Read Online Taken by Kelli Maine - Free Book Online Page A

you can see me.
    I roll to my side and let myself get lost in your gaze. Neither of us says a word; we just appraise each other for the longest time. “You’re so beautiful and sexy,” you finally say. “I’ll never forget that.”
    “Neither will I.” The vision of him pleasuring his incredible body while watching me sends pulses of heat between my legs. If I don’t stop thinking about it soon, we might have to have a repeat session.
    You yawn, roll onto your side and curl your knees up. “Goodnight, sweet Rachael.”
    “Sweet dreams,” I whisper.
    You let out a low, guttural chuckle. “There won’t be anything sweet about the dreams I’m about to have. Stimulating , yes. Sweet, no.”
    I smile into the pillow knowing I did this to you, and I’ll do it again.

    The next morning I wake to a single yellow calla lily laying on the nightstand on top of a note written in scrawled, manly handwriting. With the flower in one hand, I hold the paper in the other.
    This reminded me of you and last night. Beautiful with soft pedals leading into dark places I can only hope to touch. -M
    The lily’s pedals fold back revealing a deep, dark, narrow cup where the flower meets the stem. It does resemble a certain part of the female anatomy. The gesture is sensual and full of meaning. I run the flower across my cheek smiling and flushing from head to toe. Never have I had the courage to touch myself in front of a man before…before you.
    Another yellow calla lily lies at the bottom of the stairs on the floor in the entryway. I pick it up, and my eyes fall on yet another under the archway leading into the hall. One after another, they lead me through the lounge, out onto the patio and through the wrought iron gate.
    The hot sun beats down on the ground still damp from yesterday’s storm making the day hazy and humid. Birds chortle and chirp in the tangle of trees and flowering vines. The air smells like honeysuckle and rain. Another flower lies on a chunk of broken pebble sidewalk that used to form a path to wherever you’re leading me.
    I weave through the trees collecting my lilies. Up ahead, there’s a cloister—thick wooden beams and white stucco supporting the same red-tiled roof as the hotel. Underneath, you lounge in a rope hammock watching me. “Morning,” you call out. “You found me.”
    I hold up the lilies. “It was hard not to.” I make my way over to you. The covered walkway encloses a square courtyard with a pool in ruins in the center. Palm trees tower over the rubble from each of its corners. Tiny multi-colored tiles that once lined the pool lie scattered and broken in the grass and piled in the bottom.
    “Wow,” I say. “It’s beautiful even in ruins.”
    “It is beautiful.” You hook your finger around mine. You’re looking at me though, not the courtyard. “I have something for you.” You reach down beside you and hold up my wristlet—the one I had at the club the night you took me. “I charged your phone if you want to make a call.”
    My fingers wrap around the wristlet, and I clutch it to my chest. You trust me to have my phone? “Aren’t you afraid of who I’ll call?” What if I call the police?
    You sit up, your chest still bare from last night, and train your despondent eyes on mine. “After last night…” A heavy sigh passes between your lips. “I can’t make you trust me. I know what I’ve done to you. You either do or you don’t.”
    “That’s a lot to ask someone you’ve only known a few days.” I lower onto the hammock beside you, sliding down into the center, our shoulders and thighs press together tight.
    “It’s been…” You reach up and brush a piece of hair off my face, tucking it behind my ear. “An intense few days.” You put an arm around my waist. “Here, lean back and look up.”
    I let you pull me down beside you so my head rests on your warm shoulder. “What am I supposed to be looking at?” My eyes follow your finger, pointed up to the top of