Page 52 of Depraved

The way he pulled me close, my body molded perfectly against his, our lips locked together. It felt like we were two pieces of a puzzle made to fit. Yet it was wrong. At least, that was what my head was trying to tell me, anyway. That his kiss was wrong. His touch was wrong. The way my body responded to him…was wrong.

Everything was wrong. But I liked it, and it scared me. Would I have given him my body if he demanded it? Was I so weak, so easily corrupted that I would give my body to my captor on a whim? What did that say about me as a person, the fact that while he had his tongue in my mouth, my panties were wet with desire? Jesus. I was just as depraved as he was.

With a sigh, I fell back on the bed. I could still smell him in the room, that enticing earthy scent lingering around me. And my skin was still craving more of his touch, all hot and sensitive. I stared up at the ceiling, trying to sort through my thoughts like they were little sticky notes reminding me of who Granite really was and what he was doing to me.

He’s a bad man.

He kidnapped you.

He can’t be trusted.

You’re attracted to him. Always have been.

But he’s not what you thought he was.

He’s bad.

He’s wrong.

But his kiss felt good in such a bad way.

Oh, my God. My mind was like a minefield, a ticking timebomb threatening to explode any second.

Frustrated and confused as hell, I grabbed a pillow and pulled it over my face, screaming like a woman gone mad. I refused to accept the fact that I was turning into one of those women you read about in romance novels who developed this sordid attraction toward her kidnapper, thinking she’d be the one to change his evil ways.

Only I had been attracted to Granite long before this nightmare started. Long before I knew how dangerous he really was. My attraction toward him wasn’t a new thing—the way he affected me, the way I desired him, it had been that way long before this. He had been on my mind every day for the last few years. Apparently, I had been on his mind as well. But did that make all this right? Did it justify my body’s twisted desire to be taken by him? I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

All this time, I thought my father was behind guys being too scared to date me. But it was him. Granite. Somehow, he made sure men stayed away from me. How was that even possible? Did he really have that kind of power in this city? Was he really capable of threatening whoever he wanted to, manipulating lives?

“God.” I got up from the bed, tossing the pillow on the floor. Unreal. That was what he was. Un-fucking-real.

Pacing, I caught sight of the chest of drawers with my stuff on it. My brush. My make-up bag. My perfume. He was in my room. If he had been able to manipulate my life without me knowing, getting access to my room was probably a piece of cake for a man like him. By dealing with my dad, his weekly visits, it gave him the perfect opportunity to invade my privacy.

Jesus. My insides coiled tight just thinking about it.

I picked up the blue bottle of perfume. It was unused, and the bottle I had at home was almost empty. For some reason, knowing it was only replicas settled me a little. Placing it back, I glanced around before walking to the window. Someone had closed the shutters, probably to remind me that this wasn’t a bedroom. It was a prison. Twice I had been let out of the room, and not once did it occur to me to look out a window, to try to see where we were and if the area seemed familiar. It was pathetic, really, the fact that I had zero survival skills.

“Yo, Swan Lake?” Neon knocked on the door. “You okay in there?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“No.”

The door unlocked, and Neon slowly opened it before walking in holding out my clothes. “You looked hideous dancing in that outfit that’s, like, five sizes too big for you. So I washed these. Thought you’d feel more comfortable in your own clothes.”

I crossed my arms. “Thanks.”

She placed it on the bed. “No problem. So, needless to say, Granite is slightly pissed at me for letting you out of the room. And judging by the bulging vein across his forehead when he came out, it’s safe to say he’ll chew my ass if I do it again.”

“It’s okay.” I hugged myself tighter. “At least I don’t smell like a mucky ballerina anymore.”

Neon stifled a laugh. “Yeah. There’s that.”

She hovered for a few moments, glancing around the room.

“Neon. You don’t have to stick around. I’m okay.”

“You sure? You’re not hungry or anything?”