Free The Cherished One by Carolyn Faulkner

rehabilitated into good families or placed where they could live out their lives without worrying about harming humans.  And the cops arrived right when I expected them to.”  She had alerted them to what was going on, and had given herself just enough time to do what she needed to do.
    He should have asked what the police thought about a dog-fighting ring that was absent the dogs, but he didn’t really care.  “And you escaped unscathed?”
    Damn.  She’d been hoping he wouldn’t ask.  Dag had had a fit when he’d found out she was injured, even though it was hardly life threatening.  “I was fine.”
    “Unscathed?”
    “A bullet grazed me, but it was just a flesh wound.”
    “Where?”  It was suddenly very important to him that he know where she’d been wounded.  He didn’t know why, and he didn’t want to question his motives any too closely, but he wanted to see her injury.
    “The back of my arm.”
    “Show me.”
    Knowing he expected an immediate response, and knowing that her bottom couldn’t take much more of his correction, Fawna heaved an exasperated sigh and sat up.  He didn’t let her go far, just put one leg down and had her sitting in front of him, on the edge of the couch.   It was, for a bullet wound, a very small scar, but it was an affront to him that a woman as exquisite as she should be marred in any way, especially by something as brutal as a bullet.
    If anyone was going to mark her in any way, it was going to be him, and he was going to be the one wielding the implement.  And the mark would never be permanent.  He found the current trend towards piercing and tattoos distasteful.
    It was long since healed, and was little more than a puckered pink line at the back of her arm.  It didn’t hurt, and she rarely even thought about it, especially since it wasn’t something she saw very often.   Then he did something then that she didn’t expect.  Max leaned over and pressed his lips against the scar, as if he was kissing it better.
    “I’m sorry you were hurt.”
    “Why?”
    It was a valid question.  “Because someone as beautiful as you doesn’t deserve to know an instant of pain in this life.”
    Fawna snorted.  “That sounds kinda funny, coming from a man who’s essentially kidnapped me, who’s spanked me – which has definitely caused me pain,” as if to prove her point, she shifted somewhat gingerly in front of him, “and is supposedly out to kill me, after having already tried once.”
    She found herself atop him again, his hand claiming her bottom, pressing her into him again, grinding himself against her, and she realized with a start that he hadn’t been fully erect until just now, and her eyes flew open at the sheer size of him at full capacity.  “Perhaps I’ve reevaluated my goals.”
    Fawna wasn’t at all sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, but he wasn’t giving her much of a chance to consider it.  Max’s mouth took hers, descending like a hawk after a particularly plump rabbit to claim her mouth in a way that she should have resisted, should have done everything in her power to challenge, to twist away from, not to give in to... and she found herself truly ashamed at how quickly he overcame what little resistance she was able to put up.
    His hands roamed over her back and backside at will, strongly, firmly, keeping her in place, letting her know that he wasn’t about to allow her to escape, but also massaging and gentling, somehow, at the same time.  He was lighting fires that were well beyond her to extinguish.  She was weak, and wanted to blame it on the sudden loss of her beloved Dag, depression, dejection, fear for her life... But it was more than that.
    It was him.  It was something in their connection, perhaps the fact they had shared blood, perhaps not.  Perhaps the fact she was, for all intents and purposes, his prisoner, and she was experiencing a bit of Stockholm Syndrome, perhaps a combination of all of it.