Her heart kicked, the blood in her veins pulsing faster. Her hand itched to rest against his chest, to feel those tight muscles beneath warm skin again, but that path led to nothing but misery. Touching him skin to skin of her own volition would be her downfall.
“Dream on, loverboy.” She drawled the words, her accent thick and rich with her Southern roots. “You survived one morning with me, whoop-de-do. Today was just a warm-up, a test to find your limits.”
“Bennie, with you, I have no limits.”
She scoffed, then paused as it dawned on her that his lack of limits might be the tool she needed to get out of the contract. It was common knowledge in the club that she didn’t play with anyone who refused to use safewords—her own morals and personal codes were at the forefront of that decision, followed swiftly by liability concerns. “If you’re not willing to draw a line, you’ll find this morning was the first and last time, Boudreaux. I might hate you past the point of reason, but I refuse to cause you harm.”
Hurt flashed in his eyes before they dropped to his crotch. “Didn’t have much of an issue leaving claw marks in my cock, Mistress.”
She fisted her hand and used the bridge of her knuckles to shove him back. “I said harm. A few scratches on your pride and joy hardly constitutes harm.”
“What about the ones in my heart?”
Violet rolled her eyes and stepped back to put more distance between them. “It would take more than a vampire glove to score that stone. I doubt a barrelful of C4 could make a dent in it. You were a generous lover, Boudreaux, but when it comes to actual love? You and I have different definitions of what it means.”
“Oh really?” There was a threat in his tone, the thrum of underlying violence she’d once stripped and knelt for just so she could feel the darkness wash over her skin. “Is that so?”
The shift in him was so fluid, if she’d blinked, she would have missed it. Gone was the soft set to his muscles, the submissive posture, the deference in his expression. In their place stood the bristling, omnipotent Dom she’d loved, feared, and idolized.
“Is that so?” Boudreaux repeated darkly, coming at her so quickly, she found herself retreating before her spine snapped straight. It was too late; his big hand found her throat, his fingers settling into their rightful position, and her back smacked against the wall. “Have you forgotten the times I laid my heart in my hands for you? The lengths I went to, the time I spent teaching you how to submit so that, in turn, you could become the woman you are now? The woman I’ve loved despite the miles between us? Do you have any idea how fucking hard it’s been, waiting for you to come home where you belong? Waking up in the morning without you there, going to sleep and praying you will be back with me when the sun rises?”
He was more frustrated than angry, she realized, but not by much. The two emotions were too similar, merging together with every breath he took. The grip on her throat was firm but restrained, his fingertips knowing precisely where to press to invoke her submissive tendencies.
Being this close to him, feeling his skin on hers, made her wet and achy.
“Boudreaux—”
“Drop the formalities, Bennie. I’ve been inside you so many damn ways to count, I’ll be surprised if my cock didn’t leave an imprint in your neglected pussy.” He leaned down until their noses touched. “What do you call me?”
Like hell she was playing these games with him. She was stuck with the contract he’d initiated; she wasn’t going to tolerate him flipping the rules on her.
He'd started the game, but they were playing it her goddamn way.
“Asshole,” she whispered. “Domineering, arrogant asshole.”
Lust flared in his eyes; he loved being challenged. “Say my name.”
“Boud—”
“Say the name you used to scream when you came on my cock.”
“Master. Sir.”
He bit the tip of her nose. “Say the one I want to hear, pretty Bennie. The one I still hear when my fist is wrapped around my cock, jerking off to the sound of your voice in my dreams.”
Where she came from, a name held power. Magic, both black and white, was the roots beneath civilization and had been for centuries.
What magic was he trying to weave around her?
Her procrastination earned her a warning growl.
Jaw tense, she stared him straight in the eyes. “Reaux.”
She barely got the word out before his mouth was on hers, devouring her with a passion born of absence. This was his way—he didn’t ask permission when he’d staked his claim, and as much as she hated it, the kiss was proof that, in body at least, she still belonged to him.
Goddamn it all to hell.
Beneath the cold shield she’d erected, her body melted the way it had only ever done for him alone. It was like sinking into a hot spring after days of wandering in the bitter cold of a frozen wasteland.
