Taken

by Jennifer Dawson

  I finally take a breath and still, unsure what he’s going to say or if he’ll say anything at all. I brace myself for something scathing, although I don’t know why, because this is Michael.

  Finally he speaks. “You’re wondering if I can relate, because of Layla.”

  It’s not a question, but I answer it as if it is. “Yes.”

  “You do realize it’s not the same, don’t you?”

  “It feels the same.”

  “I can understand that, but trust me, it’s not.” Michael’s tone is soft with none of the censure I’d been prepared for. “Veronica was hurt, and scared, but she’s not traumatized.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Does she flinch when you touch her?”

  “No.” I shake my head.

  “Does she cry? Or stare off into space with blank, empty eyes?”

  “No.”

  “Does she have panic attacks?”

  “No.” I’m beginning to feel silly.

  “Does she avoid talking about it?”

  “No.” She doesn’t, she’s brought it up, and I’d told her we didn’t have to talk about it.

  “Does she exhibit any signs that raise the hair on the back of your neck?”

  “Not really.” Unless I count the burning in my gut to claim her like it’s the last thing I’ll ever do on this earth.

  “So, basically, she’s pissed because you’re treating her like a fragile victim.”

  I frown. Have I been? Yes, yes I have. I clear my throat. “I guess that’s right.”

  “Well stop. It’s not good for her, or you.”

  “But—”

  “Let me finish.” He cuts me off. “Even at the beginning, when Layla flinched at an unexpected touch. Or had a panic attack out of the blue, I never treated her like a victim. I was careful. I made fucking sure I knew her triggers before I slept with her, but I didn’t coddle her. I pushed her. Called her on her shit. Didn’t give her choices. And didn’t let her get away with even the slightest challenge. Because, at the end of the day, I never forgot what she is or what I am. What she needed from me was not to treat her like every other person in her life. What she needed was someone to push against that would not budge. Does that make sense?”

  It did. Or at least it was starting to untangle the knots in my head. “It’s just—” I blow out a deep breath and say the words. “I don’t know how to love her and not feel out of control.”

  “Who says you need to feel in control?”

  I frown. “I’ve watched you with Layla for a long time now. You never seem out of control with her.”

  “I control my dominance, and her submission, not how I love her.”

  I try and let that sink in, as it’s something all my friends have said to me over the course of my relationship with Veronica, but it’s a struggle. Like they all understand a nuance lost on me. “I’m trying.”

  “Stop trying. Stop waiting for it to make sense, for you to feel like you did with every other woman you’ve been with, because it’s never going to happen. You love Veronica. It’s not going to be the same. And right now, denying yourself, and her, part of what makes you unique together is going to ruin you.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger. “I’m doing the best I can.”

  “I understand you’re confused, but at bare minimum stop treating her like a porcelain doll, that’s never going to work.” He chuckles. “She’s spirited, and with a spirited girl, being submissive makes her feel powerful. So in essence, right now, you’re depriving her of that power.”

  The notion niggles at me, but it won’t form into a tangible thought, but I’m done talking. Right now, I need air. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Call if you need anything.”

  I laugh, shaking my head. “What the fuck is happening to us?”

  He chuckles. “I don’t know, I guess we’re adults or something.”

  “It sucks.”

  “Yeah, it does, but it has its advantages too.”

  “That’s the rumor.” But I’m not entirely sure it’s true.

  We hang up and I put the bottle down, stumbling around the room, searching for my shoes before going downstairs. I step out of the resort and turn right, walking up the mountain path, stopping at the first vista point to stare over the water, awash in the grayness of dusk. I think back to the first time I was here, drying myself out, trying to figure out how to become a human being.

  Every day I trek up this path, stare at the nature, and wait for that same clarity I experienced back then, but it doesn’t happen.

  And it doesn’t happen now.

  A sliver of fear weaves a path down my spine. Maybe I’ll never figure it out and I’ll lose her because of it. Because I don’t know how to let go, or give in, or whatever the hell they all keep talking about. I’m missing something elemental.

  It will be my demise as much as it was my savior way back when.

  I stare, and I stare. First at the mountains, then at the water, and when nothing happens, I turn my attention to the faint lights of the village below.

  The village Veronica disappeared into to escape me. She’s down there, wandering the streets. She has to come back, right?

  My jaw clenches and I turn, walking farther up the path to another scenic spot.

  I wait. But that mysterious thing doesn’t come; no matter how much I try and force it.

  It’s hopeless. It’s not going to happen.

  With a sigh I turn back toward the resort, returning to my room once again to pick up the bottle. Since nature isn’t working, might as well go for blinding drunk. At least my brain will shut off. I glance at my phone, but there’s still nothing from Veronica.

  I’m not going to press because I can’t give her what she needs right now.

  Everything is too convoluted and messy.

  I can barely think, let alone plot.

  Maybe it’s for the best. I’m clearly not cut out for this relationship stuff. Yes, I love her, but I don’t know how to translate that into anything meaningful and lasting.

  I imagine watching her walk away. Letting her go to find someone who can give her what she deserves. Maybe that’s what love is, letting them find someone better.

