His eyes darkened, and his laugh sounded forced. “You’re very funny, gatita.”
“I’m glad you think so. I’ve always considered my sense of humor to be largely underappreciated, so it’s nice to final y meet a fan.”
Miguel laughed again, more genuinely this time, and unlocked my cage with a needlessly harsh twist of the key. The lock popped open with a sharp click and fel into his cupped palm.
Okay, time to get serious. I let my smile fade slowly and lowered my pitch, as no human woman could have. “I’m not joking this time. If I see it, it’s mine, and you won’t get it back at the end of the school year.” I growled, deep and long, savoring the feel of the vibrations in my throat, as if the sound alone could save me.
It wasn’t quite a cat’s growl but it was damn close. And it was his last warning.
Miguel dismissed my threat with an easy smile, and my stomach clenched. Oh, yeah, Faythe. You have Puss shaking in his boots, all right.
I kept my eye on the key until he shoved it deep into the right front pocket of his jeans. The key was my goal, and everything would be al right once I had it. At least in theory.
Miguel opened the door and stepped inside, then closed it and reached through the bars to replace the lock. Behind him, Abby scooted into her favorite corner and buried her head in her arms. She couldn’t help hearing, but she didn’t have to watch. Seeing her like that made me want to kil him before he’d even laid a hand on me.
“Esto no tiene que ser difícil, mi amor.” He leaned against the door, waiting patiently while I puzzled my way through the translation. How courteous.
As I searched my brain for remnants from my high-school Spanish class, I stole a moment to try to force my face into a partial Shift. I stretched. I strained. I twisted my mouth into a horrible grimace. Nothing happened.
Miguel chuckled, apparently assuming my problem was linguistic in nature. It wasn’t. By the time I realized my face wasn’t going to Shift on command, I had the translation. He’d said something like, “This doesn’t have to be difficult.” But his eager grin said he was lying; he wanted me to resist.
He was about to get his wish.
Stil watching him in my peripheral vision, I glanced around my cage, desperate for something to use as a weapon. There was nothing but the plastic coffee canister and the mattress. Shit.
Miguel’s heart raced, and eagerness shined in his eyes. He was practically humming with anticipation. Instinct told me to back away from him, but I fought the urge because once I reached the wall, I’d have nowhere left to go. Better to keep my options open.
“Esto va ser una diversión.”
I was stil trying to translate the new phrase when he pounced, driving me back by my shoulders. He pinned me easily to the only solid wal of the cage, in spite of my attempt to avoid being trapped.
Grunting, I threw my knee up hard, aiming for his groin. Miguel stepped back, deftly avoiding the blow. Seizing my left arm, he yanked me forward. In a single, frighteningly fast movement, he spun me around, twisting my arm behind my back.
I sucked in a short breath, and Miguel pulled up on my elbow. Pain exploded in my shoulder. He shoved me face-first into the concrete blocks. I turned my head just in time to avoid a broken nose. I got a skinned cheek instead.
Aiming blind, I kicked backward and caught his shin with my heel. Miguel cursed in Portuguese and jerked up on my left arm. Fresh pain ripped through my shoulder, burning deep within the joint. I screamed. Miguel writhed against me, obviously aroused by my agony.
Not again, I thought. He won’t hear me scream again.
“Do you like it rough, gatita? ” he whispered, his sultry accent at odds with the repugnant nature of his question.
In reply, I shoved my right elbow into his ribs as hard as I could.
Miguel bel owed in pain and surprise. Clearly irritated now, he pulled my right arm straight up and pinned my wrist to the cinder-block, pressing my body against the wall with his own.
“Let me go now, and we’l cal it a tie,” I said, panting with my cheek stil pressed into the concrete. I thought it was a pretty generous offer, but Miguel only chuckled.
He made a show of sniffing my neck and behind my ear.
I closed my eyes, my skin crawling with revulsion.
“You reek of stray, mi amor,” he said, nosing aside a sweat-damp strand of my hair. “All over. Your Mexican lover, maybe?”
My eyes flew open, and I gasped.
He laughed. “Yes, I know al about your boyfriend. The golden boy, Ryan cal s him. I was pleased to find a purebred princess wil ing to spread her legs for a scratch-fevered tom.”
Clearly, this was not the time to mention that Marc was no longer my boyfriend, and that his scent on me was just a drunken mistake. Since Miguel thought otherwise, I decided not to disappoint him.
“He’ll kill you for this,” I said between quick, near-panicked breaths as his knee slid between my thighs, forcing my legs farther apart. “If I don’t do it first.”
Despite my threat, I was truly scared. I’d known Miguel would be strong, but he was faster than I’d expected. Too fast. I didn’t think he’d kil me—not on purpose, anyway—but there were things I feared
worse than my own death.
“You can do better than this, then?” he asked, sliding his knee toward my crotch.
I breathed deeply, determined not to give him the satisfaction of making me squirm. “Even if I can’t,
you don’t stand a chance. It’l take both of your hands to keep me from kil ing you, which leaves you no way to get your pants down. Or mine. So why don’t you give up now and save us both the trouble?”
