Prisoner by Skye Warren & Annika Martin

Author:Skye Warren & Annika Martin [Warren, Skye & Martin, Annika]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-10-22T04:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Five

~Abigail~

One minute he’s feeding me blueberries. The next he’s dragging me up some stairs. Or maybe it only feels like dragging me because my feet aren’t working, maybe because I can’t see anything.

A bed. Soft, wonderful, with sheets smoother and cooler than sheets have any right to feel. Everything is a little dizzy and off center. So tired.

My shoes are off. My feet feel warm and loose, like taffy. So good. So tired.

I blink, but he’s just a fuzzy shadow in the dim light of the room. I can’t make out Grayson’s dark eyes or his cocky smile. I want to. He’s beautiful to look at, but all I can do is close my eyes and sink into his touch.

I sigh as the musky scent of him surrounds me and hands tuck me in safe and sound, but the covers are too tight, so I fight them off, which isn’t easy; my limbs feel heavy and disjointed, but I get free and find him. He’s soft grass and damp earth, and I want to lie flat on the ground of him and breathe in deep, but I can’t move. His arm is a heavy band over my waist. Trapped. For some reason that seems okay.

The tart flavor of berries lingers on my tongue.

I’m heavy and warm and a little bit floaty. I think I should always feel like this.

He drugged me.

“Don’t let go,” I whisper.

“I won’t,” he says, and I sink into him. I just want to crawl inside him… And suddenly I can’t breathe.

At first I’m not sure what’s wrong, and something hot and smooth is inside my mouth, but then I realize he’s kissing me, frenching me. I’m not sure if I like it, but then I do, because it shocks me with feeling. And his warm hands are weights on my skin, under my shirt, pulling at my bra.

I move against him. Our bodies are two animals, sliding against each other with perfect rhythm. Something rubs my shin, just a little rough. It takes me a century to realize it’s his leg on mine, and there’s something a little magic about his skin, his warmth. I say his name.

“I got you,” he whispers. I feel this strange coolness on my breasts, exposed, like my arms are tangled up and my face is warm. I try to get free, but my arms still aren’t working, and then it doesn’t matter because they’re free, and this new sensation is even more delicious, all the cold, all the heat, all at once.

I know my breasts are bare, but it’s wonderful in the darkness. I’m dimly aware that he’s kissing them, touching me. Rough hands on my thigh make me move and squeeze my legs together, and I think how wonderful it is to have things feel amazing. I’m trying to stay aware—I don’t want him to think I’m not paying attention, but I go somewhere off in the floaty distance, and when I come back to him, I realize I’m totally naked, and I can move and feel and be with him.

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