We go down in a crumpled heap, overbalanced by the weight of two drenched people. I catch his accidental elbow to my stomach in the fall, knocking the wind from my lungs. Lucas also hisses in pain, his fingers digging into my thigh. I think my knee landed on his balls.
Nudging me off him none too gently, Lucas lumbers to his feet. His face is set in a steely scowl. Wasting no time and offering me no choice, he hoists me over his shoulder in a fireman carry. I struggle feebly, mostly on principle, but whatever overcame me before is evaporating, logic setting back in.
Mortified, soaked to the bone, and covered in mud, Lucas gets me into his car. My burning palms throb from the scrapes. I stare out the window through the rain.
“What about my car?”
A muscle jumps in his jaw as he buckles my seatbelt with a jerky movement. He covers me with the rain jacket, tucking it around me. “I’ll take care of it.”
He slams my door and gets in on the other side, shifting the car into gear. He whips us around without a word to me.
On the way back up the incline, he punches the controls on the dash to turn the heat on high. It helps with my shivering and chattering teeth. He also calls Devlin to come pick up my car, then reports the blocked road to the community’s security personnel.
As we’re about to reach his house, he cuts a sharp look my way. His face has become a mask that I can’t penetrate.
“This time I guess I’m kidnapping you for real. I’m not letting you go.”
I gulp and shift against the seat, my wet clothes heavy and giving me the weird sensation of being trapped.
When we arrive, he appears at my door before I’ve even undone my seatbelt. Most of the people that were outside huddle on the wraparound porch and have crowded into the house to keep out of the rain. I don’t fight him when he takes me by the hand and leads me back into the house.
“Great news!” Lucas announces in a booming voice as he navigates through his house. He pauses on the stairs to address the party. “The road out’s blocked. Let’s keep this party going all night!”
Cheers erupt and the music pulses louder.
Lucas squeezes my hand and drags me upstairs. I don’t see Alec on the couch anymore.
“Where’s Alec?”
“Devlin helped me get him to a room right after I went to get him water. Devlin said he’s sleeping it off. He’ll be fine.” He tosses a narrow-eyed glance over his shoulder. “I came downstairs to find you, but you weren’t here.”
I roll my lips between my teeth and avert my eyes. Lucas leads me up two flights of stairs. We pass framed family photos on the wall that all feature Lucas smiling broadly on worldwide vacations, with Lancelot and Devlin, in his football gear. He was a cute kid.
At the landing, Lucas pauses. His shoulders twitch. In one smooth move, he pushes me against the wall and holds my face between his hands.
“Don’t ever fucking scare me like that again.”
I stare into his eyes, my heart thudding. I give him a slight nod.
Then he kisses me, crashing our lips together with a wild edge that I have no defense against.
Twenty-One
Gemma
“As soon as it’s warm, get in,” Lucas instructs. “Can’t have you catching pneumonia.”
The bathroom connected to his room is like a hotel suite with marble floors, dark granite countertops with a glass bowl for a sink, and live edge wood shelves. He starts the shower and retrieves a first aid kit from a hidden cabinet. Lucas drops the soft case onto the counter and peels off his shirt, dropping it with a wet slap in front of the hamper.
I shift my weight. My palms are tender.
Lucas pauses and raises an eyebrow at me when he finds I haven’t moved from the middle of the room.
“Did you get water in your ears?”
I shake my head.
Lucas points at the curtain. “Then get in the goddamn shower.”
He turns his back on me again with a huff, muttering to himself. He doesn’t appear to be leaving me alone in here. I follow him with hawk eyes as he sets a few fluffy gray towels on the rack beside the shower.
“Um…” My arms wrap around my middle when I have his attention. I can tell his patience is teetering on the edge of snapping. “Are you—Were you going to shower after me?”
A hot pulse spreads from my belly as he rakes his eyes over me, the protective concern overwritten by blatant desire.
