Torn from You Read online

Page 3

 

  He’d been with no one. He went and got checked? Was it because he thought . . . was he thinking about us?

  “Yeah, Emily. I wanted to make sure I was good before I ever touched you, condom or not. ”

  Wow. “I want you inside me, Logan. I want to feel all of you. ”

  He leaned to the side and yanked off his jeans. I glanced down before he moved on top of me and glimpsed his erection—pulsating, huge—and wondered how the hell that was fitting inside me. Before I could start Lego building and scaring myself, I reached between us and touched him.

  “Eme,” he murmured as my fingers curled around him then stroked every inch of him.

  His penis was throbbing and hot, and as I caressed, his eyes closed, and his head tilted back as he groaned.

  “Stop. Fuck. I’m going to come before I’m even inside you. ” He grabbed his cock and rubbed it between my legs, the wetness clinging to him. “I’ll go slow, Mouse. ”

  My hand reached up to lock my fingers in his hair. “No, go fast. Just get that part over with. ”

  “No. ” His voice was hard and firm. “You’re going to remember this and not with pain. ” His mouth descended as he sunk lower, his cock nudging my opening.

  Wrapping my legs around his waist and my arms around his back, I pressed upward with my hips, and the tip pressed against my barrier. I couldn’t get him in any further, and my body was aching so bad I was going to scream.

  He tore his mouth away from mine and grabbed my chin. “Look at me, Emily. I want to see you when I take you. I want to watch you while you scream my name. ”

  “Logan. ”

  He pushed his hips forward and moved in me a little further. I could feel him stretching my hymen, and I was sure he could too. He gripped my chin to make certain I didn’t move then rotated his hips and withdrew, and I moaned.

  “Slow, Eme. ”

  He moved inside me again, and this time he kept going until I felt a sudden sharp pain as if he’d stabbed me.

  Fuck. Shit. It hurt.

  And yet . . . him erect and full inside me was . . . it was so connecting and surreal. As if we’d become one.

  He leaned in and kissed me while he was sunk deep inside. A slow languished kiss that had me forgetting about the pain and instead filling me with a new urgency. I wanted him to move.

  “Logan. ” God, I needed him to move. I pushed upward, and he sunk even deeper. Yes, God yes.

  “You good?”

  The tenderness was overridden by the aching need. I nodded, and he began to move. I clenched my legs around him, ankles crossed on his back, both of us panting, our eyes locked on one another.

  “You’re mine, Emily. ” He moved harder, faster, and I tried to close my eyes, but he grabbed my chin. “Look at me. ”

  Each push brought us closer; I was on edge, ready, the ache heightened to a place it could go no further. He pressed his hips in an upward motion so he rubbed against my clit, and a jolt went through me, then another and another. The intense building inside was too much.

  He pressed harder.

  “Oh God. Logan. Logan. ” I let go, my eyes squeezing shut. “Logan!” I screamed as everything in my body exploded into tiny bursts.

  “Emily. ” He pumped harder, the smack of flesh on flesh loud. He thrust deeper. Then he took my mouth with an insane hunger as his body stopped pumping, and his muscles tightened while his body shook.

  “Mouse. ” He fell to the side and brought me with him so I was snug to his chest, my legs tangled within his. “Emily. You’re a fuckin’ trophy. My trophy. ”

  I closed my eyes, head resting on his chest next to my hand.

  He leaned upward and kissed my head while his hand stroked up and down my arm. His other hand linked with my fingers on his chest.

  “Logan?”

  “Yeah, baby. ”

  “Um, someone is watching us. ”

  Logan looked up, and we both started laughing as the appaloosa stared down at us.

  Chapter 1

  2 days later

  Day 1

  I woke up lying on a damp cement floor.

  I sat up and immediately wished I hadn’t when my head ignited into throbbing, pressurized chaos. The room spun, and my vision blurred for the first few minutes as I tried to piece together what happened.

  Then everything came flooding back like a tsunami. The bar. Logan getting ready to sing with his band. Kat telling me how gorgeous I looked. Going to the washroom and hurrying, because I didn’t want to miss Logan on stage for a single second.

  Then an arm hooked around my waist just as I placed my palm on the bathroom door. A sweet-smelling rag was shoved over my nose and mouth.

  Then nothing.

  Oh, God.

  Fear catapulted into me. It was like being zipped up tight in a sleeping bag with no escape. I was suffocating, couldn’t breathe. I felt pins and needles in my limbs as the fear became the stepping stone to a full-out panic attack. Shivers racked my body, and I started hyperventilating. Tears streamed down my cheeks then dripped onto my collar bone and slid into the material of my dress.

  My dress. The one I picked out for Logan, agonized about for hours at the store with Kat. I wanted to look beautiful for him, and me looking beautiful was a hard task considering I never felt beautiful. It was something I lived with and accepted after years of hearing my mother tell me I was ugly.

  But with Logan . . . Even if I wasn’t pretty, he made me feel that way. He made me feel protected and cared for, and it was because I trusted him. He knew what I needed even if I didn’t. There was this natural desire to give up my control to him, not so he could use it against me. No, it was so he could give me what I needed. And what I needed right now was Logan.

