Hard Way (29 page)

“You’re going to force me,” she said. “And I’m going to like it.”

Agreement so quickly? He couldn’t have that. Her fight made him stiff, as did anticipating that fight. He didn’t want her submissive and delicate. His Sunny used every weapon at her disposal to win.

She wouldn’t win against him. Not physically, anyway. Her permission had given them a gift neither really knew what to do with. That didn’t mean he’d ever let it go. And more than ever, he honored that gift by making sure he blew her mind.

She stacked her hands behind her back. Quietly, as if trying to keep her motions from unleashing a beast, she toed out of her flats.

He was a beast.
Her
beast. Taking, yes, but leashed by emotions that would never set him free.

Dash set the glass down on a counter. “Getting ready to run?”

She nodded slowly. Her eyes narrowed. She always was a canny, brilliant woman. Maybe she noticed that his intentions were different this time. Upending her yet again would make their night unforgettable.

He crossed the room with such strides that she backed a step toward the wall. Lifting his hand toward her jaw, he kept the move slow and deliberate. No grab or attack. No sparring session. She flinched from his tender touch. He held his giddy want in check, giving away no clues.

“I don’t think so,” he said quietly. “No running. Not tonight. Although I know you’ll fight me. You always do.” Closer now, he kissed her cheek with infinite care and sweetness. “And I fucking love when you do.”

She shivered, obviously trying to keep her cool. “I think I’m disappointed.”

“Think?” He traced a delicate touch down her neck. “You
are
disappointed. I can see it. You think you know the rules to our little games.”

“I thought I did.”

Dash leaned so close that his nose barely touched the shell of her ear. “I am your rapist, my darling whore. That’s what you’ve made me, and you’ve made yourself my victim. Every time, you’ll be as helpless and unsure as the first time. Will I let you come? Will I fuck your ass, like I did in the desert? You will
never
know my rules.”

Her shiver was a full-body shudder now. The modest gold necklace resting at the base of her throat shimmered in the lamplight. She was shaking. He wasn’t.

As it should be.

He took her hand as if leading her toward a ballroom floor where they would dance with polite distance and talk with polite words. Halfway between the entry and the bed, he bowed and kissed her knuckles as gently as he had in the casino. A knight and his lady.

He smiled at her dark, wary eyes. Yes, he was hunting. He was hunting for those moments when she gave away her trepidation and she couldn’t help revealing that he’d stolen her control.

“If you move from this spot,” he said, voice low and menacing, “I will choke you with my dick and come down your throat. That will be the end of our night.”

Her eyes closed on another gorgeous display of anxious nerves. Slender fingers trembled in his. “I’d fight you.”

The woman he loved sounded breathy and so very uncertain. This was what they both craved.

“I believe you, of course. But you’re a smart woman, Sunny. You won’t fight until you know what I have in mind.”

He dropped her hand and crossed to sit in a padded chair opposite the bed. She followed his every movement with a lifted chin and a gaze manic with anticipation. Oh, he could relate, and yet with every move toward the next level, he became more calm, more assured.

He would lose control eventually, but not until he’d rocked her to the core.

“Strip. Hair down too.”

She found her backbone, firmed it up. “You expect me to do that?”

“Like I said, you want to know what I have planned. Otherwise you’d have moved. You know the consequences for that mistake, and you don’t like them. You’re gambling that you’ll like some other option better.”

“Gambling is about knowing when to walk away.”

He finished his drink—nothing to dull his senses, but enough to hold back the monstrous erection that threatened. He said what he’d never been brave enough to say with regard to their real problems.

“Then walk, Sunny. Head for that door. Accept the consequences.” He shrugged. “The end.”

Her feet didn’t so much as twitch. Each toe wrapped in nylon was perfectly aligned. One day he might tell her about that revealing habit. Or maybe not. His secret.

“No? Fine by me. That means doing what I said. Strip. Don’t make me say it again.”

She was less graceful than usual, which was a work of art in itself. With every discarded piece, she looked up at him, as if trying to judge his intentions—or maybe to learn whether she’d done it right. Dash liked it. He waited for dress, for bra and stockings, for her skimpy panties, but not just because she rewarded him with the erotic majesty of her body. He sought those questioning looks.

Without hesitation, she efficiently unbound her hair. A swaying waterfall of black poured down her torso, enveloping her lush golden skin as if she were a reborn Lady Godiva. Only, it wasn’t long enough to cover the trimmed hair at the apex of her thighs.

That was his to admire. He did, staring outright. He imagined turning her into a sex object. He wanted her to be a woman he’d propositioned in a shady alley. Bought and paid for. He stared, licked his lower lip, waited until she began to fidget—a victory unlike many he’d ever known in his life.

The Ice Queen was fidgeting.

Only when
he
couldn’t stand it any longer did he look up. She was still his Sunny, although so transformed as to become the whore he’d pictured. Hair a magnificent flowing tangle. Lips parted and moist. Eyes wide and greedy yet gratifyingly wary.

“On the bed. On your back.”

With more haste now, he crossed behind her and met her at the bed. Their thighs positioned so that he pressed hers against the edge of the mattress. She flinched. Her elbow twitched back in reflex. From there, she could catch his kidney and donkey kick her way free by sacrificing his balls.

No matter what she’d planned, she hesitated. It
was
only reflex. “Still playing along?” he asked against her neck. “Now I’m the one who’s vaguely disappointed.”

“Vaguely?” Her voice was a papery whisper.

“Doesn’t really matter. I’ll win either way. You’ll only win if you do as I say.” Smoothing the hair back from her breasts, he clenched it as a quiet warning. “The only way you get out of here is if you behave. And even then…” He bit the flesh of her shoulder until she cried out, jerking her head in vain against where he held her immobilized. “Even then, I’ll hurt you if I decide it’ll get me off. Now, on that fucking bed.”