“I’m not leaving until you get in the shower.” He pops the button on his filthy jeans and shoves them off, displaying muscular thighs and curly golden leg hair. “Now get in. Or do you need me to take control again?”
“No.” I bite my lip. “Can’t you turn around or something?”
Lucas stalks across the bathroom, right up in my face. He exhales through his nose, then peels my jacket off. He yanks on the hem of my thin, damp sweater and it comes up over my head. My lips press together as I shiver in a black cotton bralette and ripped skinny jeans.
The only sound in the room is the hiss of the shower and our breaths as steam fills the room and we stare each other down.
“Boots next.”
I swallow past the thickness of my tongue and toe out of my boots. His fingers go to my jeans. When I freeze, Lucas’ calculating gaze moves over my face. He tips his head to the side, then turns around to lean against the wall.
“Hurry up.”
Squinting at Lucas to make sure he doesn’t peek, I wriggle out of the rest of my clothes. It’s a little weird to stand naked while he’s turned around. I cup an arm over my breasts and splay a hand in front of my vagina. I realize as I step into the shower this is totally pointless, but it helped in my head.
As soon as the hot water hits me I let out a faint moan of relief. It hits me then how the cold clings to my body.
Over the rush of the shower, I can hear Lucas moving around.
Is he seriously going to stay in the bathroom while I shower?
Twenty-Two
Lucas
The white noise of the shower running calms me down, the lingering fear of seeing her hurt fading.
I take my time stripping out of my briefs, giving her a minute to warm up. My skin feels slimy after peeling off the dirty clothes, smears of mud and dead leaves stuck to my neck and hair. I grip the edges of the sink counter.
Gemma pisses me off so much, but at the same time I have never felt the icy grip of terror like that before.
When we were out in the rain and she was fighting me I just…shut down. I had no way to hold back my carnal need to control the situation—to control her. All I knew was that I needed to keep her safe. The best way to do that was to bring her home with me.
I might never let her leave, not until I’m satisfied she’s safe.
There’s a whisper at the back of my mind that the only thing keeping her safe is me. It’s making me think up dangerous, crazy ideas.
A soundless laugh shakes my shoulders.
I really am some twisted king, keeping the kidnapped princess in a pretty cage.
My stomach clenches and I can’t wait another second. I need to see her, feel her in my hands to know she’s out of harm’s way. I peel the curtain aside and climb into the shower with her.
“Wh—Lucas!”
Gemma’s indignation and flustered fury greets me. It’s adorable how her mouth pops open and closes, her brows flat over her green eyes. She scrambles to cover herself, snagging a small washcloth that hides nothing. Grimy water sluices off her body and swirls around the drain. There’s a twig tangled in her hair.
My heart skips a beat as we stand there. I keep my eyes level with hers, but desire claws at me to look down and take her in.
Holding eye contact, I turn her around by the shoulders so she faces into the spray.
“Wash.”
“But—”
“We’re just showering. I’m not going to do anything to you. Relax.”
Releasing a ragged noise and peering at me from the corner of her
eye, she tentatively goes back to cleaning up. Once the stiff pinch in her shoulders eases, I grab the soap and reach over her shoulder to wet it. I catch the curve of her holding air in her cheeks from her profile and my lips twitch.
“There’s a stick in your hair.”
“Oh. Can you…?”
My fingers thread into her wet strands to free it. As I keep her distracted with stick removal, I swirl the soap bar against her back where she can’t reach. She makes a small sound, but doesn’t stop me from washing her.
The shower fills with the fresh scent. She’s going to smell like me. That possessive thought tugs deep in my groin and I have to lock my jaw to keep from pinning her to the wall and grinding against her smooth skin.
Gemma relaxes for me, her head drooping forward as I massage her back. I take my time dragging my fingers all over her back, teasing close to the swell of her ass. Gemma’s breath catches.
“Which one is the shampoo?”
