Page 12 of Unhinged Cravings
The door was open, and I drew my gun, finding Pack staring at the bed. Ava was thrashing, the covers tangled around her body, her hands scratching at the air like they were digging for something.
“I found her like this. She’s having some kind of nightmare,” he said, frowning.
“Well, wake her up.”
Another scream, this one so guttural it ripped through me. I moved toward the bed, but Pack stopped me.
“It’s not good to wake somebody from a nightmare.”
Jerking my arm away, I looked back at her.
“Go, I’ve got this.” I tucked my gunin my pants as more screams poured from her. They were getting more desperate, her voice cracking from the strain on her throat.
Pack left, and I heard him pushing my other men from the room before the door closed. If I couldn’t wake her, I didn’t know what to do. She looked so fragile, so wounded, her face contorted with terror and pain. I had killed, taken body parts, bloodied faces, tortured enough to recognize it. Most times, it fed me, but not this time. I wanted to wipe it from her.
On instinct, I crawled into the other side of the bed and wrapped my arm around her, drawing her flailing body into mine. This was not something I did, comforting a hostage, comforting anyone. I didn’t make connections or hold women for any more than necessary. I was cold and brutal, taking what I wanted and reciprocating pleasure only when I was in the mood, but something about holding Ava seemed natural.
A broken whimper caused a twinge in my chest. I brushed her hair from her face and murmured, “Shhh. You’re safe.” A complete lie, but one that came out with surety.
She continued to thrash for a few more minutes until her body calmed and she fell further against me. I pulled her closer, spooning her and hating how nice it felt. The floral scent of her shampoo greeted me, and I buried my face in her hair, breathing it in. Another whimper, quiet and sad, came from her and no matter how I wanted to remove myself from her bed and the situation, I didn’t want her to suffer anymore.
Suffer? When had I gone soft and worried that a prisoner was suffering? Anger surfaced, a need for self-preservation taking over until her hand covered mine and pulled it toward her face. Positioned between her breasts, I couldn’t help but notice the weight of them, the softness and how unbound they were. Shit, she still wasn’t wearing a bra. I’d realized it when she was at breakfast, her nipples pressing against the fabric of her gray T-shirt with the outline of her nipple rings prominent. Her brazen attitude had threatened to make me hard, but that sight had done the job. Shewas everything I’d never considered in a woman but was now craving.
The thought had my pants growing uncomfortably tight, and I tried pulling my hand away, only to have her stop it. She was not letting me go. I was certain she had no idea who was holding her, or she would have been slathering me in snarky comments and kicking me out—like she held the power in any of this.
Giving up my fight to leave, I scooted up so my body completely eclipsed her frame and rested my head on the pillow. Sleep never came easily to me. My mind was overactive, my worries incessant. But something about holding Ava silenced the voices and let sleep in. Something I didn’t realize until a smart-assed voice broke my peace with, “Is this how you get your thrills? Sneaking into women’s beds and feeling them up, Emerson?”
She really needed to stop using my real name. Only my brother did that, and it pissed me off more every time he did. But I let it go, finding something cute about the way she said it. Cute?
I blinked my eyes open, suddenly aware that I was palming her breast and not disliking the fact that her nipple was completely taut below it.
“I don’t have to sneak into women’s beds,” I groused, removing my hand even though I’d really wanted to tug on that nipple ring and hear what sounds it evoked.
“No? You just force them into yours?”
“Fuck you,” I grumbled, rolling onto my back and trying to get my bearings.
She turned toward me, something I hadn’t expected, and I squinted at her. She looked even more adorable when she woke up. Her hair was tussled, her eyes a lush chestnut, a fresh flush on her cheeks. I wiped my hand over my face, questioning how I’d lost my mind in the last twenty-four hours.
“Why are you in my bed, Emerson?”
This woman had no fear other than what she experienced in her dreams. She was bold and sassy. Fearless or pretending to be.What had happened to her to cause a nightmare that vivid and terrifying? An instinct to kill whoever had left that damage surged, and I shoved it away.
“It’s Cade, and it’s my bed, not yours.”
Her brow quirked, and I noticed a divot where a piercing should have been. Was there anywhere on her body that wasn’t pierced? The possible answer to that question had me throbbing. Ava Shelton was a woman unlike any who ran in my circles, and the urge to flip her over and discover every tattoo and piercing fought for dominance.
“It’s my bed while you have me imprisoned and I like Emerson. You don’t look like a Cade.” She smirked and tiptoed her hand up my chest before I grabbed it and pushed it away. “Now tell me why you’re in my bed.”
“Only if you tell me why you think it’s smart to flirt with your captor.” Because that’s what I was. A man who would kill her if my brother didn’t come through. A tug of doubt had me suddenly questioning my plans.
“I’m not flirting,” she said, laughing. “This is how I always am. In your face and loud. If you don’t like it, then send me home.”
“Good try, but I’m not sending you anywhere.” And why had I not gotten out of the bed? Damn it, this was bad. I sat up and ran my hand through my hair, sensing her eyes on me. “I’m in your bed because you were having nightmares.”
A startled intake of air had me looking over at her. She scrambled from the bed and, for the first time since she’d come into my life with her attitude and brash remarks, she looked scared. Hand rubbing her neck, she said, “I did?” Her voice was meek, and I tipped my head at the difference.
“Yes, a violent one.”