“I’m glad you think so. I’ve always considered my sense of humor to be largely underappreciated, so it’s nice to final y meet a fan.”
Miguel laughed again, more genuinely this time, and unlocked my cage with a needlessly harsh twist of the key. The lock popped open with a sharp click and fel into his cupped palm.
Okay, time to get serious. I let my smile fade slowly and lowered my pitch, as no human woman could have. “I’m not joking this time. If I see it, it’s mine, and you won’t get it back at the end of the school year.” I growled, deep and long, savoring the feel of the vibrations in my throat, as if the sound alone could save me.
It wasn’t quite a cat’s growl but it was damn close. And it was his last warning.
Miguel dismissed my threat with an easy smile, and my stomach clenched. Oh, yeah, Faythe. You have Puss shaking in his boots, all right.
I kept my eye on the key until he shoved it deep into the right front pocket of his jeans. The key was my goal, and everything would be al right once I had it. At least in theory.
Miguel opened the door and stepped inside, then closed it and reached through the bars to replace the lock. Behind him, Abby scooted into her favorite corner and buried her head in her arms. She couldn’t help hearing, but she didn’t have to watch. Seeing her like that made me want to kil him before he’d even laid a hand on me.
“Esto no tiene que ser difícil, mi amor.” He leaned against the door, waiting patiently while I puzzled my way through the translation. How courteous.
As I searched my brain for remnants from my high-school Spanish class, I stole a moment to try to force my face into a partial Shift. I stretched. I strained. I twisted my mouth into a horrible grimace. Nothing happened.
Miguel chuckled, apparently assuming my problem was linguistic in nature. It wasn’t. By the time I realized my face wasn’t going to Shift on command, I had the translation. He’d said something like, “This doesn’t have to be difficult.” But his eager grin said he was lying; he wanted me to resist.
He was about to get his wish.
Stil watching him in my peripheral vision, I glanced around my cage, desperate for something to use as a weapon. There was nothing but the plastic coffee canister and the mattress. Shit.
Miguel’s heart raced, and eagerness shined in his eyes. He was practically humming with anticipation. Instinct told me to back away from him, but I fought the urge because once I reached the wall, I’d have nowhere left to go. Better to keep my options open.
“Esto va ser una diversión.”
I was stil trying to translate the new phrase when he pounced, driving me back by my shoulders. He pinned me easily to the only solid wal of the cage, in spite of my attempt to avoid being trapped.
Grunting, I threw my knee up hard, aiming for his groin. Miguel stepped back, deftly avoiding the blow. Seizing my left arm, he yanked me forward. In a single, frighteningly fast movement, he spun me around, twisting my arm behind my back.
I sucked in a short breath, and Miguel pulled up on my elbow. Pain exploded in my shoulder. He shoved me face-first into the concrete blocks. I turned my head just in time to avoid a broken nose. I got a skinned cheek instead.
Aiming blind, I kicked backward and caught his shin with my heel. Miguel cursed in Portuguese and jerked up on my left arm. Fresh pain ripped through my shoulder, burning deep within the joint. I screamed. Miguel writhed against me, obviously aroused by my agony.
Not again, I thought. He won’t hear me scream again.
“Do you like it rough, gatita? ” he whispered, his sultry accent at odds with the repugnant nature of his question.
In reply, I shoved my right elbow into his ribs as hard as I could.
Miguel bel owed in pain and surprise. Clearly irritated now, he pulled my right arm straight up and pinned my wrist to the cinder-block, pressing my body against the wall with his own.
“Let me go now, and we’l cal it a tie,” I said, panting with my cheek stil pressed into the concrete. I thought it was a pretty generous offer, but Miguel only chuckled.
He made a show of sniffing my neck and behind my ear.
I closed my eyes, my skin crawling with revulsion.
“You reek of stray, mi amor,” he said, nosing aside a sweat-damp strand of my hair. “All over. Your Mexican lover, maybe?”
My eyes flew open, and I gasped.
He laughed. “Yes, I know al about your boyfriend. The golden boy, Ryan cal s him. I was pleased to find a purebred princess wil ing to spread her legs for a scratch-fevered tom.”
Clearly, this was not the time to mention that Marc was no longer my boyfriend, and that his scent on me was just a drunken mistake. Since Miguel thought otherwise, I decided not to disappoint him.
“He’ll kill you for this,” I said between quick, near-panicked breaths as his knee slid between my thighs, forcing my legs farther apart. “If I don’t do it first.”
Despite my threat, I was truly scared. I’d known Miguel would be strong, but he was faster than I’d expected. Too fast. I didn’t think he’d kil me—not on purpose, anyway—but there were things I feared
worse than my own death.
“You can do better than this, then?” he asked, sliding his knee toward my crotch.
I breathed deeply, determined not to give him the satisfaction of making me squirm. “Even if I can’t,
you don’t stand a chance. It’l take both of your hands to keep me from kil ing you, which leaves you no way to get your pants down. Or mine. So why don’t you give up now and save us both the trouble?”
