"I hate you," she whispers, but her body tells a different story.
"No, you don't," I murmur against her ear. I feel the shiver that runs through her.
She doesn't fight me. She should. Any rational woman would be screaming, clawing, doing everything in her power to get away from the man who just told her she's his prisoner.
But Hannah isn't any woman. She's mine.
She twists around, staring up at me with anger flashing through her eyes.
Anger and passion.
Our mouths collide, tongues dueling in a dance that's both familiar and foreign. She tastes even better now.
"You're mine," I growl against her lips. "You know it, right?"
She moans softly, arching into me. It's a yes and a no all rolled into one. I break the kiss, trailing my lips down her jaw to suck gently on her neck. She shudders beneath me, leaning back into the window with a sigh of surrender.
"So fucking beautiful," I whisper against her skin.
My hand slides up her arm and rests around her throat, holding her head against the window while my other hand jerks at the skirt. I manage to hike it up enough to get my hand between her legs.
She gasps when I drag my fingers through her wet heat, making her gasp and moan. Her body is asking for more, begging me to take her hard and fast and rough. But there's something else there too - fear mixed with desire, uncertainty lacing each thrust of her hips against my hand.
I pull away for a moment,looking down at her flushed cheeks and parted lips. Her eyes are half-closed, heavy-lidded with lust and the promise of submission. It's intoxicating.
"Tell me to stop," I murmur against her ear, nipping gently at the lobe with my teeth. "Tell me you don't want this."
She shakes her head violently, pushing herself even harder against my hand as it continues to tease between her legs through her silk panties. "Don't stop," she whispers hoarsely. "Please..."
Her head falls back against the glass as I slip a finger inside her, pushing past the wet folds and into her core. She’s so tight, so fucking hot around me. My other hand slides up her stomach, pressing against her breast through her blouse. She gasps, arching into the touch. It's too much. She should be hating me, but instead she's moaning my name.
"Hannah," I whisper, my voice rough with desire. "Tell me you belong to me."
She shudders beneath my touch. "No.”
I groan, thrusting my fingers into her as she grinds against my hand with unbridled need. It's almost enough to make me lose control. I pull my hand away reluctantly.
I have to be inside her. I jerk my zipper down, fumbling with my belt and the button on my slacks and let them fall around my ankles.
“Take it off,” I order.
She doesn’t question me. Her hands fumble with the zipper on her skirt until it drops to her feet.
I push her lacy panties down. I lick my lips at the sight of her.
My cock throbs in response.
“Fuck,” I hiss.
What is it about this woman?
“Turn around,” I murmur.
She does as I ask. Her hands press flat against the glass, her back arched and her ass out.
That’s an invitation.
I position myself behind her, my hands gripping her hips as I line myself up with her entrance. The sight of her bent over like this, waiting for me, trusting me despite everything, makes my chest tight with something I don't want to name.