  Maybe that’s my only option.

  There’s a noise at the door and my head jerks up just in time to watch it fly open.

  Silhouetted by the hallway Veronica stands in the doorway, hands on her hips. I can’t see her face, but her stance is formidable, and I prepare myself for the worst. She stalks into the room and slams the door behind her.

  “We need to talk.” The words are hurled into the darkness. She walks over to the drapes and yanks them open, casting a pale muted light over the room.

  “All right.” My voice is calm, too calm, refined and distant, revealing none of my inner chaos.

  She stalks over to me, leans down and cracks me across the face.

  It…stuns me. I blink at her as the sound rolls over the room.

  She slaps me again.

  My temper flares, bright and hot, but I manage to say calmly, “Veronica.”

  She frowns. “No! Stop it!” She strikes again.

  I want to rise to the bait. She’s pushing me and I want to push back. The desire to haul her up, throw her to the floor, and fuck this aggression right out of her burns in my stomach. But I resist. I can’t come at her in anger. It’s irresponsible. I raise a brow. “Are you done?”

  She screams, and moves to hit me again, but this time I grab her wrist, deflecting the blow. Her eyes flash and her breath hitches.

  She’s looking for a fight. She’s wild with it.

  Despite my hold on her wrist she climbs onto my lap, straddling me.

  I put my hand on her hip to steady her but she leans forward and nips my lower lip. I flinch, and my grip on her wrist tightens. “What has gotten into you?”

  “Not you.” Her free hand draws back to strike, but I spot it a mile away.

>   I lash out, clasping it, jerking both to rest behind her back. Restraining her sends a jolt of hunger through me. It’s been so long, and I want her so bad. I grip her tighter and spit out, “Behave yourself.”

  “Make me.” She squeezes me with her thighs, thrusting her cunt against me.

  I’m hard.

  She’s violent and out of control.

  And it’s making me so hard I ache.

  “You want me.” She rocks again. She scrapes her teeth against my jaw. “Take me.”

  “We need—”

  “We need you to take me.” She begins fighting the confines of her bound wrists.

  Our breathing kicks up.

  Our gazes clash.

  My control threatens its already frayed tethers.

  She bites my lower lip, hard enough to draw blood.

  I yelp, and my control bursts into a million shards, shattering across my vision. I growl. Clasp her wrists in one hand and grab her by the throat. “You’re going to pay for that.”

  In answer, she moans and begins to fight me. Squirming on my lap, trying to break free, twisting and arching.

  I rear up, standing as I take her with me.

  Her legs go around my waist.

  Desire, so long controlled, runs hot and thick in my blood, blocking out all rational thought. I take three steps and toss her onto the bed.

  She starts to speak.

  I clasp my hand over her mouth to silence her as I rip off my belt in one smooth movement. With a deftness born of years of practice, I put the leather into her mouth before flipping her over and tying it around the back of her head, gagging her.

  The buckle thuds against her spine and satisfaction shivers over my skin.

  Determined to fight me, she struggles, writhing on the bed before me.

  Finally, at long last, dominance seeps across my skin, calming me. I cover her body with my own to whisper menacingly into her ear, “I think it’s best you shut up now, Veronica.”

  Of course she doesn’t, making all sorts of noises as she bucks under me.

  I stand, and yank her jeans and panties down her thighs. I don’t warm up, I don’t even think, all I can do is act. I smack her ass, so hard she screams around the belt in her mouth as my handprint blooms bright red on her pale skin.

  Yes. This is what I need.

  The power flows through me, filling me up.

  I spank her again.

  And again.

  I show no mercy.

  When she attempts to fight I shift my position and put my knee on the small of her back to halt her movements. I continue my work until my breathing is coming in shallow pants and her skin is bright red.

  I shove my hands between her legs.

  She’s soaking wet.

  Laughing, I stroke over her clit.

  She rocks into my hand.

  Almost immediately she begins to quicken, and when I pull away she rests her head on the bed and gives me a muffled groan.

  I shift my attention to her face. Her hair is a mess, damp at the temples. Her cheeks are pink and tear streaked, her eyes closed, her lips parted.

  But it’s her expression that stills me.

  Blissful. That’s the word that comes to mind. I lean down and say, “You’re going to do whatever I want.”

  Eyes still closed, she nods.

  “And right now, I want to fuck you. Use you for my own pleasure.”

  She nods again.

  “I don’t care if you get off.” I brush my lips over her cheek. “I want you to suffer.”

  Her lashes flutter open and her honeyed gaze meets mine. What I see there stuns me. Her eyes practically glow with life. In their depths I see all the answers I’ve been searching for.

  Hope.

  Longing.

  Understanding.

  Desire.

  Peace.

  And most of all love.

  All the chaos and panic and fear that’s been beating away at me since that night at the banquet settles. Is washed away by her.

  I get it. What they’d all been trying to tell me. It makes sense. My love for her might rage and consume me, but it doesn’t make me less, doesn’t steal anything away from me. Loving her is my power. She’ll make me a better, stronger man, not a weaker one.

