The memory of those words should anger me. Instead, it propels me forward.
My footsteps are silenced by the rug as I cross the room. Robin remains oblivious until I’m directly in front of her chair, closeenough to see the flecks of gold in her blue eyes when she finally looks up.
“Eva! I didn’t hear?—”
I don’t bother with words. Words are for negotiations, for boardrooms, for people who don’t already belong to me. Instead, I reach down and pull the book from her hands, tossing it aside without looking at the title.
I wipe the beginnings of outrage off her face with a kiss, hard and demanding, one hand gripping her hair to hold her still.
For a heartbeat, she’s stiff and unyielding, her mouth hard. Then she melts, kissing me back with a fervor that sends heat racing through my veins. Her hands come up to pull me closer even as she submits to the invasion of my tongue.
But kissing isn’t enough. Nowhere near enough.
I break away just long enough to pull her from the chair. The way she looks at me—eyes dark with desire—makes me want to tear her apart completely.
The velvet settee by the window is the perfect height. I pull her the few steps there, then press her down against the cushions, following her until I’m braced above her, caging her between my arms and the furniture.
“Eva,” she squeaks. “Someone will hear us.”
“Not if you stay quiet.” I capture her mouth again, swallowing whatever other protest she might have made. I slide my hands under her sweater and map the warm silk of her skin, a little higher to find the plain bra that never fails to drive me crazy with need.
She arches into my touch, a soft whimper escaping her lips that goes straight to my cunt. I can feel her walls crumbling with every kiss, every caress.
This is what I need. Not conversation, not companionship, not whatever romantic nonsense she was reading about. Just this—her body responding to mine, her breath coming in gasps, her complete and total surrender.
I push her sweater up, yank her breasts out of her bra cups to bare them to the golden light streaming through the windows. Perfect. Everything about her is perfect—the pink of her nipples, the way she trembles under my gaze, the flush spreading across her chest.
“Mine,” I murmur, lowering my head to take one tight bud between my lips.
She cries out when I suck hard, and I lose myself in the soft flesh of her tits. I lavish attention on first one, then the other, until she’s writhing beneath me.
My hands slide lower, finding the waistband of her jeans. The button gives way easily, the zipper following with a soft whisper of sound. She lifts her hips to help me strip the denim away, lets me yank her shoes off as I go, and the willing participation undoes something inside me.
She wants this. Wantsme. Despite everything—the circumstances that brought her here, the cold distance I’ve shown since her arrival—she still responds to my touch like she was made for it. Like she was made forme.
And no matter how much she denies it, she knows it’s true.
I just have to make her admit it.
Her underwear is the same white cotton, too. Innocent. Practical. So utterly Robin that a part of me wants to keep them on. But her scent is driving me mad, so I tug them down and toss them aside.
“Eva—” Her eyes fly open, seek the door, suddenly aware once more of her exposed state.
I press her down, nuzzling her throat. “Relax, little bird. The doors are locked. No one is going to see.”
Except for me. For the time of the contract, she is mine to do with as I please. Mine to possess. Mine to love.
Love?
The word makes me pause, and for a moment something breaks through my hunger. No, this isn’t love, this is…this is lust. Lust, and the thrill of bending someone to my will. That’s all this is. All this can ever be.
It’s enough. More than enough. And if a small, secret part of me wishes it was more, well, I can ignore that part. I always have.
Robin squirms, the motion bringing me back to the present. I sit back, admiring the picture she makes—hair wild, skin flushed, eyes dark with desire. “Spread your legs and show me how wet you are.”
She obeys, and the sight of her open and glistening, so ready for me, sends a bolt of pure need through me. I reach out, brush a fingertip across her swollen clit, and she gasps, hips lifting. Her hand is gripping the side of the settee. Her teeth are worrying her bottom lip, and the sight makes me want to kiss her again. To steal the breath from her lungs and taste her surrender.
“I have you, little bird,” I murmur, stroking her slowly, watching as her face tightens with pleasure. “You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.”
