Taken (One to Hold 7.50)

His body flexed and then arched over my shoulder, sending him deeper than he’d ever been. I moaned louder, and a matching groan rumbled from his throat.

“Stuart,” I gasped. In this position, my clit was pressed and rubbed against the mattress. It sent shockwaves tingling and shooting down my legs matching the force of him stretching and invading me from behind. The sensation was overwhelming.

Every muscle below my waist tightened with each move. My orgasm snaked up my legs, and my eyes squeezed shut at the building release.

He jerked into me harder and then Smack! A hard slap stung across my ass. Threading his fingers into my braid, he pulled my head against his shoulder.

“Oh!” I whimpered, reeling from the conflicting sensations.

“You’re not leaving.” His beard scuffed against the sensitive spot on my neck, and electricity shattered through my core.

My eyes squeezed shut as my orgasm, wicked and intense, blazed through my legs. “Stuart,” I cried.

He pulled my hair again, biting at my neck. “Say it.” It was a hoarse command coupled with a deep thrust.

His intense possessiveness, his grip, his words… all of it combined with the sensations racking my body to make my head swim. What was he doing to me?

“Say it.” He demanded.

My thighs shook. Each push took him deeper, and he kept scrubbing my clit against the mattress. I’d gone from mind-numbing orgasm to pleasure that was now painful.

“I’m not leaving,” I gasped, needing him to stop.

He didn’t stop. He gave me three more swift thrusts before holding himself deep inside me, leaning over my shoulder as he groaned through his orgasm. He pulsed, filling me, then growing still. My heart beat so hard, and I couldn’t move. My bones were liquid as I lay on the bed.

Two more breaths, and he climbed onto the mattress, pulling me with him. I couldn’t resist if I wanted to as he wrapped me in his arms, holding me against his chest. His face was at my shoulder, buried in my hair, and he breathed deeply. We were both panting. Holding him, I could feel his pulse at my temple.

“Stuart,” I whispered.

“You’re mine.” He rumbled against my skin. “You don’t leave me.”

My jaw clenched. I was still recovering from that blazing fuck, and I hated how shockingly true his words were. I’d need the strength of Hercules to walk away from him. At the same time, I knew I had to stay strong.

“But you can leave me?”

He didn’t answer. He only held me firm against his chest. Our breath swirled in and out, mixing and mingling, and I wondered if he’d ever let me go. I wondered if I ever wanted him to. After a few moments, he did relax. He reached down and pulled the Indian blanket over me. Kissing my shoulder, he went to the bathroom and closed the door.

I pulled the blanket tight around me trying to calm my swirling emotions.

Scene 4: Fire in the Desert

Mariska

A few months later, in Bayville…

Deep blues, olive greens and brown. Tonight I started with as much of the landscape as I could remember. A lot of it had been brown prairie grass, but when Elaine and I had driven to town, I’d seen more variety—silver spruce trees, red rock formations, soaring waterfalls. We were there in the winter, but I used my imagination to see what it might be like in the spring or summer.

A square butte west of the city formed a backdrop for the brown of wild horses running across the prairie. It was all so open and vast under the sky. I had to capture the orange arc of clouds over the Chinook.

Again, my hair was up in a high ponytail, but tonight I wore the grey Henley I’d stolen from Stuart. His scent was fading on it, and I wished I’d thought to snoop in his toiletries bag for whatever cologne this was. Sure it was torture, but I was an artist. Suffering was good for my art.

I decided to have a glass of wine. It was Sunday, technically a work night, but our hours at the gym allowed me to sleep in, and I’d had to work every day but Friday. I pulled out a bottle of Chardonnay and had just twisted off the cap when someone knoc

ked on my door.

My heart flew into a panic. I’d left my phone in the other room, and Kenny always texted before she came over. She knew I didn’t like opening the door at night when I wasn’t expecting visitors.

I crept through my living area, which really was getting too crowded with books. I needed to get an eReader, but I still liked to hold them and smell them.