  She can break me, but she won’t because she has no reason to hurt me.

  Everything that’s been rioting inside me settles. I touch her hair. Later there will be time for ruthlessness, but right now, I need her to understand. “I love you, Veronica.”

  She nods and I see her love shining in her eyes even though she can’t speak the words.

  I see everything I’ve been doing clearly and I tell her the truth. I lay myself bare. Let myself be vulnerable. Show her my weakness. “I’m sorry. I’ve been using you being hurt as an excuse to distance myself. To push you away. Somehow, I thought if I surrendered to you, to how I feel about you, that I’d lose everything I’d built for myself. But I see now that’s ridiculous. I understand.”

  Tears slip down her cheeks and I brush them away. “You scare the shit out of me.”

  A single nod.

  “I thought you’d make me weak. But I see now, you’ll make me a better man.” I untie the belt and let it slip from her mouth. I brush hair out of her face. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my entire life.”

  She licks her lower lip. “I love you too, Brandon.”

  I flip her over and kiss her.

  I kiss her long, slow and deep, until passion and desire has us hot and straining. My tongue tangles with hers, melding together, as we turn frantic.

  In a hurried rush we shed our clothes and the second we’re naked, I settle between her splayed thighs and sink into her. This, right here in this moment, is about emotional bonds, not physical ones. It’s about connection.

  I grit my teeth as she envelops me, slick and tight.

  She gasps, clasps me around the waist and arches into me.

  I grip her throat, tightening my fingers around the slender cords as she shudders under me.

  I thrust into her.

  Her gaze meets mine.

  Intimate and raw, we come together. Joined. Melded together by both our hearts and bodies.

  Slowness gives way to intensity as urgency and passion consume us.

  I move harder and faster.

  She digs her nails into my forearm.

  When I feel her tighten around my cock, I tighten my hold around her neck, her most vulnerable spot.

  She comes, the contractions rippling down the length of me, driving me insane.

  I release her throat and she gasps for air, moaning as her body shakes.

  I lose myself in her, stroking in and out until the orgasm rips up my spine and bursts across my eyes, so hard my vision blurs and I go blessedly mindless.

  After, I collapse on top of her, panting for air. When my heartbeat finally begins to slow I rise to stare down at her.

  Her lashes flutter open and she beams up at me. “Hi.”

  I chuckle. “Hi.”

  She bites her lower lip. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  “Me too.” I kiss her, and brush a lock of hair from her face. “I want to marry you.”

  Surprise flashes across her features and she blinks at me. “You do?”

  “Yes, I do. As soon as possible.”

  “What if I want a big fancy wedding?” Her eyes flirt up at me.

  “Then that’s what you’ll get.”

  “Are you asking?”

  I shake my head. “No, not yet.”

  “Okay.” She hugs me tight. “I’m probably a sure thing.”

  I kiss her neck. “The surest thing I’ll ever do in this life.”

  She laughs and it’s happy and light and full of love. “Aren’t you glad I coerced you into hiring me?”

  “You have no idea.” I gaze down at this woman that came into my life and somehow made me a man. “We have things to discuss.”

  “
Oh yeah?”

  I nod. “You came without permission, and now you’re going to have to pay.”

  She pretends to consider this before nodding. “I’m prepared for a life sentence.”

  Good. Because that’s exactly what I’m going to give her. “All right, but I’m warning you there will be no opportunity for parole.”

  Epilogue

  Veronica

  Michael and Layla’s wedding day is picture perfect. Like the gods smiled upon them, the day so clear and mild for this time of year, the owners of the establishment opened up the outdoor space and we had the whole place to ourselves.

  The happy couple looks as gorgeous and as otherworldly as the day I met them, which now seems like a lifetime ago. It’s been a long hard road for them, Layla in particular, considering her past, but it has culminated into this perfect day. The night a couple weeks before the wedding, that marked the same length of time when her first engagement ended in murder, we’d all hunkered down in their new townhouse and played games until the wee hours of the morning to distract her. And she made it. Now she radiated happiness as she beams up at her new husband, who hasn’t left her side.

  I’m talking to Jillian and Ruby, both in champagne-colored bridesmaid dresses, while Brandon is off with the groomsmen taking pictures. I glance down at my left hand, adorned with my engagement ring, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my lips. I love it so much. Not as much as the man that’s attached to it, but I can’t deny its perfection.

  In typical Brandon fashion, he’d surprised me by taking me to Paris for the weekend and proposing on the private balcony of the historic apartment he’d bought overlooking the city, as my engagement present.

  It’s ridiculous, I know. He can’t help himself. And I can’t complain about a man that loves me so much he wants me to give me a home in Paris because I said it was one of my favorite places on earth. Would you?

  The apartment matches the grandeur of my ring. A three and a half carat, emerald-cut antique with a platinum band. A Townsend family heirloom that made Brandon’s mother cry the first time she saw it on my finger. She’d said she believed Brandon would never get married and the family treasure would go to some distant cousin since Brandon is the last in his bloodline.