I move onto the bed and crowd her back onto the pillows. “Tonight, I’m the one making you stop thinking.”
Her mouth parts. “Cocky. You’ve had two years watching me without my knowledge. Tonight, I decide how this goes.”
I kiss her hard enough to shut her up.
She fights me the way I knew she would. Hands in my shirt. Nails against my ribs. Teeth on my tongue. She grinds up against me through our clothes and curses when she feels how hard I am.
“Take it off,” she demands against my mouth.
“Mine or yours?”
“All of it.” She shoves at my shoulders. “Now.”
I catch her wrists in one hand and pin them over her head. “Stay there.”
“Make me.”
I grin despite everything and wrap the belt around her wrists.
She goes still for half a second while I coil the leather and pull it snug enough to hold without hurting her.
“Too tight?” I ask.
Her chest rises and falls hard. “No.”
I thread the belt around the slats in her headboard and buckle it fast. Her hands stay above her head, palms open, and she tests the restraint with a sharp pull.
The bed frame knocks the wall, and her eyes flash with approval.
I drag my mouth down her throat and across one breast while I push her shorts and panties down her legs. She kicks them free and arches off the mattress when I spread her thighs.
She is already soaking wet.
I look at her once before I touch her.
She stares back with her wrists bound over her head and says, “Don’t you dare be gentle.”
I run two fingers through her folds and feel her jerk. “I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good.”
I swipe my thumb over her clit and drive two fingers into her at once. She curses with her heels digging into the mattress, lifting her hips to meet my hand.
“That’s what you wanted?” I ask, pumping hard.
Her eyes squeeze shut. “You know what I wanted.”
I lightly slap her thigh with my free hand. “Look at me when you talk to me.”
Her eyes fly open, furious and dazed. “Bossy bastard.”
I hook my fingers and drag another curse out of her. She pulls against the belt again, breasts lifting, nipples brushing my chest through my shirt.
“Harder,” she demands.
I give it to her.
My hand works her fast and rough, thumb grinding, fingers driving in deep, and she takes it. She twists her wrists against the belt and gasps my name like she hates needing me.
