“Then why am I on my back?”
“A lesson.”
“That you’re bigger? Stronger? I know.”
“That you should be more careful about whom you choose to fight, and you shouldn’t act out in anger, only strategy.”
It’s a fair point. But I’m not really in the mood. I try to buck him off, but between his weight and his hand on my stomach, he hardly moves. I let out a half cry, half growl of frustration as I try to buck him off again and then kick out. My legs barely move.
Now, I just want to rage, to expend the energy that’s pumping through my blood.
He doesn’t move as I twist, kicking my feet. He just holds.
I reach out with my hands, trying to scratch them down his face but he only pulls up enough so that I can’t reach.
“Give me the money. Give me my freedom, you son of a?—”
“Don’t speak ill of my mother. She’s one of the few good people I know.”
“Lucky you,” I spit back.
His hand slides over my stomach holding my side, his fingers wrapping around my ribs. “She softened a very hard world for me. And it has only just occurred to me that no one has ever done that for you.”
My breath catches as I finally focus, realizing that I’ve scratched his neck all to hell. I blink up at him, trying to decide how to respond to that. “I don’t need softness. I need revenge.”
He stares down at me, his eyes dark and fathomless. “Interesting.”
I huff out a breath. “Can we not start doing that one word thing again.” But as quicky as the anger burned, it’s gone, and my body melts into the bed. I seem to have worn out all my aggression. Win’s free hand slides down my arm and then his fingers lightly circle my wrist. Then, he starts slowly sliding my arm up the bed. “What are you doing?”
“Rewriting that touch in the drawing room.”
“Why?”
“Because, when a man dominates a woman, it should only be for her pleasure.”
I stare up at him, my eyes going wide. “Pleasure?”
“Yes, my clawing kitty Kat. Pleasure.”
I turn my head to the side, watching my arm as he slides it over my head. I don’t resist. And the higher up my hand goes, the lower his chest moves until it’s pressed to mine.
His weight feels amazing. I’m not even a little frightened, he’s so controlled. If anything, I feel…safe.
I haven’t felt safe in so long, I can’t even remember.
That’s when a small sob breaks from my chest. I didn’t even know it was building until it breaks free.
If I haven’t felt like this in years, I haven’t cried since…
“Am I hurting you? Scaring you?” he stops, his nose brushing over my cheek.
“No,” I manage. “I just…” I don’t want soft feelings. I’m not even sure I care about life after my father’s is ruined.
He keeps bringing my hand up until it’s above my head and then he threads his fingers through mine, his nose brushing my cheek again.
This man has been nothing but hard since I met him. Why is he doing this now? Is it a trick? “Please stop.”
“Why?”
