The Implosion

by Debra Kayn

  "Just keep going."

  Slowly, she worked her way around the side of his head, leaving the hair almost touching his shoulder. It was at a more manageable length than before. If he wanted it shorter next time, he could have someone else cut it.

  As she snipped, she moved from left to right, making sure the sides looked the same. Even sitting down, his head was at the same level as her. Though squeezing between the vanity and toilet on one side and the toilet and tub on the other made navigating around his big body awkward.

  She wasn't even aware of straddling his leg until he cupped the inside of her thigh and caressed his thumb against her skin. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing his touch bothered her, she kept snipping and clipping and brushing and styling. The faster she finished, the sooner she could move away from him and stop the feelings he evoked in her.

  It dawned on her as she nearly cut her finger that she wielded a weapon. Where had he found the scissors? She'd scoured the whole house looking for items to use against him and would've remembered if she'd stumbled upon them.

  Scissors were as sharp as a knife and pointy.

  She could easily stab him in the neck or heart and run out of the house.

  She threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling it taunt. Snip.

  Her breath came in pants. She could hurt him and escape. Was she brave enough? Strong enough?

  Lightheaded, she blinked furiously, paying attention to the blades of the metal shears gliding through his hair and how easy it was to slice through the strands and watch them slip through her fingers.

  "Grace?"

  She jumped, dropping the brush. Bending over, she picked it up afraid he could read her thoughts or see the flush warming her face.

  "Are your ribs hurting?"

  "No. No. I'm fine." She brushed his hair, pretending to inspect the new hairstyle as she struggled to stay focused. "I'm done. I think. It's the best I can do."

  She stepped back, needing to stop him from touching her. He hooked her behind the knee, pulling her back until his face was inches from her breasts.

  "Do my beard." His warm breath heated the front of her.

  Her nipples peaked. Her pulse radiated in her neck, and she swallowed, trying to fight the way her body responded to him.

  Keenan added another hand on the back of her leg, keeping her immobile in front of him. She couldn't step away if she wanted to. Her legs had turned to Jell-O.

  He tilted his head. She peered down into his face. He kept his eyes closed as if he hadn't a care in the world, but she was highly aware of his hands gently squeezing, stroking, and cupping her legs. The tips of his fingers lightly caressed the inside of her thighs.

  Without looking, she sensed his arousal. She'd gotten used to seeing the outline of his hardened cock when he was around that the state of his arousal no longer threatened her because he never acted on his desires—and he'd had plenty of time to force himself on her if that was his prerogative.

  Because he never forced himself on her, she found herself paying more attention to him. No stranger to men who kept in shape or worked out, she couldn't help admiring how perfect Keenan's body structure was. Unlike those at the gym with their bulked upper bodies and slim legs, Keenan's muscular fitness went from his feet to his head, perfectly sculpted. The only part of him that was enlarged to abnormal proportions was his penis.

  Whether genetics or born under a lucky star, Keenan was blessed.

  And as her mind wandered, her pussy pulsed, wetting her panties.

  "Grace?" Keenan squeezed her thighs. "Cut it."

  She held the scissors close to his neck. Her chest tightened. The haircut was enough. She wouldn't want to change him. Underneath the haggard appearance, she could tell he was a gorgeous man. Styling him into a more attractive style only tempted her in ways that made her sick.

  He'd kidnapped her. That was something she refused to forget.

  She set the scissors on the counter, relieved to get them out of her hand. Picking up the brush, she untangled his beard.

  The repetitive strokes as the bristles slid through the wiry whiskers only wound her up more. Her body buzzed in awareness of his jawline. His strength. The glimpse at his mouth.

  Gathering his beard in one hand, she held the ends together as she retrieved the scissors again. She cut off three inches, leaving him with a beard that still reached his chest but was now a little tamer.

  She was going to leave it at that, but she couldn't help herself. Wanting to see his lips—those mysterious lips that could harm her with his anger and comfort her with his kisses.

  Snip. Snip.

  Slowly, she followed the path of his mouth until the fullness of his bottom lip appeared. Then, his upper lip. She tilted her head, taking in his full mouth, now in view.

  She sucked in her breath, using her finger to brush away the discarded whiskers from the plumpness of his lips. His chiseled face remained lax underneath the beard.

  Her hand shook as her body vibrated.

  Tears came to her eyes as her body clamped down, holding on to the rush of arousal consuming her. Her breath hissed as she struggled to catch her breath. This wasn't supposed to happen.

  Logically, she should be repulsed by him. What was wrong with her?

  Chapter Twenty

  Conscious of her life spiraling out of control around her, Grace looked away from Keenan's mouth and found him watching her intently. Nothing was relaxing about his eyes. They were thunder and lightning. Sparks and fire. Raging waves crashing down on her.

  A whimper escaped her. She had no idea what she needed. Freedom or Keenan.

  He rose from the toilet, picking her up. She sagged against him, powerless to stop her body calling to his—knowing she wouldn't stop him.

  She wanted him.

  Her soul was going to burn in hell for wanting him, but first, they'd both go up in flames. There was no denying the electricity between them. The sparks. The sizzle.

