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Authors: Juliana Stone
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Libby’s part in the initial legwork was over. He had been livid when he found out about the transfer, and that led to one of their most heated blowouts.
As always, their argument turned into passionate sex.
Jaxon groaned and his eyes closed as memories of her smell washed over him. Images of her longblond hair cascading down, caressing the dark skin of his body, pulled at him, and his shaft became painfully engorged as he tried to wipe the pictures from his mind.
But it was as fresh as if they’d just made love.
Her eyes had been sad; he remembered the tears that gathered in the corners. He remembered reaching for them and kissing them away as she rode him hard. When they had both come to orgasm, she cried against his chest, and he felt like the biggest loser on the planet.
He’d left her there, lying in his bed alone, huddled in the mess of blankets. He remembered telling her they’d sort things out when he returned.
That was the last time he had laid eyes on Libby.
Until tonight.
Jaxon threw his head back, willing his hard body to succumb to the bone deep weariness that lay heavy in his heart and soul. He needed to sleep. He needed to forget. For surely, on that last night, the betrayal had already been in place. As surely as he’d pumped furiously into her, trying to forget their problems in the softness of her body, she had already signed Diego’s death warrant.
And perhaps her own.
Libby came awake with a start. It was dark, cold, and hard where she lay. Slowly, her hand cupped the side of her body, and she groaned in protest as tight muscles competed with the pain that rifled like fire through her rib cage.
The burn was intense, and she sat up carefully, hissing loudly as every single cell in her body shrieked against the movement.
She began to focus and breathe through the discomfort, trying to force a calm that she was nowhere near feeling. But it was no use and blood began to pump through her veins rapidly as her heart rate increased. A slow burn unfurled, deep in the pit of her stomach. It wove its way rapidly through her body, until her chest was heaving with a mixture of emotions that were making her light-headed.
She welcomed it.
For the first time in a long time, she felt alive. She laughed then, the sound strained and bordering on hysterical.
How crazy was that?
Her body was a mess of injuries, old and new; she had no idea who the hell she was, or why people were shooting at her. And the tall dark man? Who the hell was he?
Her brain protested all the questions and feelings swirling about, and as she recalled his face, Libby was startled at the intensity of emotion that washed over her. She realized then that the tall dark stranger who brought her here was the reason she felt alive. As if she’d lived the last two months—which in fact were the only two months she could remember—in slow motion.
And truthfully, they had been. It was all a blur, and she was suddenly so tired of being the helpless victim. It somehow didn’t seem the right fit to her. As if in her former life—whatever that meant—she would not have taken any of this shit lying down.
She felt newfound strength begin to pour through her as she sat there in the dark, methodically looking around, trying to find an escape. Her eyes had adjusted to the dim interior, and she slowly loweredher feet to the cold tiles, feeling the shock of them against her bare toes.
Her arms still cradled her side, and her body odor hit her smack in the face. God, she was a mess. She needed out of this place, if not for any reason other than to wash the grime and smell from her body.
Her prison was small but had enough room for a bed, and as her eyes skimmed the far recesses, she smiled at the sight of a toilet and sink. Each step that drew her closer to the sink seemed lighter, more assured, and then she quickly set about washing her face and hands.
Her tummy growled, and Libby tried to remember the last time she’d eaten, but
As always, their argument turned into passionate sex.
Jaxon groaned and his eyes closed as memories of her smell washed over him. Images of her longblond hair cascading down, caressing the dark skin of his body, pulled at him, and his shaft became painfully engorged as he tried to wipe the pictures from his mind.
But it was as fresh as if they’d just made love.
Her eyes had been sad; he remembered the tears that gathered in the corners. He remembered reaching for them and kissing them away as she rode him hard. When they had both come to orgasm, she cried against his chest, and he felt like the biggest loser on the planet.
He’d left her there, lying in his bed alone, huddled in the mess of blankets. He remembered telling her they’d sort things out when he returned.
That was the last time he had laid eyes on Libby.
Until tonight.
Jaxon threw his head back, willing his hard body to succumb to the bone deep weariness that lay heavy in his heart and soul. He needed to sleep. He needed to forget. For surely, on that last night, the betrayal had already been in place. As surely as he’d pumped furiously into her, trying to forget their problems in the softness of her body, she had already signed Diego’s death warrant.
And perhaps her own.
Libby came awake with a start. It was dark, cold, and hard where she lay. Slowly, her hand cupped the side of her body, and she groaned in protest as tight muscles competed with the pain that rifled like fire through her rib cage.
The burn was intense, and she sat up carefully, hissing loudly as every single cell in her body shrieked against the movement.
She began to focus and breathe through the discomfort, trying to force a calm that she was nowhere near feeling. But it was no use and blood began to pump through her veins rapidly as her heart rate increased. A slow burn unfurled, deep in the pit of her stomach. It wove its way rapidly through her body, until her chest was heaving with a mixture of emotions that were making her light-headed.
She welcomed it.
For the first time in a long time, she felt alive. She laughed then, the sound strained and bordering on hysterical.
How crazy was that?
Her body was a mess of injuries, old and new; she had no idea who the hell she was, or why people were shooting at her. And the tall dark man? Who the hell was he?
Her brain protested all the questions and feelings swirling about, and as she recalled his face, Libby was startled at the intensity of emotion that washed over her. She realized then that the tall dark stranger who brought her here was the reason she felt alive. As if she’d lived the last two months—which in fact were the only two months she could remember—in slow motion.
And truthfully, they had been. It was all a blur, and she was suddenly so tired of being the helpless victim. It somehow didn’t seem the right fit to her. As if in her former life—whatever that meant—she would not have taken any of this shit lying down.
She felt newfound strength begin to pour through her as she sat there in the dark, methodically looking around, trying to find an escape. Her eyes had adjusted to the dim interior, and she slowly loweredher feet to the cold tiles, feeling the shock of them against her bare toes.
Her arms still cradled her side, and her body odor hit her smack in the face. God, she was a mess. She needed out of this place, if not for any reason other than to wash the grime and smell from her body.
Her prison was small but had enough room for a bed, and as her eyes skimmed the far recesses, she smiled at the sight of a toilet and sink. Each step that drew her closer to the sink seemed lighter, more assured, and then she quickly set about washing her face and hands.
Her tummy growled, and Libby tried to remember the last time she’d eaten, but
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