The door opens.
Cavin fills the doorway, backlit by the hallway. He’s still shirtless, still streaked with sweat and blood. His chest heaves with exertion, and his eyes are absolutely feral.
He steps inside and closes the door behind him.
Locks it.
The click of the lock is the loudest sound I’ve ever heard.
“Hey, handsome.”
“I told you,” he says, low and rough, “not to wear that.”
“I know.” My voice comes out breathier than I intended.
“You knew damn well what you were doing and wore it anyway, didn’t you?” He stalks toward me slowly, predatory. “You wore it to provoke me. To get a reaction. You deliberatelydisobeyedme.”
I lift my chin. “Might’ve done.”
“Might’ve done,” he repeats. “You wanted my attention, Erin? Well, you have it now.”
He’s close enough now that I can see the way his pupils are wide, see the muscle flexing in his jaw.
“Turn around,” he says quietly.
My breath catches. “Cavin?—”
His hand claps against my arse, hard, the hardest spank he’s ever given me. Ohshit. “This is not the time to sass me, woman. I said,turnaround.”
I turn slowly, and I hear his sharp intake of breath when he sees my bare back fully exposed. Can feel the heat of his gaze like a physical touch trailing down my spine.
“You have any idea what you do to me?” He’s closer now, right behind me. “Walking around in this, knowing every man in that club is looking at what’s mine?”
His hand touches my lower back, just his fingertips, featherlight, and I shiver.
“You wanted to taunt me. To push me.” His hand slides up my spine, slowly, possessively. “Well done, then.”
Before I can respond, his hand closes around my upper arm, and he guides me toward a thick wooden chair.
He sits.
And then he pulls me down across his lap.
Oh god.
“Cavin—” I gasp, suddenly very aware of my position, of his thighs beneath me, solid and unyielding, how much bigger he is, and how strong. I just saw him beat a full-grown monster of a man to a pulp, and he barely broke a sweat.
“You want to act like a bold girl?” His hand rests on my lower back, holding me in place. “Then you get treated like one.”
My heart’s pounding so hard I’m sure he can feel it. I’m draped across his lap, my hands braced on the floor on one side, my toes barely touching on the other. Completely at his mercy.
“This is what happens,” he says, his hand sliding down to rest on the curve of my ass through the thin fabric of my skirt, “when you disobey me.”
I should protest. Should tell him to let me up.
But I don’t want to.
“Do you understand?” His hand flexes, possessive.