He gave her a shove to make his point. Briefly, he was treated to a flash of her ass and her pussy lips, as she caught her balance on all fours. She flipped onto her butt, scooted down and lay dead center on the bed. Dash went about flinging the pillows out of the way. Her head hit the comforter with a soft thump.

“Liam…?”

He knelt beside the bed and retrieved one of the four implements he’d stashed that afternoon. The end of the rope poked out from between the mattresses. Overcome by a sudden flush of desire, stronger, more potent than any burn, he pressed the base of his cock and took long, deep breaths. He couldn’t lose it.
Wouldn’t.

Collecting his control, he tugged the end of the rope and climbed on top of her. He clamped his knees around her torso, holding her in place. Oh, fuck—just as he’d wanted, she began to thrash. She kicked the bed. A few flurries of knee jabs connected with his lower back. Each strike made his blood run faster. He was out of breath by the time he’d looped her hands with rope.

Understanding dawned on her face. “What are you doing?”

With the rope still coiled in his hand, he grabbed the back of her head and held it in place. “Mouthy? Maybe you need a slap.”

“Get off me.”

Across their month of play, Dash had come to learn her cues. That particular protest was a snarled invitation.

He smacked her cheek. His hand stung, and color washed across her skin. She bit her lower lip and strangled a soft moan.

Dash checked his natural response to her pleasure, which was to be gratified and share his wonder that they enjoyed this so damn much.

Instead, he kept to the role they both loved.

She kept thrashing, but he kept the white hemp cinched. He was all quick moves now, as fast as his training. With a restrained leap, he swung off and over her body, onto the floor. She managed one sharp kick to his shoulder blade—well-aimed and painful.

He grunted and grabbed the end of the rope poking out the other side. One tug. Then another. And another. He gathered the slack, some from between the mattresses, some from on top where her arms pulled wider and wider apart. Only when she cried out did he stop and tie off the ends.

After standing, ignoring a sudden dizzy rush, he admired his work. A beautiful, angry, breathless woman was bound to an anonymous hotel bed. Rope-looped wrists were stretched so that her arms formed a Y. Her legs were straight and pressed tightly together, as if that would stop him from getting what he wanted.

His darling whore wasn’t going anywhere.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Sunny was flat on her back. Tied up. Her breathing was jacked into the stratosphere. Blood rushed in her ears. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to lose her shit. Anticipation was driving her nuts.

Liam was leaning over her. Looming. He sat next to her hips, then smoothed a hand up from her waist to the small curve of her breast. Her chest jerked up on its own, pressing into his grip.

“You want me.” His gaze bored into hers. The patterns he sketched on her skin sent shivers through her. Heat pooled in his wake.

“I don’t know anymore.” She managed to swallow. Her brain was spinning with the possibilities.

“We know that’s a lie,” he said with a tiny smile. He pulled a thick lock of her hair forward to twine around her breast and down to the top of her stomach. “I called you a whore. Maybe I was wrong. You’re a
slut
. You could’ve run or fought even harder. Yet here you are, not a single cuss word. A few halfhearted struggles. A slut wants what I’m going to do to you. Do you know what that is? What I have planned for you?”

She shook her head. Words dried on her tongue.

“My beautiful slut, I’m going to
torment
you.”

Her eyes fluttered shut. “Torment.” She laughed a tiny bit. The other option was to start babbling and cussing her way through her nerves. “I should’ve run when I had the chance.”

“Time will tell. Not that you have a choice now.” He planted his hands on either side of her head and leaned down. His mouth played across hers. The kiss was soft, as soft as she’d given him in the hallway—the only scrap of kindness she would receive for a while. “Because for now, you’re mine. I’m going to do whatever I like.”

A full-body shiver curled her toes and tightened her nipples. She wrenched her eyes shut. “Fuck off,” she whispered.

He slapped her again. So sudden. Her eyes flared open, and her teeth rattled to the back of her skull, bouncing around with her half-crazed thoughts.

“I like when you cuss. But right now, I want the truth.”

“Yes. I’m your slut.”

Who the hell said things like that? Filthy, raunchy things.

And meant it.

She pulled against the ropes. The roughness dug into her wrists. The ties weren’t going anywhere.

Liam sat up so that he no longer touched her. He watched her for a long moment. She watched him in return. In her chest, her breath caught and let go and caught again.

He opened the nightstand drawer and produced a black satin blindfold. She shook her head instantly. “No. Not that.”

“Why not?”

“I…”

“Out with it. Now. Why is this scrap of satin so intimidating?”

She couldn’t move as it was. At least she’d come to anticipate when he immobilized her. He’d never gone so far as to steal her senses. To lose sight of him—his eyes, his expressions, his gorgeous body—would be cruel.

All she could manage was, “Lack of control.”

“You haven’t had control since you walked into this room.”

“You said I could run. That there would be consequence, but that I could’ve run.”

He only smiled. “Do you really think I would’ve let you?”

No.

Straight up no.

He had her and she wanted to be had.

Yet a blindfold? Every minute of her martial arts training had emphasized keeping a target in sight. Now she wouldn’t be able to even guess his intentions.

The blindfold came closer and closer, blotting out the rest of the room and the tan-painted ceiling. “You can’t stop me,” he whispered. “More than that. You don’t
want
to stop me.”

Maybe she didn’t. Maybe it was too much. Contradictions clogged her throat.
Liam, please stop
—begging in a way that might get through to him. Or the one that was closer to the truth:
Liam, please don’t stop, no matter what I say.