She whirls in her seat to face me, her cheeks blazing.
“Are you serious? You beat him up for nothing?”
“You’re not getting my point,” I clip in irritation.
“Maybe because your point sucks!”
“Why are you suddenly concerned about an ex who treated you like shit? An ex who enjoyed fucking another woman more than he enjoyed fucking you?”
My words land straight on target. But they hurt me as much as her as a shimmer of self-consciousness passes through her eyes and she moves back, faltering in her attack on me.
I’ve gone too far. Put her back in a place she should never have been. Reminded her of a way she should never have been made to feel.
“Come here.”
“No,” she spits, jerking her face toward the window and crossing her arms.
“Tate,” I instruct, my voice soft, but firm. “Come. Here.”
“Make me.”
I unfasten my belt, and in one swift move, I unfasten hers and pull her into my lap to straddle me.
“I’m not going to apologize for my actions.”
“Well, what a surprise. Sullivan Beaufort doing exactly what he wants.”
Her eyes are like two flames trying to destroy me, but her words lack conviction. Especially because her panties are soaking as I rub the tips of my fingers over them.
“Don’t think that’s me forgiving you, just because my body reacts to you.” She pouts.
“No one will ever treat you like he did and not have to deal with the consequences. And you can fight with me as much as you want. It won’t change a thing.”
I unzip my pants and pull my dripping dick out.
“Does anyone ever say no to you? Refuse to let you have your own way?” she snaps, even as she shivers in my arms, letting out a soft moan.
I yank her panties to one side roughly, my heart rate skyrocketing as she does nothing to stop me.
“If they do, then they soon say yes. I can be very persuasive.”
Holding her glare, I grip her hips and lift her, bringing her down slowly onto my aching cock.
She feels like fucking ecstasy.
I tip my head back, keeping my eyes on hers as I groan, sinking my teeth into my lower lip.
“You’re mine, Baby. And I protect what’s mine.” The words spill out before I can stop them. I shouldn’t be saying them, no matter how much I want to.
“I’m mad at you,” she breathes, unable to hide the way her voice pitches.
“So fuck out your anger right now so that I can kiss you and tell you how damn proud of you I am.”
Her pupils dilate and she stares at me. “Proud of me?”
I stroke her cheek, sliding my hand down to curl around her jaw possessively, but oh so gently.
“So fucking proud,” I whisper.
