“For the slap.”
The second strike came harder. My breath hitched. Not from pain but the shame of it. My body responded before my mind could stop it, a traitorous pulse low in my stomach that I couldn’t suppress. I squeezed my eyes shut, despising that the stingmelting into want, detesting that I leaned into the next strike before it came.
“The tattoo was punishment for the slap and knife, or did you forget?” I assumed he was punishing me for that, then remembered the knife and almost slap at the restaurant.
“I never forget. Besides, you’re enjoying this,” he murmured against my ear, his voice thick with undisguised lust.
“Fuck you,” I hissed before I could stop myself, but there was no heat behind it. Only frustration. At him. At myself.
He laughed, dark and low, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. “Careful, little fox. Keep threatening me with things I already want.” His hand rolled over my ass cheek, in a slow caress. I shuddered, goosebumps trailing his touch. I tried lifting my head, the position, however, made it impossible. “For the date.”
The third strike landed firmer, and my moan slipped out before I could stop it, shame and desire tangling in my chest like a knot I couldn’t untie. The bite throbbed, electric, fading into a warmth that left a tenacious tingle between my legs. I felt exposed, both physically and emotionally. He knew exactly what I was feeling, and he wasn’t letting me hide from it.
“Two for the kiss.”
Two strikes landed in quick succession, harder, firmer and more resolute than the others. My body jerked against his thighs, a whimper escaping before I could bite it back. Muffling my mouth against the cushion, I breathed hard, unsure I recognized the needy woman in my body, when did spanking become my thing.
My skin burned, alive and sensitive, every nerve ending screaming his name. I felt his cock beneath me, hard and insistent, his breathing no longer calm but ragged, matching the uneven rhythm of my own. He was holding on by a thread, just like me.
“Those lips are mine,” he growled, his tone course, vibrating against my back. The claim was possessive, absolute, leaving no room for argument.
“Remo—”
“Shh.” He shifted then, pulling me up and turning me until I faced him, straddling his lap. His eyes were dark with hunger, but his hands were steady. He wasn’t rushing, he knew exactly what he wanted. My submission. “You don’t get to speak until I say so.”
“I’m not done fighting you,” I whispered, because defiance was the only language I had left.
His lips curved, dangerously amused. “You’re wet, Ishika. Lying to me is one thing. Lying to yourself is another.” His hand slid up my thigh, his touch rough, stopping just where my thigh met my hip. “You’re soaking my pants.”
My cheeks heated. “Go to hell.” I scowled, but my hips tilted back, seeking his touch.
“Already there.” He chuckled and I loathed what that sound did to my already aroused body. “And you’re the devil tempting me.”
He leaned in, his breath fanning across my lips, close enough to taste but not quite touching. “Next time you throw a knife, aim for the heart. At least then you’d have my attention.”
“Next time you break into my home,” I shot back. “Don’t expect me to survive it.”
“You already did.” His thumb traced my lower lip, warm and possessive. “And you’ll survive this too.”
“I could kill you.”
“You could try.” His hand moved further in, skimming my G-string and I held my breath as his fingers slid past the hemline, resting just above my pussy. Stubbornly, my muscles clenched in anticipation. “But you won’t.” His fingers crept closer
It took effort not to wiggle, not to give into the need and beg for his touch. “Why not?” I choked out, clenching again.
He tilted his head, watching me, the smirk suggesting he knew what I wanted but was too rebellious to ask. Irritated, I dropped my gaze to his chin. “Because you like the fire, the heat and everything in between.”
His mouth crashed into mine then, no warning, no gentleness, just teeth and tongue and two months of silence exploding into heat. I fought for a second, maybe less, before my hands were in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss, meeting his violence with my own.
This wasn’t submission, just war.
When he finally broke away, we were both breathing hard, the air between us thick with unsaid words and unmet needs.
“You wear my name.” His lips brushed mine, his voice ragged with desire. “You breathe my air. And you let another man kiss you?”
“I’m not yours.” My fingers curled into his shoulders, despite my words.
“You are.” His hands moved down to my ass, cupping the cheeks and squeezing hard while he rocked me back and forth over his rigid length.
