He rises up to his height, and it’s suddenly so imposing. He’s well over a foot taller than me when I’m standing, but kneeling, he seems monstrously big. Muscles straining the material of his plain black shirt. Posture tall and set, like the commander he is. Gaze hard and pointed, fixed on me like I’m the only thing in theworldworthy of his attention.
It makes me feel so small, yet soseen. I don’t remember the last time I felt trulyseenby someone; I’ve always just been… present, yet disregarded. That’s not the case with Max. His attention is so pronounced, so pointed, it feels like it’s a heat-seeking missile and I’m the target.
Sweat gathers along the back of my neck when he trails his fingertip over my shoulder, and a fine shudder works its way through my body.
“I’m going to fuck you now, Flame. Do you want that?”
Yes—
No.
Yes.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
“That’s alright,” he assures me. “I’ll make the decisions. I have the control. You don’t need to worry about doing anything except what I tell you, and trusting that anything I do will never be intended to harm you.”
A sardonic smile spreads on my lips. “Is that what you tell yourself when youpunishme? That it’s not harmful?”
“I play the long game, Flame. Something that might hurt a little in the moment but does more good than harm in the long run is, in fact, agood thing.You don’t respond to lectures or a stern talking to—you never have—so the only real option remaining is toshowyou why you should avoid certain behaviors. But that’s not what tonight is about.”
“What is tonight about?”
He stops in front of me, jaw tense. “Claiming you and putting me out of my fucking misery. Now.” He pauses, seeming to consider something. “I’ll cut you a deal. You have a lot of restless energy making you vibrate right now, and I have abigfucking apartment. So, I’m going to tuck Greg away so he isn’t underfoot, and when I return, you’re going torun. I’m going to chase you. Feel free to fight me—you won’t be punished for that. But when I catch you, I’m going to fuck you however I want to fuck you, and you are going to scream for me.”
My breath catches. My heart stutters. The visual his words conjure is unexpectedly andinsanelyarousing. It pulls on the truest part of me, one that always existed in the background but was fully forged under the fires of Dagon’s cruelty; the warrior. If Max manages to subdue my fight and catch me, he’ll have won me. That isn’t just something I can live with, it’s something Icrave.
“Do we have a deal?” he asks.
I nod. “Yes.” After a pause, I tack on, “I’m not calling you sir unless you win.”
“UntilI win.” He grins. “I’ll be right back. Stay right there. When I get back and tell you to go, you have free reign of the kitchen, the office, the two spare rooms, the living room—I’ll open all the doors. Go wherever you want. And be prepared to have the soul fucked out of your bodywhenyou lose.”
He walks away. Anticipation strings me tight, making my skin ache with the urge to run and my core tingle with the thought of a fight.
I might not like killing—I’ll do it, I just don’t enjoy it—but one of my dirty secrets is that Ilovefighting. I love winning. I love turning the world’s expectations of me—a pretty, small woman—on their head.
And, when it’s well-earned, I can even enjoy losing.
I just haven’t lost a fight in at least three years—not afairfight, anyways. My fights with Dagon’s men were never fair. I always had one hand metaphorically or physically bound behind my back, but now, I’m free and able-bodied.
Max returns, slowly walks over to the bed, and takes a seat.
“You have ten seconds,” he says quietly. “Go.”
I take off like a bullet launched from a gun, heedless that I’m naked. I bolt through the living room, pause, and look around. This isn’t a game of hide-and-seek, exactly, it’s really a game of fighting—and to fight, I need to be armed. Max never gave me any rules that precluded me finding a weapon.
I dart straight to the kitchen and scan the counter top for any makeshift weapons. Unless I intend to use a roll of fucking paper towels to beat Max, nothing there.
“Three seconds!” Max calls out.
I open a drawer, close my hand around the first metal item I pull out—a fuckingladle—and whir around in time for Max’s part of thechase to start. He doesn’t run like I did; his footsteps are slow and casual as they carry him out of the bedroom. His hands are folded in his pockets, but he’s lost his shirt and his belt. The sight of his bare abs rippling almost distracts me—almost, but not quite.
He even whistles under his breath as he walks, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. As if he’s already won.
Cocky bastard.
When he sees my weapon, helaughs.“Really?”
