Page 53 of Stolen

“Is this what you want?” he asked me, now pressing the knife harder into my throat. I could feel it pierce my skin enough to draw a small amount of blood. Panic crashed through my body like lightning as I feared he might make my choice for me. “Is it?” he repeated harshly.

“No,” I replied just as harshly.

“I didn’t think so,” he seethed, returning the knife to his pocket. “Lucky for you, I have way too much fun torturing you.” The smile in his voice was evident.

“Oh, lucky me,” I said, trying to keep my breathing even.

Flipping me over onto my back, he rested his forehead against mine, keeping my wrists pinned at my sides.

“What are you?” he asked me, those devious eyes eager for my pain.

“A slave,” I answered harshly with no hesitation. They were just words to me now. They held no weight anymore.

“That’s right. And I’m going to teach you just how much of a slave you really are.” He let me go and stood, backing off me. “Get up,” he commanded.

Glaring up at him defiantly, I quickly rolled to my side and stood with ease, my hands in tight fists at my hips.

“Come here,” he said, crooking a finger at me.

On tentative footsteps, I slowly made my way over to him, watching as he removed his jacket and tie. I stopped about a foot in front of him.

“Good girl. Now, take off my shirt.”

My eyes flicked up to him in question, hesitation clear as day on my face.

“I gave you an order. Do as you’re told, or I’ll find someone who will. I’m sure Kayla would make an excellent substitute.”

Son of a bitch.

With a serious scowl on my face, I reached up to the buttons on his shirt and began pulling them apart. The sneer on his face as he watched me complete his task made my stomach coil into tiny knots, and it took everything I had to keep my hands from shaking. I tried to keep myself from touching the hard muscle that rested under his clothing, but it was not easy to avoid. By the time I was done, my heart was pounding in my chest so hard I thought it would explode.

When the buttons were free, I gripped the black shirt and gently pulled it past his shoulders and down his arms. I ignored the smirk that followed when I had to rise onto my bare toes to pull off the shirt before tossing it with his tie and jacket.

“Such a good listener,” he approved, and my fists tightened until my nails bit into my palms.

Turning my eyes back to him, I couldn’t help but agonize internally over his incredibly imposing physique. Every muscle had been sculpted to perfection, sheer strength radiating under so much tanned skin. The defined curves of his neck leading down over his broad shoulders revealed a purposeful build. A massive chest that exuded power and stamina with a ripped torso designed for the endurance and conditioning of a fighter. With long arms and so much corded muscle, I couldn’t begin to imagine the depth of destruction those limbs were capable of creating.

This man was a fucking god. And I hated him for it.

But among his physical beauty was the evidence of battle he clearly trained for. He adorned several random scars here and there around his torso and chest. They looked like they might have been knife wounds. There was also a circular scar near his left shoulder and another one near his lower right side. Bullet wounds…

“Like what you see?” he asked, amused as I looked him over.

“You’re a goddamn picture book,” I murmured, my eyes still traveling south. I wondered if he realized how much he was revealing with just the removal of his shirt. Especially when his tattoos finally caught my attention. An impressive eagle was in full flight on his left forearm as it carried a large shield in its talons with a Latin verse etched into the bottom. “Absolutum Dominium.”

Oh, how I wonder what that means...

Covering his other arm was a Gaelic design that stretched beautifully from his wrist, over his entire forearm, and up past his bicep into his shoulder. I wondered if he had Irish heritage as I did.

He narrowed his eyes at me then; a clear warning emanated from those pretty blue irises.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered as he placed his hands casually in his pockets.

My scowl returned as I slowly lowered myself to the floor.

“Take off my belt.”

I exhaled a slow deep breath as I swallowed back my protest and lifted my shaky hands to his silver belt buckle. I imagined slipping it around his neck and choking him out as I pulled it from his belt loops and tossed it on the chair. The bulge in his pants had grown even larger if that were somehow possible. I kept myself where I was, my heart pounding faster and faster as I waited for the inevitable.

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