“Let’s go,” he barked at her. If they stayed there a single second longer, he was going to have her naked and spread out before him, and she wasn't ready for that yet. Whatever else he’d done to her, he wasn't going to take her without her wanting it as badly as he did. When she was ready to beg to feel him fill her up, then he’d have his dark way with her.
Snatching her hand, he started tugging her along with him as they headed for the trees. “Holding hands, really?” she asked. “I’m not going to run.”
“Too bad, I enjoy the chase.”
“I'm not four, I really don’t need to hold your hand.” Although she said the words, she made no move to attempt to tug her hand out of his hold. Not that he would have let her.
“Keep being a brat, little ladybug. See where that gets you. Don’t forget you already have one punishment coming when you're healed.”
“You're not really going to spank me,” she scoffed, not sounding altogether certain of that.
“Oh, little ladybug, you have no idea of the things I'm going to do to you.”
Half expecting her to tell him she wasn't going to do anything with him, she didn't. Just stared up at him with wide eyes, filled with desire and arousal. Rose was strong and tough, and ruining her was going to be a lot of fun.
December 30th
5:58 P.M.
She should have told him that she had no intention of playing whatever game it was Steel was trying to get her to engage in. There had certainly been more than enough opportunities for her to do it as they’d wandered the gardens. At every turn, he seemed to make more innuendos, and every time the words telling him to stop seemed to clog in her throat.
Instead, Rose kept being a brat, taunting him, egging him on, playing the exact game she had no right to participate in.
Truth was, she didn't know the rules, didn't know how serious Steel was. If he was just messing with her or if he really would put her over his knee and spank her until she was begging him for more.
The thought that she would like that seemed so preposterous. Yet Rose couldn’t deny that every time he threatened it, she got wet.
It would have been embarrassing, and yet it was like Steel knew exactly what he was doing to her with his threats, and he loved every second of it.
Aside from their banter, the afternoon in the garden had been sweet. He’d packed food for them, sandwiches and brownies, along with a thermos of steaming hot tea. He’d packed a tarp for them to sit on as well as some blankets, so they didn't get wet sitting on the cold wintery ground. He fussed like a mother hen, making sure her coat was buttoned up even when she got warm from walking, adjusting her scarf whenever it slipped a little and didn't completely cover her skin.
He'd even roared obscenities into the silent woods when he’d realized he’d forgotten to give her a beanie to wear, and pulled one out of the picnic basket hard enough she was sure he would have ripped the thin material. But when he tugged it onto her head, he was almost impossibly gentle.
For a while, she’d almost been able to pretend that he wasn't her captor, that she wasn't a prisoner, that they were just two people strolling through the forest. They didn't talk a whole lot, Steel seemed more comfortable with the silence, and honestly, she was too.
When it had started to get dark and he told her it was time to head back to the house, her spirit started to drop. This had been a perfect afternoon, but now it was back to reality. She’d be taken back to her room, locked in, left there until he decided she was allowed out for respite, for a breath of fresh air.
A pet.
That’s what she felt like. One he’d realized he had to walk if he didn't want it to go crazy and start destroying things.
Only she wasn't a pet, she was a real person, and she didn't want to spend twenty or so hours a day locked up in a single room.
Her mind searched for a reason not to be locked up again, one that didn't sound as desperate as she felt. As a kid, when she lived with Ridge, it had been easier to accept being his prisoner because she honestly hadn't known any better. That had been her entire life, all she’d ever known.
But now she’d had a taste of freedom.
Five years of being able to make all her own choices, do whatever she wanted when she wanted, and going back to being a prisoner again was a whole lot harder than she’d thought it would be.
“Can I cook dinner?” she blurted out as she trudged up the porch steps. The Gothic mansion was stunning. It looked like something out of a movie set, and yet to her it may as well have been plain concrete walls. A prison was still a prison even if it was a beautiful one.
“Cook dinner?”
“For everyone,” she added. It was a bit of a lame excuse, but at least it would buy her a couple of hours, depending on what she cooked. “I swear I won't add any poison to it or anything.”
“Brat.” He chuckled as his hand came lightly down on her backside. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, the welts there were healing well, but the jolt was enough to bring her body closer to his, and she found he’d shifted so he was in front of her, meaning she was bumped up against him.
The bulge in his pants pressed into her stomach, and she kept expecting him to shove her to her knees, unzip himself, and force her to take him in her mouth or her hands. After all, she was hisprisoner, and it was more than obvious that he was attracted to her.