“That one.” I point it out and take it from her hands. “I’m doing it. Stay still and close your eyes so you don’t get soap in them.”
Squirting a dollop into my palm, I work her hair into a steady lather, going slower than I did with her back. Her breathing is uneven, but her body loosens.
Gemma falls into a quiet trance as I take care of her. Every minute my hands are on her, every fiber of my being sings with satisfaction.
After I finish, I direct her beneath the shower head to rinse.
“Turn around,” I rumble against her ear when she pulls her head back.
Gemma snaps out of the relaxed trance.
Her hesitation is a palpable thing. I trace patterns over the curve of her shoulders with my fingertips. I stand close enough to feel the kiss of her flushed skin against my chest.
“Turn around and look at what you do to me.”
Gemma spins to face me, holding my gaze with wide eyes. It takes her a few seconds. I can see the thoughts rippling across her expression as she works up the courage. Then her eyes dart down to take in my erection. They widen more and her lips part.
A gravelly chuckle leaves me.
“That’s what you do to me, baby.” I touch her chin. “Now, give me your hands.”
Her eyes fly to my face. “I’m not jerking you off!”
Snorting, I circle my hand around my cock and give it a lazy pull.
“That’s not what I meant.”
Gemma watches my hand move on my dick, transfixed by the languid way I squeeze and stroke. She sucks her lower lip into her mouth, making the desire to put her on her knees and fuck her pouty lips roar to life. I can’t hold back a slight groan. With one more tug, I release my dick.
“Give me your hands.”
Gemma places her injured hands in mine and I turn them. I hold her attention as I carefully clean the scrapes. Gemma hisses when I wipe a deeper cut, but keeps a brave face. When I’m done, I kiss both of her hurt palms.
“My turn.”
Gemma opens her mouth to argue with me. Once again, she assumes I’m only after one thing here. I’m not a mindless asshole, I can multitask.
I nudge her aside and step under the spray with a satisfied hum. My palms glide over my body as I quickly wash the muck away.
Gemma coughs and her glance falls away. I smirk and turn my face into the water, raking my fingers through my hair.
That’s right, sweetheart. We’re only biding time here.
Gemma will finally give in and all will be right with the world. I’ll prove once again that no one refuses me. More importantly, that she can’t refuse me.
Gemma is the only one I care about making that point to anymore. She could only hold out for so long.
My mouth waters with the tantalizing taste of success. It hangs in the air, the sweet flavor of her impending submission to my control. I’m going to take it.
Once I’m clean, I step out of the shower.
“Stay in as long as you want. I’ll put clothes out for you.”
I kick at her dirty pile of clothes in the middle of the floor. After I dry off, I tug on a pair of briefs.
The water splashes against the tile as Gemma stands beneath the showerhead again. She hums and it draws my attention. The curtain is sheer. I can see her silhouette, the curve of her hips and tits as she runs her hands over her hair.
Blowing out a quiet exhale, I sit down on the closed toilet lid.
The shower shuts off a minute later.
“Can you hand me a towel?”
I rest my elbows on my knees. “Get out. They’re right next to the shower.”
“I’m naked,” Gemma grumbles.
“I’m aware.” I snort, imagining the expression on her face. “I’ve already seen. You’re not going to surprise me. Hell, the curtain’s practically see-through, so I can still see all of you. Every sexy inch.”
An indignant little mutter comes from behind the curtain. Then Gemma gets out in a streak of bare skin, covering her body with her arms. Well, trying to.
I can still pretty much see everything. Covering her nipples doesn’t change that I know what they look like hardened and speckled in droplets. I lick my lips at the desire spiking in my groin.
She gets a towel wrapped around herself, cheeks flaming and eyes avoiding me. I shake my head wryly and head for the door to my bedroom. I pause to wave at the pile of clothes on the sink.
“There’s stuff to wear. Bring the first aid kit. I’ll be in here.”
The lock clicks once the door shuts.
