“Oh yes, it does.” He watches my fingers work the button free and slide the zipper down. “I’ve just confessed my darkest desires to you, and now I’m going to show you how deep that possession and need run. How much it’s pained me to watch you run away and fight me at every fucking turn. I’m going to bring you to the edge of insanity and back again.”
I hesitate, jeans open but still on. “By having sex with me?” My cheeks heat, and I know I’m way out of my element here.
“I don’t have to fuck you even though I want to. I can simply touch you, make your pussy weep and beg for my cock. Make you feel what you, what we, both have been fighting. The sooner you understand you’re mine, the sooner you see that there isn’ta damn thing I won’t do to keep you beside me, to protect and cherish you, the easier this marriage will be.” He steps closer, sliding between my knees. “We’re done lying to each other. Done pretending there isn’t more here.”
His hands cover mine where they rest on my thighs. Slowly, deliberately, he guides them to push the jeans down. I lift my hips automatically, hating myself for the cooperation even as I do it. The jeans pool around my ankles. I’m left in my underwear and the flannel shirt.
“That’s my sweet girl,” he murmurs, and the praise does something to my body that shame can’t override.
I look away, unable to bear the weight of his gaze as it drags down my body. His rough hands grip my knees and shove them apart, forcing me to face him. His voice is low, unyielding. “You’re thinking you hate me right now. But you only wish you did. Because hating me would be easier than wanting me. You know exactly what kind of man I am. Dangerous. Terrible. And still… you want me.”
He’s right. God help me, he’s right. Because underneath the fear and the anger and the resentment, there’s want, and need, and desire so deep it’s suffocating. And I hate myself for wanting him, for craving a man I know is no good for me.
“Lie back,” he orders.
“Calder—”
“Shhhh. Trust me. I got you. Lie back.”
My body obeys before my mind can protest.
Calder’s hands trail up my inner thighs, maddeningly slow. “Look at you. All mine. Every single inch of you.”
“I don’t want you,” I lie, hoping he’ll believe me.
“Is that why your pussy is soaked?” His fingers slip beneath the fabric and stroke through the wetness gathered there. I try to bite back the moan of pleasure, but a small sound escapes me.
“You can’t hide the truth from me. Not while you’re dripping all over my hand, and definitely not making the sound you just made.” His voice is thick with satisfaction. “But if you must tell yourself that I made you do this. I’ll be the bad guy if you want me to be.” He circles my clit with agonizing lightness, teasing and tempting me.
“Calder,” I whine, lifting my hips involuntarily.
“I want to touch you, to make you come apart, but there’s a lesson to be learned here.”
“I don’t care about your lessons.”
“That’s fine, but if you want to come, you will listen to me.”
He tugs a knife from his boot, raises it to the edge of my panties, and barely slices to make them fall off into a scrap under my ass.
Why did that turn me on even more?
“Touch yourself.”
“What?” I gasp.
“I said touch yourself. Rub your clit. Show me how you get off. I want to watch you.” I squeeze my eyes shut, mortification burning through me.
I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve done this.
“Please,” I whisper, as my neck and face burn.
“Please, what?”
“You touch me.”
“Where?” His fingers return, tracing everywhere except where I need them. “Here?” He strokes my inner thigh. “Or here?” His thumb presses into my hip bone.
“You know where,” I grit out.
