“And if I don’t say it?”
“Then I don’t stop.” My voice thickens. “No matter how much you beg.” I lean in, mouth at her ear. “And I really want to hear you beg.”
Her sharp inhale is the only answer I need.
I flip her onto her back on the hay bale, covering her body with mine. She’s so small beneath me, so fucking breakable, and the contrast makes something dark and possessive coil in my chest. I could crush her without trying, could pin her down and take whatever I wanted, and she couldn’t do a damn thing to stop me.
The thought should horrify me.
It makes me harder than I’ve ever been in my life.
Control yourself. She’s not a toy. She’s?—
“Nate.” Her voice cuts through the spiral. Her fingers rest on my cheekbone, drawing my attention back to her eyes. “I trust you.”
Three words. They shouldn’t mean so much, but coming from her, after everything she learned today, they do.
“I’m going to ruin you, darlin’,” I tell her. It comes out like both a warning and a promise.
“Not if I ruin you first,” she says with a smirk.
I grin like a madman and kiss her again, harder this time, my teeth catching her lower lip. She moans and arches into me; I can feel her heat through the thin fabric of her pants. I want them off,, wanteverythingoff. Want her bare and spread beneath me in this place where I used to hide from the world. I want to make hermyworld.
My hands make quick work of her shirt, pulling it over her head. She’s wearing a simple beige bra underneath—nothing fancy, just cotton and lace—and somehow, that’s hotter than any lingerie I’ve ever seen. I yank the cups down, freeing her breasts to the cooling air, and watch her nipples pebble instantly.
“Look at you,” I marvel, tracing a finger around one stiff peak, not quite touching. “So fucking responsive. So eager.”
“Nate, please?—”
“Please what?” I pinch her nipple, just hard enough to make her gasp. “Use your words, darlin’. Tell me what you want, and maybe I’ll give it to you.”
“I want…” She squirms beneath me, trying to press closer. “I want your mouth. Please.”
I lower my head and suck her nipple into my mouth, hard, and she cries out so loud, it echoes off the barn walls. I work her with my tongue, my teeth, switching between breasts until she’s writhing and whimpering and her hands are fisting in my hair.
But it’s not enough. I need more. Need to push her further, take her deeper, find the edge of what she can handle and drag her right over it, take us both into the abyss.
I pull back, ignoring her whine of protest, and reach for the haybale next to us. With a swift, easy yank, I break the binding holding it together, then start spooling it in my hands.
“I’m going to tie you up,” I tell her, yanking on the rope so it’s taut. “Hands above your head. And then, I’m going to do whatever I want to you until you scream my name.” I pause, holding her gaze. “What’s your safe word?”
“Milkshake,” she breathes.
“That’s a good girl.”
I grab her wrists—both fit easily in one of my hands, so fragile, so fucking perfect—and bind them together. The rope is soft from years of holding the hay together and won’t cut into her skin, but it’s strong enough to hold her. I loop the end around one of the old wooden support beams above us and secure it, leaving her arms stretched overhead, her back arched, her breasts thrust toward the rafters.
Christ.She looks like a goddamn sacrifice.
An offering to something ancient and hungry.
To a god.
A god like me.
Easy, boy, I remind myself. Danny would have my head if he knew I just referred to myself as a god. He’s always the one telling me to keep my ego at bay.
“You okay?” I ask, checking the bindings.
