“Your heart is beating so fast right now,kotenok,” he said in a low, satisfied rumble. “Are you scared of what I’m going to do to you, or are you scared of how much you’re going to like it?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Words were useless. My silence was my only defense.
He chuckled, a dark, seductive sound. “I’ll take that as a yes to both.”
He shifted, and then his hands were on my breasts. He cupped their weight in his palms, his thumbs brushing over my nipples, and the shock of it, the sheer, unexpected pleasure of it, jolted through me like a lightning strike. I couldn’t help but gasp at the feeling of it.
“Ah,” he breathed, a soft sound of discovery. “There she is.”
He rolled my nipples between his fingers, a slow, delicious torment that sent sparks of fire shooting through my veins. My hands, which had been lying limp at my sides, curled into fists, the sheets twisting in my grip. I was fighting a losing battle, and I knew it.The worst part was that he could see every moment of my defeat written all over my body.
He watched my face, his gaze intense, unblinking. He saw every flicker of emotion, every twitch of my muscles, every breath that tore free from my throat. He was reading me like a book, and he already knew the ending.
“You’ve never let anyone touch you like this, have you?” he asked quietly.
I squeezed my eyes shut, a wave of shame washing over me.No one had ever touched me like this. I’dneverallowed such a thing. My life hadn’t allowed for opportunities like this to come out of the woodwork either.This was new territory. Uncharted. Dangerous.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
My eyes snapped open, instinct overriding my desire to hide.
A devastatingly handsome smile spread across his face. “No. You haven’t. You’ve been so focused on being a soldier, so busy being angry, you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be a woman.”
He lowered his head, and for a heart-stopping second, I thought he was going to kiss me, but he didn’t. He bypassed my lips, his mouth finding the sensitive skin just below my ear. He nipped at my earlobe, a quick, stinging bite that was immediately soothed by the warm sweep of his tongue. A shudder racked my body, and I couldn’t tell if I hated it or not.
“That’s it,” he murmured against my skin. “Let go.”
His hands left my breasts, and I felt a sudden, inexplicable sense of loss. But they didn’t go far. One slid down my stomach, tracing the line of my muscles and my breath caught in my throat. The other tangled in my hair, his fingers tightening,guiding me back so that I was lying down on the bed a silent, unyielding reminder of who was in control.
Then he was back at my breasts. His mouth closed over one nipple, hot and wet, and the world narrowed to that single point of contact. He didn’t just suck. He possessed. His tongue swirled around my nipple, a deliciously slow rhythm that was designed to drive me to the brink of madness. His teeth grazed the sensitive peak, a light, teasing scrape that made my hips lift off the bed in a silent, desperate plea.
“Tell me you want this.” His words were breathy against my skin.
My lips parted, but no sound came out. The words were trapped in my throat, held captive by pride and fear and fury.
He bit down on my nipple gently, then a bit harder until pain radiated through my breast. A cry escaped my lips, a sound that was half pain, half pleasure, and all surrender.
“Tell me,” he demanded again, his tone brooking no argument.
“Never,” I gasped, the word a ragged breath. It was a lie, and we both knew it.
He chuckled triumphantly. “We’ll see about that.”
He turned his attention to my other breast, giving it the same thorough, devastating attention.
I was burning up inside, fiery heat consuming me from the inside out. My mind was a battlefield, a clash of wills, but my body was a conquered territory. It had surrendered without a fight, a willing victim to his relentless assault.
His hand, which had been stroking my stomach, slid lower, tracing the waistband of my pants. His fingers dipped beneaththe fabric, a leisurely teasing exploration that made my entire body tense in anticipation of what might come next.
“Right now, these beautiful tits are mine,” he said, his possessiveness a living thing in the room. He rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “All of you is mine.”
He moved with a languid grace that was both terrifying and mesmerizing in the same breath. Using his knee to force mine apart, he settled between my legs, his weight a welcome pressure that anchored me to the bed, to the moment. He looked down at me, his blue eyes darkening with a hunger that was exhilarating.
“Slap me one more time,” he ordered, his voice a provocative whisper now. “Slap me one more time if you want me to stop giving you choices.”
My breath stuttered, and I felt it then; the rage was still there, a hot, familiar fire, but beneath it, a new and more dangerous kind of heat was spreading through my veins. It was a heat that made my blood sing, a liquid ache that pooled in my stomach and settled between my thighs.
I wanted to slap him. Not to stop him, but to see what would happen. To see if he’d follow through. To know for myself what it would feel like if, for once in my life, I let someone else take charge.
