“To show me what?”
“What it’s like to be owned.”
I narrow my eyes. “You don’t own me.”
He puts an arm behind his head, casually watching me.
“You don’t,” I repeat, but my voice is less sure as I look around. “What are you thinking? Some kind of permanent abduction scenario?” The thought should terrify me, but again my mind just doesn’t embrace the right emotion. I’m more intrigued than anything.
“You’re not afraid,” he says.
“Well spotted.”
“Why not?”
“I’m my father’s daughter, I guess.”
“Your father’s not that brave.”
I shrug.
“If you’re not scared, come here.”
“For what purpose?”
“So I can suck on your pink nipples.”
I cross my arms over my chest and shake my head, even though a wave of arousal washes through me. I’m sick. It’s a sickness. “You’ve had your revenge.”
He nods. “That’s done.”
“So it’s my choice now?”
He rolls from the mattress and stands. He walks to me and looks down, towering over me. “Nah. You had your turn. It’s mine.”
“What turn? What are you talking about?”
“Your turn to put your hands on me when I couldn’t stop you.”
“When you were shot? I put cold washcloths on your head and forced you to drink medicine and Gatorade.”
“You whispered things into my sleep. You kissed me.”
“Once! On the forehead. When I was deliriously tired.”
“I was incapacitated.”
I smile. “And that bothers you? Big bad Anvil, did you feel violated?”
“Nah. Worse.”
My smile drops and my brows rise. “Worse?”
His hands catch the bottom of the shirt and raise it to my ribs. I grab the fabric, trying to stop its ascent.
“Hey,” I protest.
He pulls it hard enough to wrench it from my grasp. It’s over my head and on the floor in the span of heartbeats. I cover my breasts, not sure why them rather than lower. I guess because he stated his intent to suck them.
