Trish’s punishment for giving Bella information about the passageways had been part of establishing new boundaries. She already knew all the usual ones that guided their day-to-day life. Now Jordan was going back to pleasuring her as much as she could handle. Really, as much ashecould handle—and he could handle a lot.
“Why didn’t you tell me not to tell Bella about the passageways?” Something about the whole situation had been niggling at Trish, and she’d finally figured out what it was.
“Would you have listened?” Jordan sounded genuinely curious, not sarcastic, which didn’t surprise her. Jordan didn’t bother with sarcasm, for the most part. Questions, however…He seemed to have as many about her as she had about him, although his questions were always about the mundane parts of her life—really not that interesting, at all.
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
Jordan gave a short nod and turned down the hallway that led to their room. “The Wolf hoped you would tell Bella.”
The answer took Trish’s breath away. It took her a moment to realize she was angry. Like, really, really angry. “You mean you purposefully showed them to me so that I would tell Bella, and then punished me for telling Bella?!”
The door to their room slid open, and the side of Jordan’s mouth kicked up into half a smile. “If you hadn’t told her, we would have found another way.”
In other words, it was her own darn fault Trish had been punished. Even though she’d been set up.
If her butt wasn’t already so tender, she might have hit him. As it was, she curled her hands into fists and did her best to keep from reaching out and smacking his chest. Or his face.
She’d inadvertently helped but had still been punished.
Big jerk.
His chest vibrated, and it took Trish a moment to realize he was chuckling.
“You sound like you’re growling,” he said, amused.
Trish felt like growling. And then slapping him.
When he tossed her on the bed and then climbed up after her, his intent clear by the light in his hungry eyes, Trish hit her limit.
“No!” She shoved at his shoulders, attempting to push him away—not that it did any good. Jordan’s muscular frame didn’t budge. “I am not having sex with you right now!”
She squealed with outrage as his weight came down on top of her, pinning her to the bed, and his hands grabbed hers and pushed them up above her head. Neither his amusement norhis arousal had dimmed in the least in the face of her unusual outburst. Chuckles still rumbled through his chest, and his cock was rock-hard and pressing into the softness between her legs.
“My babygirl is angry,” Jordan said, as though it were the most adorable thing in the world.
Trish wanted to scream her frustration, but it wouldn’t get the reaction she wanted, and, if he acted like it was cute, she really might explode.
She bucked, which, other than rocking her body against his erection, didn’t help. It especially didn’t help her own reactions. Trish hated to admit it, but she couldn’t ignore that her nipples had hardened into little points and her pussy was becoming slick with arousal from having Jordan on top of her—which made her even more angry.
“I’ll make it up to you, babygirl,” he said, still chuckling, as he ran his lips over the length of her neck.
“No!” Trish said again, sounding like a pouty little girl, hating herself for it but unable to find a way to sound more adult, more firm.
Leather wrapped around her wrists, and, this time, she did vent a scream of frustration, and then tried to kick Jordan when he laughed and knelt back. He easily caught her ankles and pinned one down with his leg while he wrapped a cuff around the other and then cuffed her last limb, leaving her secured, vulnerable, aroused, and pissed off.
“Noooooooooo! You bastard!” Trish thrashed against her bonds. “Let me go, let me go, let me go!”
That was how long it took Jordan to produce a gag from his pocket and push it between her teeth. Trish bit down on the soft rubber in a perfect fury, calling him all sorts of names that were muffled and distorted by the rubber as he secured the strap behind her head.
Jordan bopped her on the tip of her nose with his finger, making her scream again.
“This is for your own good, babygirl,” he said, looking stern although his tone was amused. “I don’t want to have to punish you again so soon after your last one, but you can’t keep calling me names. Even if, technically, I really am a bastard.”
His voice dropped on the last sentence, eyes darkening for a a moment, as if remembering something unpleasant, and Trish stilled at this momentary glimpse of emotion. Then it was gone, and he looked down at her again, his gaze sliding up and down her body, assessing… and then making a decision.
Cloth ripped as he easily tore the dress from her body rather than lifting her skirt, giving him access to all of her. Her breasts heaved as she panted around the gag, her nipples pointing straight up at the ceiling. In this position, with her legs spread and bound, there was no way to hide the creamy gloss of her pussy or her budded nipples, no way to pretend her body wasn’t aroused, no matter how frustrated and pissed off she was.
His comment about not wanting to punish her kept her still, though,as her snap of temper wasn’t because she’d finally reached the end of her rope. No… it was because Trish trusted him to not harm her. Really trusted him. Not just surface-level—she subconsciously trusted him enough to lose control, to scream at him, to call him a bastard, and had even pushed him, despite knowing it would do nothing, because she knew, deep down, he wouldn’t kill her, he wouldn’t mutilate her, he wouldn’t do anything to Trish she couldn’t recover from.