  Rolling over I crawled to my knees, and my stomach objected to the movement. I slapped my hand over my mouth and made it to the corner of the room where I vomited the two beers I’d had at the bar then dry-heaved several times until my sides cramped.

  When I finally stopped, I breathed in the smell of stale urine, and my stomach reeled again, and I gagged. I put my head down, taking several deep breaths through my mouth while I leaned my hands against the wall for support.

  I knew I was in a basement, and it was dark outside. I could see a single beam of moonlight streaming in from a small window high up on the far wall. The damp cellar was small and completely empty except for a wooden staircase that had a railing that looked like it would crumble the moment you put your hand on it. The walls were greenish tinged on the bottom half as if the basement had at one time been flooded.

  Something crawled across the back of my hand, and I stumbled backward shrieking. My spine hit the opposite wall, and I squelched, turning, wrapping my arms around myself as I backed into the middle of the room.

  What was happening? Why was I here? Where was Kat? Was she somewhere here too?

  I ran up the stairs and started yanking on the door. When it wouldn’t budge, I pounded on it and screamed then threw my body against it until every part of me was bruised.

  My white chiffon dress I’d bought especially for watching Logan perform was covered in brown smudges. Two snags ripped the lace right off the front, leaving the silk material beneath exposed. My arms were sore and tender, and my legs had several bruises on them, and I was bleeding from a small cut just above my right knee.

  I had no idea who had taken me or why, but everything inside me was screaming to get out.

  I staggered back down the stairs, and then, on my hands and knees, began searching the floor for anything to help me escape. I prayed that my purse had been thrown down here with me. Even though I knew whoever was doing this to me wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave my purse with my cell phone in it. But panic surpassed sensibility, and I searched every inch of the floor, my hands sweeping the damp cement, occasionally hearing something scurry away from my movements.

  I tried to keep my sanity, but the terror was like
a red flag on the beach warning you to not go swimming because of the strong undertow. I was in the undertow, and I couldn’t get out, and it kept pulling me further out to sea.

  I was crying full-out now, my chest heaving with each ragged breath. No. Please no. Logan. He’d find me, wouldn’t he? He was looking for me right now. The police . . . Did they call the police? Would they look for me? How long had I been gone? God, I didn’t even know what day it was or how long I’d been passed out.

  Finding nothing on the floor, I bolted up the stairs and started pounding on the door again.

  “Help! Let me out. Help! Oh God. Please! Please let me go. ”

  I punched the door over and over again until my throat was raw from screaming. When my fists were too sore to hit the wood any longer, I slapped the door with the palms of my hands.

  “Please,” I sobbed. “Please let me out of here. ”

  I fell to my knees, uncontrollable cries racking my body, my hands up against the door, my cheek pressed to it. Fear coursed through my insides, tearing apart my sanity with each breath.

  I had no idea how long I stayed curled in a ball on the landing, but it must have been hours as the sun’s rays finally peeked through the window. My throat was so dry that it was as if I’d been sucking on sandpaper all night. My lips stuck together, and when I separated them it tore a thin layer of skin off my bottom lip.

  All I wanted was Logan. I needed him to hold me, tell me everything was going to be alright. But hour after hour passed, and he never came. No one did.

  I ended up having to pee in the corner of the room, and I never felt so dirty in my life. I felt like an animal, and I sobbed as I did it. It was humiliating, and it made me go crazy again, and I screamed and yanked, pulled, and kicked the door.

  Nothing.

  Was I going to starve to death? Die forgotten, never to be found?

  My fingernails scrapped at the wooden door until splinters stuck in my nail beds. But nothing compared to the torture of the thirst. My mouth tasted like dried vomit, and even trying to swallow was painful.

  After hours of scraping at the door I curled into a ball, my fingertips pushed under the thin space beneath the door. The word terrified took on a whole new meaning as I lay there in a whimpering mess. My mind was poisoned with the possibilities of what was going to happen to me. I’d watched Criminal Minds; I knew what people were capable of. But I think what was worse than anything was the fear of the unknown. My kidnapper’s silence was eating away at my sanity as I lay quivering at the top of the stairs.

  I don’t know how long it was before the doorknob turned. Maybe a day, could’ve been two. All I saw was the sun rise and fall, but when I fell asleep I was never sure how long I’d been unconscious.

  The door opened, and a large shadow cast over me.

  I managed to beg one word from my parched lips, “Please. ”

  The man leaned forward, grabbed me by the arm, and hauled me up.

  I couldn’t scream. I merely hung like ragdoll, my limbs feeling numb and weak.

  He slapped me on the cheek, and I jerked as pain exploded in my head. I tried to speak, but nothing emerged from my mouth except a croak.

  He picked me up and threw me over his shoulder like a sack of grain then carried me down a hallway. The light blinded me, and for several minutes I was unable to see anything except a bright yellow blurriness. It burned my eyes, and I had to close them until the pain eased.