There’s no lust in his face, only a detached curiosity as his thumb traces down, applying a perfect, subtle pressure rightwhere our bodies meet. He’s studying me. Does he even know what damage he’s doing?
I should tell him to stop. Reclaim the upper hand. But I can’t. Not when his touch is the first thing that hasn’t been pain or fear in days. A sound escapes me, sharp and unbidden—a whimper I try to trap behind my teeth.
“Doesn’t take much for you, though, does it?” His brows furrow, but the words lack mockery. They’re an observation, which is infinitely worse.
“I’ve never let a man touch me, dick.” The attempted barb ends in a sigh as my hips lift of their own volition, begging for more of his hand.
The key, Destiny. Think of the key.
My lips part, my breathing shallow and fast. “I need…”
Hammer shifts subtly, and I feel every hard inch of him. “More?” he murmurs, his voice low. “The shorts are in the way.”
Then I feel his fingers hooking into the waistband. But he doesn’t tear or yank like a monster should. He’s slow, tracing the drawstring knot with infuriating patience. He’s waiting. He’s going to make me ask for it, to complete the humiliation of my plan backfiring.
I could go back to grinding against him, but that would mean admitting how slick and ready I am for my captor.
“I’m not giving myself to you,” I insist, my cheeks burning. “I offered my virginity for that key. The key comes first.”
He stares, unblinking. “I never said I wanted your virginity.”
“You’re turned on,” I accuse, a last, desperate grasp for any leverage.
The audacity of a smile touches his lips as his gaze drops between us. “As are you. The difference is, you’re the one who’s surprised by it.”
Gripping his shoulder, he groans low as I put pressure on his injury. Leaning against him, I have to bite my lip hard to containthe start of a groan at the realization that I’m feeling something that isn’t rage. This is the last man who should be able to bring me to this state.
This isn’t good. No, this is bad.
Yet, the pulse between my thighs only grows more impossible to ignore as he nudges the knot keeping my shorts secure. At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if this man is a master at getting into people’s heads.
I need to stay in control. I refuse to be under someone’s thumb again.
The knot of the drawstring is a hard little lump under my fingers as I push his away. My heart is frantic against my ribs, so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
Hammer’s eyes are unreadable, but they haven’t left mine. That’s the only thing that matters. He’s waiting. He could take; he has the strength for it, but he’s waiting for me.
Control. It’s a brittle, fragile thing, but it’s all I have to feel strong.
“If you touch me,” I continue, “you do it because I’m allowing it. Because I’m the only one getting anything out of this. You’re getting nothing. You hear me?Nothing.”
My fingers feel clumsy as I keep my eyes on his. One brave pull, and the cord gives way, causing the fabric of my shorts to go slack.
His expression doesn’t so much as flicker. No smirk, no scowl. Just that intense, terrifying focus.
For an everlasting moment, nothing happens. The air is so thick that it’s almost impossible to breathe. I can feel the heat of his body, smell the faint scent of leather and fresh grass on his skin.
Then, ever so slowly, his hand moves.
He doesn’t look away from me. Not once. His knuckles brush the bare skin of my stomach, a rough, calloused scrape thatmakes my breath hitch. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, the sharp pain welcoming. His fingers slide past the waistband of my shorts, down, through the coarse curls, and then…
A single, rough finger slides through my slick folds, and a sound tries to claw its way out of my throat—a choked, startled thing. I trap it behind my teeth, my jaw clamping shut so hard it aches.
My eyes are wide, locked on his, and I see the faintest, most infinitesimal darkening in his gaze, a crack in the granite. He feels it. He feels how ready I am, how my body is betraying every one of my defiant words.
Going from sounding so confident only minutes ago to whimpering against this man’s touch is both a wave of humiliation and pleasure.
Half of me wants to pull away, while the other half demands I give in. I’m already nudging closer so he can have more room to explore.