“I’ve been able to pick that lock since I was twelve.” Gemma’s grouchy response is muffled. “Devlin and I were bored. We watched a YouTube video to learn.”
“Stay outside!”
I hold my hands up in surrender, even though she can’t see. I sit down on the floor and lean against the wall next to the bathroom door.
All Gemma has to wear are the clothes I gave her.
My insides flutter when she steps out of the bathroom with the first aid kit. My t-shirt hangs from her shoulders, exposing her collarbone. The boxers are like baggy shorts on her. She looks so good in my clothes.
She looks mine.
The wave of possessiveness that overtakes me is an unstoppable force.
“Shit,” I groan. “Come here.”
I clasp her wrist and drag her down to straddle my lap. She lands with a soft oof, legs splayed on either side of my body.
The first aid kit tumbles to the floor beside us, but neither of us move to get it. We’re too wrapped up in each other.
A rumble builds in my chest. I want to do everything at once—kiss her, slide my hands up the sides of the boxers, fuck her.
“Lucas,” she whispers after a tense beat.
I know she feels how hard I am. I love the little blush that creeps up her neck.
“You can’t escape now, sweetheart. I’ll lock you away in my tower.”
Gemma’s lashes flutter when I grind my cock against her. I go again when she doesn’t protest, greedily gliding my palms everywhere, cupping her tit through the t-shirt. I breathe in her warm skin, getting a rush because she smells so good with my scent on her body.
A hush falls over us, blanketing the room in a bubble. The intense anger and fear I felt in the last hour, coupled with that shower with her, has me in a state of heady arousal.
We go slow like that, hips rocking sporadically. I skim my fingers up her legs and nuzzle into the crook of her neck. Gemma releases a breathy half-moan when I guide her hips down to meet the hard ridge of my cock through the thin barrier of clothes. I hold her there and rub against her clit.
Her mouth falls open and I lean up to capture it.
As she sinks her fingers into my damp hair, I feel like she’s giving herself to me.
We grind on each other and make out with sloppy kisses. It’s a slow build that’s driving me crazy.
The world could go to shit outside the door and I wouldn’t stop or care, as long as we keep going.
My hands squeez
e her ass as I push against her. Gemma shudders above me. She’s close to coming from this. Fuck, I am, too. She drives me wild. I grin against her mouth.
Be mine, I think.
“If we keep doing this, we’re either going to need a second shower or I’m going to pull those boxers to the side and slide into your wet pussy.”
Gemma stills. She’s quiet for a long minute as I kiss her jaw.
“Don’t,” Gemma breathes.
A growl rips from me. “What?”
Why is she still saying no?
My cock throbs as she bucks against me, her body seeking the release she’s denying herself. I clench my teeth and grip her hips tighter, grinding my cock harder against Gemma. She moans, panting against my neck.
“Please. I want to stop.”
The heavy tension that blankets the room becomes suffocating as we both sit there, breathing harshly. I tumble her from my lap and she lands next to me on the floor. I crawl over her, caging her with my body.
Gemma’s mouth tightens at the corners.
Ice slides down my spine. She still thinks I’m some kind of fucking rapist. It’s written plainly on her face: she thinks I’ll ignore her and take what I want anyway.
That’s not me.
She flinches when I move, like she expects the worst. I glare at her as I grab the first aid kit.
“Show me your palms.”
Gemma blinks, confusion shadowing her face. “You’re not—?”
My whole face contorts and my nails dig into the area rug.
“No, I’m fucking not, Gemma! Jesus!”
Gemma’s chest heaves, her lips mashing. Regret wavers on her face for a second. She turns her head to the side, unable to look at me as I straddle her and tend to her injured hands. It’s a comical sight with my aching cock tenting my briefs. I apply ointment and climb to my feet.
I get dressed without paying attention, ending up in a pair of gray sweats and an old Rocky Mountain National Park shirt.
Wicked Saint: Sinners and Saints Book 1 Page 15
