stare into the violet depths of his eyes and see only warmth, compassion, and that simmering promise of something more.
Something shifts between us. Without really noticing it, my hand lifts until I cup the side of his cheek. “I never doubted you would save me. You were there with me the whole time.”
“Huh?”
“Your voice.” I close my eyes and push away the ghastly images pushing in. “I heard you in my head. You told me to wait until the moment was right, and when it was, you told me to commit. You were with me the whole time.”
“Little minx, I wish I had been there. I wouldn’t have let them hurt you.”
I blink taking in what he says and give a shake of my head. “My kidnapper didn’t let the others damage the merchandise.”
Griff’s brow draws tight and his lips press together as the tension in his body builds.
My hand draws down his face until the tips of my fingers flutter over his lips. I trace the pillowy softness and press my lips together, moistening them.
Turbulent thoughts dance in his eyes, danger with a warning. Four shifts in his seat and the movement dislodges my fingers from their exploration.
Words fail me as tension swirls around us. It comes from him, knotting the muscles of his shoulders and bunching in his thighs. His grip on me tightens as he draws me closer to his chest. I’m pretty sure the hard length pressing against my ass isn’t because his tree-trunk legs are carved from granite.
Reality sets in as I understand he wants me.
The carnal hunger simmering in his eyes is a look I know well. I’m not sure what’s happening to me, but a burst of adrenaline sends my heart in a frantic gallop around my ribcage. My pulse jumps and I try to rein it in, but why do I even try?
I blink, then blink again, as his stoicism holds him back. Four has always held himself on the edge, never crossing the line between teacher and pupil.
That’s okay by me. I don’t need a man to make the first move. Trained by the necessity of survival, I’ve served men from all walks of life, every ethnicity, and every social strata. I’ve had men in all sizes and shapes: rich men, poor men, strong men, and weak men.
At first, when I was twelve, I played a game with myself, lying about the truth. I told myself that I was in control. I chose the Johns who slaked their filthy need within my flesh. I could stop whenever I wanted.
Not once did I believe I was enslaved, but I was. A slave to circumstance, and driven by the need to survive, I catered to my very first Master, Necessity, at the tender age of twelve.
I managed four years on the streets without a pimp, but then reality set in.
A distinguished man lured me with false promises and a silver tongue. He fed me a mouthful of lies which I swallowed in my desperation. He told me I could be free of the streets. I could have a better life. I could be free if I only agreed to serve his desire for one short night.
I believed every damn word.
Desperate kids are easy prey, and I was getting more and more desperate the older I got and the more my craving for drugs drove me out to hook every day. Every hour became a struggle to stay ahead of the insatiable need and bottomless craving for just one more hit.
I thought I was in control until I had the truth shoved in my face. At twelve, I thought I was free. At sixteen, I knew the truth. First by necessity, then to the drugs which poisoned my mind, then to the man with the silver tongue. He became my first Master as I realized I’d always been a slave.
I’m older now, twenty-two, curled in the arms of a man sworn to protect and defend. Four looks at me with lust and passion, but reins all of that in, content to simply hold me in his arms and soothe me with his soft whispers that I’m finally safe.
Thanks, Four, but I need something else.
I need control.
With a deep, shaky breath, I look into the most terrifying eyes I’ve ever seen. This fear is new and not based on what he will take from me, or the pain he will cause.
Four will never take anything from me. He’ll never force me to do anything. I