  The connection they fought to ignore. The constant buzzing when they were close enough to touch.

  He took her to the bedroom and set her on her feet. She swayed, falling back and softly landing on the edge of the mattress.

  Keenan stripped off his clothes, brushing his hands through his hair, his beard, knocking off the discarded clippings from his body. His chest expanded. His arms bulged. She salivated. Content to watch him but desperate for his touch.

  He opened the dresser and removed a condom. She knew the box was in there because she'd snooped throughout his whole house looking for something to help her escape. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined she'd need protection of that sort.

  But to her surprise, she found Keenan gave her things she had no idea she needed. It wasn't the first time he'd stepped up to protect her.

  He'd killed a man to save her. He cared for her injuries. Soothed her bruises. Fed her when all she wanted to do was curl in a ball and wither away. He wouldn't let her suffer. He fought to get her angry. He antagonized her until she got off her butt and had dinner. He ignored her when she lost her temper. He gave her silence when she talked too much.

  And each reaction was exactly what she needed to survive. She wasn't giving up. She would get away. She would go home.

  He rolled the condom on his cock. She gulped at the sheer size of him. Truly alone, away from home, she had to rely on herself.

  And she doubted the way she was feeling about Keenan.

  Her attraction to him verged on madness. She wanted to run. She wanted to stay. She wanted the ache inside of her to flip to the passion slowly boiling inside of her.

  He kneed the bed beside her hip and took her down on the bed, hovering over her. Caught between panic at his heavy weight on her and not being able to move, she planted her hands on his broad chest.

  She opened her mouth to tell him she was scared, and he rolled, taking her with him until she laid on top of him.

  "I'm a lot of things." He hooked her hair behind her
ear. "But, I'm not a rapist."

  His clear gaze let her look for herself as if she could see inside his soul. She believed him.

  The hardness of his body down the length of her created a pulsing at the base of her stomach. She pushed off him and stood.

  He made no move to bring her back. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his head and watched her.

  Her pussy spasmed in awareness. She hooked her thumbs inside her shorts at her hips and pushed the material down, taking her panties with her. Leaving her shirt and bra on, she climbed on top of him and sat on his thick thighs.

  She wasn't ready to bare all of herself to him. Wasn't sure if what she was doing was right or wrong. She wasn't prepared for what would come afterward when they both realized sex had complicated the whole kidnapper/kidnapped thing they were so good at doing.

  "Don't hurt me," she whispered, not sure if she was worried about emotionally being traumatized or physically injured. He was a big man. He also held power over her.

  He fisted his cock and rubbed the head against her inner thigh. She dipped her chin, gazing between her legs. Once again, he proved that such a hardened man could be tender.

  Her insides fluttered, and she rocked up on her knees.

  He directed his cock between her legs, slowly coating the condom with her juices. Juices that proved how turned on she was by what they were doing.

  She couldn't hide or lie from the feelings he evoked in her. The evidence was right there for him. Her body was ready and needy.

  He stilled. She raised her gaze. A tremble rocked her at the intensity coming from him. She wasn't the only one having a hard time holding back.

  Keenan let go of himself and grasped her hips, lifting her. Coming up on her knees, she wrapped her fingers around his cock, aligning him. Nothing stopped her. She slid down.

  Pressure came with his size. She held her breath, unsure how having sex with him would work with her on top.

  Would her body accept him?

  Logistically, she understood the dynamics of having sex. In a normal situation, she would be all in for the pleasure that would come from a man his size.

  But they weren't in a normal situation.

  Keenan's hands came off her, and he hooked her neck, pulling her down. The awkward position, before he could fully penetrate her, almost left her crying in need.

  Then, he soothed her with his lips, his tongue, his mouth. Distracted from trying to seat herself on his cock, she kissed him back and enjoyed the closeness, the attention, the man. Sweet Jesus, the man equally fascinated and scared her.

  Her body relaxed, and gravity took hold.

  She slid.

  Slowly.

  Pleasurably.

  She never wanted to come to a stop. The full caress of his cock going deep inside of her was like nothing she had ever experienced.

  Moaning, she gave him her tongue as her eyes closed. Fully seated on him, she floated, all her senses occupied by him.

  His rough hands caressed her sides, the slopes of her hips, her ass. Her pussy spasmed, holding on to him tightly.

  She regretted keeping her shirt on. There were too many clothes between them. She wanted to feel his chest against hers.

  The way he exhaled when she inhaled. The way his chest hair felt against her breasts. She wanted the musky scent of him without the influence of leather.

  Keenan lifted his hips, pushing the limits. The bump against her cervix left her gasping while her pelvis thrust forward, taking him harder.

  He pulled her off his mouth and pushed her up into a sitting position. The added length inside of her brought out a groan that sounded so unlike her.

  "Ride me." He grasped her hips.

  She rocked back and forth. The slightest movement rubbed just right. She planted her hands on his chest and fisted the front of his vest. Thankful for the leather, she had something to grip to help her move.

  Coming up on her knees, he stayed solidly planted inside of her. Sinking down, he filled her completely.

  She gyrated atop him. The whole time, he laid back, content to watch her, giving her permission to use him.

