He looked down at her small bare feet against his thick boots. Tension ticked between them, harsh and full. “Last chance, Pippa. Go back to bed.”
Even though the storm bellowed around them, she suddenly felt like she’d jumped into the path of a tornado. Might as well poke the tiger literally. She pressed her finger into his chest. “Make me.”
His head snapped back up, a raw hunger in every line. “Okay.” Faster than a gasp, he ducked a shoulder into her stomach and lifted her right off her feet. Her stomach hit his hard muscles, and the air blew out of her lungs. Shock kept her silent for a minute.
Her hair hung down, and suddenly, they were back in her house. She started to struggle.
“Stop it.” She fisted her hand and nailed him in the right kidney.
His muffled oath was the only prelude to his hand descending on her butt. Hard. She yelped as pain radiated from his hand. Oh, it hurt. But it felt good, too. Warm and tingly. What the hell? She started twisting again, and he flipped her over, planting her on the kitchen counter.
Her breath panted out.
“I need to know.” His voice went beyond rough to raw, the sound hoarse. “Do you have triggers?”
She blinked. “Triggers?” Like on a gun?
He snarled, his face moving closer. “Yes. Don’t mess with me right now, Pippa. I heard the nightmare. Have you been abused? Touched? Do I need to back away right now? Tell me the truth. I will.”
Oh. Her heart swelled right then, despite the rioting flash flood ripping through her body. “Abused? Probably, definitely emotionally. Psychologically. All of that.” She’d worked through much of it with her counselors.
The sound he made was animalistic. “If they’re not dead yet, they will be.” His body was one rigid line of deadliness. Of promise. Of danger.
She gulped. “There was no touching as a kid. Nothing physical. No triggers. I’m okay.” For the first time in way too long, she meant the words. Her body and mind concentrated only on him with a razor-sharp focus that made breathing nearly impossible.
The intense color of his eyes trapped hers, and his face came even closer. Within inches. “If I held you down, you’d be all right?”
A shocking thrill jolted through her. The mere idea sharpened her nipples into points so hard they hurt. “Yes.” Her voice was hoarse this time. “Though you might not be.”
His chin lifted at the challenge. “You ever been spanked?”
The spit in her mouth dried up. “No,” she whispered, her skin becoming sensitized.
“You challenge me again, you will be.”
It was a clear threat, and it made her wet. Wetter. She should be embarrassed or even concerned. But she wanted this. She wanted him, completely unleashed. The wildness she’d sensed in him, the primitive side that had drawn her from that first day . . . that she craved. She arched out and cupped his steel-hard erection. “I think you’re full of shit, Malcolm.”
He reared back, his shoulders seeming to broaden. “What did you say?” The words were mangled.
What was she doing? She couldn’t seem to stop herself. He was trying so hard to stay in control. To treat her as something fragile he couldn’t be himself with. This darkness? She wanted it. If it was part of him, she needed it. “All of this talk. You’re the one who’s scared.” Her mouth just wouldn’t quit.
Thunder bellowed outside, and the rain beat mercilessly against the windows.
He didn’t move, but seemed to vibrate in place. It was as if the entire world held its breath. When he did finally move, it was with a deliberate control that caught her by surprise. One second she was facing him, the next he’d manacled her and flipped her around, facedown on the kitchen table. “I’d hate to be full of shit,” he muttered, yanking her yoga pants down her legs.
She sucked in a harsh breath. Her feet dangled in the air. She’d dared him to do this. “Mal—”
The first smack on her bare ass stopped the words in her throat. She tried to lever herself up, and he planted one hand across her entire lower back, holding her in place. Then he brought his huge palm down on her ass a second time. The sound was a sharp crack, the sting a quick burn. Tears instantly filled her eyes. “I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, you did mean.” Four hard smacks punctuated his words.
More tears filled her eyes because he really wasn’t holding back. He’d given her the out, and she’d challenged him. She could stop him. If she asked, he’d stop. But the raw, hot, pulsing ache between her legs kept her silent.
Pain and pleasure. She’d never explored this. He flipped on the light by the door, and she closed her eyes in protest.
“Now, that’s better.” The sound he made was full of hunger as he ran his palm over her heated butt. “So pretty and bright pink.” He spanked her again.
She arched up, heat sliding from her butt to her clit. She whimpered.
