“Is there something you’d like to ask for, my little lassie?”
“Please, Mr. Douglas, may I touch you?”
“Mm, aye, you may. Such a good little girl.”
I reached behind me and encircled his cock, both of us moaning as I arched my back and led him inside me. Sex was the only time I could get away with calling him Mr. Douglas. It no longer carried the weight of his time as a pseudo patron. We’d taken back the power of those words. When he owned me now, it was for our pleasure. It was a relationship born of trust.
We rocked against each other, his grip on my hip helping him to push deeper. I squirmed, reaching back over my head to feel the familiar fuzz of his head as my ass circled, driving him crazy.
“You are so fucking incredible,” he said into my neck. His hand left my hip, letting me control the pace of the thrusts, and he reached up to palm my swollen breast, squeezing with enough pressure to make me cry out. Then his hand slid down between my thighs and gently pinched my clit. I gasped and pressed my hand over his, making him press harder.
As he worked me faster, both with his hand and from behind I felt an orgasm building. The arm underneath him reached up and his hands tangled in my hair, gripping enough to make me gasp as he pulled back to run his scruff across my jaw. I shouted the pleasure of my release loud enough for the neighbors to hear, just the way he liked. He followed right behind me, coming deep inside me and practically growling, just the way I liked.
Afterward we lay there coming down together, him still inside me.
“Well, good morning,” he purred against my shoulder.
I smiled. His hand slid up and stopped on my rounded belly, fingers splaying across my taut skin. I placed my hand on top of his.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Good,” I was happy to admit. The first trimester had been awful. I was physically sick, and emotionally scared out of my mind. We hadn’t planned to get pregnant. Ever. It had been too frightening to think of having a tiny innocent to care for and protect. But we’d also lost so much, that the thought of another person to love, no matter how scary, was also exhilarating.
I was disappointed when Colin slowly pulled out and sat up, grabbing a towel to clean my thighs. He tossed it to the hamper and leaned down to kiss my lips, then placed a kiss to my tummy before standing.
“Latch the door behind me,” he said, just as he did every single time he left the apartment.
“I will.”
The bolt lock clicked into place as he left for his run. I slipped on a robe and slid the chain at the top of the door, then went to our window, watching Colin as he exited our building into the chilled morning and scouted the surroundings before setting off on his jog.
I touched the glass, my chest squeezing at the thought of anything happening to him. Each time he left to run or work odd jobs—construction, painting, uprooting trees, anything to keep his hands busy—I watched him go.
We wouldn’t be staying in Russia much longer. We’d already lived in three parts of the country, deciding we would move every year of our lives. Forever. With each fresh start we felt a renewed sense of safety, and we needed that feeling now more than ever. In two weeks we were off to France.
I was excited about the small cottage we’d secured, but I would miss the Russian girls I’d been working with. I moonlighted part time as a counselor to rape victims, and I’d even come across a couple girls who’d been slaves at one time. Abernathy had doctored up fake credentials to allow seeking these kinds of jobs, and I only felt the slightest bit guilty about lying to employers.
If I could use my past to help one girl realize she had self-worth and a future worth living, then I would lie about my education a thousand times to make it happen.
I often wondered about Josef, Perla, Mia, and Jin. I was certain they were still with Marco. I prayed they were safe, and experiencing as much happiness as possible. But I ached at the opportunities of love they were being denied. Perla loved Marco, but to be loved in return was key. I counted my blessings daily.
Marco once said that it was like acquiring me had been “meant to be.” I’d hated him for saying it—for making light of something so dark. But now I wondered…was it all meant to be? I would have never met Colin. He was likely to have never stopped seeking justice, only to have his own life taken. And I would have never been able to administer to the hearts and minds of the abused girls I’d come across.
I didn’t know what to believe. All I knew was even through the daily grief, I was thankful. I refused to let it all be for nothing. Because even within all the ugliness of the world there was beauty. Some of it needed to be pulled from the dirt and dusted off, given wings.
I had to hope there would be justice—if not in this life, then in the hereafter.
A half hour later my stomach dipped and lifted at the sight of Colin returning, sweat beading at his faint hairline. I listened for the click of the bolt and his secret knock before unlatching the top lock. Inside he secured the locks again and kissed my temple.
“I don’t think we should wait two weeks,” he said. His brow was furrowed.
“Did something happen?”
“Nae,” he admitted. But he worried. Always.
“Okay. Let me say good-bye to the girls, and we can leave tomorrow.”
He closed his eyes and nodded before kissing me again. “Thank you.”
I absently rubbed my belly and watched him strip down and head for the shower. I wished I could take away his constant fear, but it was part of how he showed his love. The thing was, I knew Marco wasn’t coming for us. He might be keeping dibs, just in case we ever crossed him again, but I felt with certainty he would leave us be. Marco had never wanted me dead. And I’d seen the look of disappointment in his eyes when Colin turned on him. He’d thought of him as a protege.
I couldn’t think about what he’d done to my parents. If I went down that road I’d be depressed for days. My parents would have willingly given their lives for mine any day, but that doesn’t make it okay. The world lost two wonderful people because of one man who thought he could create paradise. The scary thing about Marco was that he believed he was a good guy. He believed he had the right to take lives at his will, to maintain his lifestyle of pseudo perfection. But what he didn’t realize was that nothing was perfect.
Nothing except love.
Colin came out of the shower, still wet with a towel over his shoulders. I grinned at him, and he came straight to me, covering my mouth with his, the clean smell of him surrounding us. He pulled away and held both ends of the towel, eyeing me.
“To your knees, woman.”
I dropped my eyes and smiled to myself, obeying.
This book was far out of my comfort zone to write. The idea had plagued me for a while, and I’ve come to learn as a writer that it’s best to get it out, good or bad. But putting story ideas to paper, and actually making it something readable and rich with detail is not a solitary endeavor. I’ve had the help of many people along the way.
I need to thank my husband for his unflinching support from the beginning, along with his “James Bond-like” expertise, ha.
Thank you to my first reader and bestie, Kelley, for pushing me to write this book, and helping me through the publishing process.
Thank you to my second readers and cheerleaders, Carol and Jill.
Thank you, Bren, for proofing my Spanish and always being at the ready to translate. Thank you Elizabeth and Paula for Scottish dialect help.
Thank you E.J. for designing my blog.
Thank you to Miss York for designing the cover and jacket.
Thank you Angela McLaurin at Fictional Formats for her gorgeous formatting.
Thank you to all the lovely readers and reviewers on Goodreads who spread the word and raised their hands to do early reviews. You guys are incredible, and you help us Indie authors immensely!
Lastly, thank you Lord for it all.
Gwendolyn Field hails from the Washing
ton D.C. area of the U.S., where she lives with her husband and two children. Escape from Paradise is her first adult romance novel.
Feel free to contact her or visit her online!
Email: [email protected]
Blogsite: www.gwendolynfield.blogspot.com
Gwen on Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6996431.Gwendolyn_Field
Gwen on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Gwendolyn-Field/170286603121602
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