  But it wasn't all selfish pleasure. Somehow, she understood what he needed. He needed to see her come. He needed to see her lose control. He needed to see her accept him. To see him, not as a kidnapper, but a man.

  And that's what she gave him. She moved back and forth, grinding on him until her clit swelled and her pussy engorged with pleasure. Every sensitive nerve pulled her. Pushed her. Swung her. Soon, she chased her orgasm.

  Keenan tightened his stomach muscles and rolled to a sitting position, wrapping his arms around her. The change of position left her tottering.

  He captured her mouth, stroking her with his tongue. The added stimulation left her spinning. His hand lowered to her ass, and his fingers slipped underneath, over her anus, rubbing her wetness in a circle.

  She catapulted over the edge into a climax, arching her back. Breaking the kiss, she moaned loudly, wrapped around him.

  He stood without removing her and walked across the room. Planting one hand on the wall while he held her under the ass, he placed her back against the wall. Her neck bowed, needing to see him.

  He looked back at her and thrust into her. Once. Twice. Three times.

  He closed his eyes as a quiver rolled through him. Inside of her, his cock pulsed, seeming to grow as he came.

  Breathing raggedly, her head fell forward onto his shoulder. That was...that was... more than she'd expected.

  Her lips curved against his skin, and she continued to hold on to him, not wanting the bubble created around them to pop and for reality to trespass into what they'd done.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Keenan stood on the bank of the St. Joe River beside the dilapidated houseboat, staring at the water, rushing over the rocks. He'd searched the whole town for Prez.

  The only place he hadn't looked was in the old houseboat. Years ago, Prez had stayed for a few weeks on the water while the Alpha Bio Project remodeled his home after a tree fell on his roof during a rough winter storm.

  It was the last place he could think of searching for his president.

  He walked onto the dock, avoiding the rotten boards. The place was barely livable. It wasn't even in good enough shape to rent out to the fishermen who visited Avery Falls.

  Reaching the side, he tried the door handle. Finding it locked, he knocked.

  Tilting his head, he listened for any noise inside and paid attention to any extra rocking under his feet as the houseboat shifted with the current. "Anyone here?"

  He walked around the corner and stopped. The narrow walkway was half-rotted or missing altogether in spots. Going back to the door, he knocked again. "Prez?"

  The door swung open, and Prez turned away from him and stood by the window, facing the river, bringing a bottle of whiskey to his lips.

  Keena inhaled deeply. The aroma inside got him high off the fumes alone.

  Before the switch grabbed hold of the members, he'd told Prez to remove all alcohol, drugs, weapons, and guns. He wanted no one to have access to an easy out.

  He shoved his hands into his vest pockets to keep the tremors from being around the available alcohol hidden from his president. Within the project, he was at his strongest. Anywhere near alcohol, and he was the weakest in the room.

  When he'd gone through the switch in the cabin alone, he would've killed himself if he would've had anything handy to get the job done. A stash of alcohol was paradise to him. A hell of a good way to go.

  He stepped inside and shut the door with his boot. The current of the water gently rocked the houseboat.

  The cramped ten feet by ten feet room had seen no improvements over the years. He ran his gaze over the dust on the table, scribbled markings wiping the surface clean.

  Crates of alcohol stacked in the corner grabbed his attention. In Prez's condition, he wouldn't even notice if Keenan joined him in drinking away their pain.

  He sw
allowed hard. Man, he would've given anything to have the supplies available to him while he stayed in the cabin.

  "How many survived?" said Prez, taking another drink.

  At this stage in the switch, Prez should be feeling the effects of the alcohol. He wondered how long he'd been drinking.

  "We've lost five so far. It's not over by a long shot." He approached the window and stood beside Prez. "I've been searching for you. This was the last place I had to look."

  Prez pointed out the window. Keenan gazed across the river. The clubhouse sat in the distance. Prez had a straight view and still oversaw his men, even from far away.

  "They're my men. I should be there," said Prez.

  "You need to take care of yourself first. Afterward, they'll need you." Keenan inhaled deeply.

  "When does it end?"

  It would be easy to give him hope. But any warnings or help would only confuse him more. He cupped his jaw and ran his hand down his beard. His body vibrated. He wanted a fucking drink.

  "The worst of it will happen in the next couple of days. After that, it's learning how to live with yourself." He exhaled harshly.

  The ramifications of learning his past never eased. For the last year, he'd suffered. Some days—the days he hunted for food, he could distract himself. But at night, the dreams plagued him. The ghosts visited. The screams coming from him had chilled his bones and left him a shivering mess.

  Prez took another drink. "Are we all the same? Did we all come from the same lifestyle?"

  He shook his head. "From what I'm learning, listening to the others, our pasts are different but similar in pain."

  Prez thunked the bottle down on the window ledge. "Why the hell did they save us?"

  That was a question that constantly bothered him. At first, he believed those in charge of the Alpha Bio Project took the lowest of the low because they were a no-loss way to test their drugs. They couldn't make them into any more of a monster than they already were before they were pulled out of their lives and put into Avery Falls.

  If the training killed them, they'd be doing a public service and saving taxpayers money.