A. Arthur - Passion's Prey

From where she stood, and looking around his muscled frame, she saw the tools of the trade, knew them because dancing in seedy clubs like Athena’s introduced her to so much. There were leather whips and chains hanging neatly on the insides of the doors. Deeper inside were shelves all lined with red velvet. On them she could see a variety of nipple clamps, vibrators, and plugs.

She swallowed, because damn, she had no idea what she’d been walking herself into.

“I’m not like other men,” he said, not turning to face her. “I’m not even like the other shifters.”

“It’s okay to be different,” she said, demanding her knees stop wobbling. She would not sit down, would not cop out on him in any way. If this was the man she wanted, she would have to stand for him, no matter what the cost.

“I don’t know how to stop what’s inside me.”

Caprise chose that moment to move. She walked up behind him, touching a hand to his back.

“Something happened,” he continued, his words sounding tortured, his voice almost unfamiliar. “It changed everything and I can’t take it back. I don’t want to take it back.”

She nodded even though he couldn’t see her. Both her hands were on his back now, sliding down to his sides as she rested her forehead against him. “I know how that feels.”

“No,” he said slowly. “No, you don’t.”

Then he turned so fast, grabbing her by the arms and pushing her back until she fell on the bed.

“You have no fucking idea what I’ve been through. None! But since you can’t follow simple instructions I’ll have to show you.”

Everything began happening in a blur. X’s hands moved so fast, ripping at her clothes, tearing her shoes from her feet, tossing her belt and bra across the room. She was naked when he lifted her off the bed, pulled back the comforters, then dropped her back onto its center. Her heart pounded, her eyes open so wide she thought her eyeballs would pop right out. But she didn’t run, didn’t even try to fight back.

He put her wrists together, lifted them over her head, then handcuffed her there. Ripples of excitement twisted throughout her body and she bit on her bottom lip. If this was just going to be about sex, she could handle it. But something told her it was about so much more.

X grabbed her ankles next, stretching her legs apart and tying them to the posters at the end of the bed with the softest silk material she’d ever felt. He moved around the room, lighting black candles throughout, remaining absolutely quiet afterward. He looked like a dark knight standing at the foot of the bed, his eyes gleaming, muscles bulging. When he pulled his shirt over his head, Caprise gasped. He unbuckled his jeans and pushed them down his legs. As he stepped out of shoes and the jeans she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. And when he stood before her totally naked, the golden candlelight illuminating the numerous tattoos over dark brown skin, her pussy pulsated.

“Death,” he said slowly tracing his finger over the tattoo of the moon dripping with blood at the bottom of his neck. “All I could think about was dying. Every time that bastard touched me I wanted to die.”

Her eyes stayed trained on him, on his face, his mouth as he talked. Then up to his eyes as he watched her. She couldn’t tell what he thought looking down at her in this submissive position, but whatever it was, it was enough to keep him talking.

“He said it was what my parents wanted, why they sent me to him in the first place. They wanted him to fuck me. Can you believe that shit? What kind of parents want that?”

Caprise didn’t have an answer, and she suspected X wasn’t really looking for her to answer him.

Instead he bent down and picked up a whip. She hadn’t seen him take it from the armoire but guessed he’d done it before lighting the candles. He held the heavy-looking handle in his hands, wrapping the long strip around so it circled his wrist one time.

“They wanted me to feel pain,” he said, lifting his arm. The whip came down with a snap.

Caprise bit the bottom of her lip to keep from jumping with the distinctive snapping sound. The whip hadn’t touched her at all.

“For days and days afterward all I could remember was the pain. Then disgust would set in. Then shame. I was ashamed of who I was, of whatever my purpose was in this life.”

The whip came down again, this time so close to her skin she’d felt the quick wisp of air as it hit the mattress.

“He didn’t stop. My father said to man up. My mother cried. And I walked over to his house every goddamn time they told me to. I walked right into his arms. Fucking bastard!”

The whip soared through the air once more, landing on the other side of the bed. This time when it hit, Caprise didn’t want to cringe; her nipples hardened.

“Bastard!” X continued to scream, bringing the whip down time and time again until finally a small part of the edge caught Caprise’s leg.

She hissed and bucked up off the bed. Not because of the pain. No, while there was a bit of a sting to her skin, the ripples of pleasure that quickly spread like a disease throughout her body took the pain away. Her pussy vibrated with each strike of that whip. She was so wet her thighs were now damp.

He stopped instantly, as if it had just dawned him that she was lying there. He looked down at her, his eyes still that eerie darkness.

“I can’t stop it, don’t you understand. I couldn’t stop him,” he said quietly, his arms falling at his sides, the whip hitting the floor with a clank.

“Xavier,” she said, because Caprise honestly did not know what else to say.

He shook his head, fists balling at his sides. “But I could stop him. I did stop him when I killed him. I killed him!” he yelled, tilting his head back to let a vicious roar break free.

“You did what you had to do to protect yourself,” she told him finally. “You had to protect yourself because your parents wouldn’t do it for you.”

“They told me to go over there,” he said.

“They were wrong, Xavier. Not you. You did what had to be done to stop him.”

“I’m a murderer. That’s what that agent says. He told my director that I was a murderer and they suspended me.”

Caprise wanted to touch him. She wriggled her hands futilely in the cuffs. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and tell him he wasn’t a murderer, that he was a good man, a good shifter. Instead she took a deep breath.

“Xavier,” she said, but X had looked away from her. “Look at me, Xavier.”

He ignored her.

“Goddammit, you look at me!” she yelled.

His head turned slowly until those dark eyes were once again trained on her.

“You are not a murderer. You didn’t kill any of those girls. Sabar and his Rogues did that. And we’ll prove it.”

“It’s too late,” he said solemnly. “I’m already a killer. I killed Jeremiah. Then I killed Rolando because he was a bastard, too, and he was scaring you. I’m a killer.”

“You are not! You’re a shifter, a commanding officer, and you are good.” Dammit, she wanted to get up from this bed.

X knelt on the bed, coming over her like a dark cloud. She sucked in a breath and told him again. “You are good, Xavier. You are so good. So good that … I couldn’t help but fall in love with you.”

He stopped. His hands were on the bed on either side of her breasts, his knees planted firmly between her legs. And he didn’t move another muscle.

“I love the man and the shifter that you are, Xavier,” she told him sincerely.

“You have no idea,” he started saying.

Caprise shook her head so hard she knew a headache would soon follow. “Shut up. Just shut up! I know who you are. You’re the man who went to pick Nick up in the middle of the night when he was sixteen because Lisa Drenner had slit all four of his tires. You’re the one who stood at my parents’ funeral right next to me and my brother waiting to catch either of us if we fell to the ground in grief. You went to the Gungi with Rome and his new mate to look for Ary. You helped all those kids who were brought here and sold as sex slaves. You are good, dammit!”