hazy, but they are still searching for me in all of this, still needing me and wanting me here. The feel of her around me is so delicious, I have to still myself to keep from going over the edge, holding myself there, just stirring my hips against her, until I hear the words slip past her mouth.

More.

It takes me a moment to realize what she wants from me, but when I do, I am more than happy to give it to her. She seems hardly able to speak past a word or two, but that’s all I need. I draw back and thrust back into her once more, driving myself deep inside of her, feeling her most intimate parts wrapping around me like she is inviting me further. Her back arches, and I lift my fingers to her face, feeling the rough raspiness of her breath on my skin as I take her in long strokes.

I slow myself, even as the pleasure begins to get the better of me. There is something about the warmth of her breath on my fingertips, her body moving against mine as though she wants nothing more than to feel me, that has me close to the edge, even though I am well experienced in keeping myself from finishing too quickly. I groan, pressing my face into the back of her neck, the stirring pleasure rising and rising until?—

A sound shocks me out of my slumber, and I jerk upright, springing to my feet, still hazy from sleep. The dream is so vivid,I can almost smell the scent of her lingering in my senses, but I know it’s nothing more than a fantasy.

I rush to the door and throw it open, looking out into the dark night beyond, trying to figure out what drew me from my sleep. But there’s nothing there, nothing that would suggest anything has actually happened. Just my paranoia.

Or perhaps my subconscious, trying to stop me from going any further with her in my dream than I already have. I push a hand through my hair and let out a sigh. It's not that I am actually attracted to her, of course. Yes, she’s pretty, but there are plenty of pretty girls in the world that have nothing to do with a bastard like Lucio Leone, let alone the fact that I took her from her damn wedding day.

And yet, as I glance back towards her bedroom door, something nags at me. I know she couldn’t have sneaked out, but still... a noise woke me, pulled me from the depths of sleep, and I need to know whether there is anything going on inside this cabin.

I head to her door and check that the lock is still pushed over. It seems to be, and as I scan the area around it, I can’t make out anything that might indicate something has changed. I pause there for a moment, wondering if I should look inside. Even if she’s not in the middle of something intimate, like undressing, I get the feeling she’d fly off the handle at me for invading her privacy.

But I can’t let that bother me. I kidnapped her, for fuck’s sake—I can check on her anytime I want to. As quietly as I can, I push the lock back and crack open the door, peering inside to make certain that she is right where I left her.

And she is. But as I stand there in the door for a moment, I find myself staring at her for a little longer than I need to. She is reclined on the bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, her face half-turned to the side, where a beam of moonlight is laying over her cheek. It almost looks like a slash on her skin, so pale and cold. She’s so untouched in every other way, from the white dress I found her in to the marble-clearness of her skin, it’s almost hard to imagine anyone laying a hand on her, let alone in the way that I did in my dream.

My hand flexes at my side, trying to crush down the desire the dream stirred in me as best I can. It’s the first time I have seen her as anything other than a problem. And for some reason, this feels a million times more intimate than the dream I just had about her, as vivid as it was.

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