Part 8 (1/2)

I grab her and pull her in front of me, stepping into her, my legs framing hers, my hands on her waist, fingers flexing into the soft flesh there. And when she looks up at me, I see none of the blame I feel toward myself. The understanding that I didn't think she could have is there.

And she's here.

Not offering words of sympathy that do me no good-offering herself. I see it in her eyes, her desire matching mine, and even if I believed she was still loyal to Sheridan, which I don't, I'm not sure I would care.

Wrapping my hand around her neck, I pull her to me, flattening her body against mine, bringing her mouth a breath away from the next kiss I've denied myself too long. ”I don't care who's going to hate who later. I just want to f.u.c.k you.”

She curls her fingers around my s.h.i.+rt. ”Then stop talking and do it.”

”You can't handle this part of me.”

Her chin lifts defiantly. ”Try me.”

”Be careful what you ask for. You might get it.”

”If you're trying to scare me, it won't work. In fact, it might make me want it more. Just like you want to escape your memories, I have a few of my own I'd like to forget right now.”

That's all the encouragement I need. My mouth slants over hers, tongue pressing past her lips, and the heady taste of her, all sweet honey and temptation, fills my senses. I deepen the kiss, drinking her in like a drug I cannot get enough of. But she is more than a drug. She is now in my care, and I cannot, will not, let her die because later she might be looking for a rush or a high that I'm not around to give her. But I'm here now, and I have this oddly possessive, entirely selfish need to be the person who gives her that escape, who shows her what I sense she's never known: complete, utter s.e.xual overload that leaves no room for anything else. The very idea has me deepening the kiss, licking into her mouth and demanding more. And when that soft, sweet tongue of hers, so innocent in its response, tries to match my command, it drives me wild.

A low, raw growl escapes my throat and I turn her to face the wall, forcing her to hold herself up with her hands. For a moment I feel the pain of that nightmare, and I wonder why I never used Meg as an escape, why I always contained who, and what, I am . . . but this woman is different. Reaching for her dress, I yank it up her hips to find her backside bare but for a thong with a happy face on it. She glances over her shoulder, offering a breathless, embarra.s.sed explanation. ”I didn't pick it.”

”Good. I don't like it.” I rip it away, leaving her gasping as I pull the dress over her head and toss it aside to find her braless, before stepping toward her. My hands cover her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, fingers teasing her nipples. Leaning into her, my lips near her ear, I say, ”I'm going to own you before this is over.”

”You can try,” she says, the rebellious reply defying the inexperience and innocence I sense in her, an innocence that I now realize I never truly sensed in Meg.

That she has this courage speaks of strength, of being a survivor, and it heats my blood and makes me want her all the more. It drives me to show her just how wrong she is, how easily I can own her. I tell myself it's a lesson she needs to learn for her own good-but who am I fooling?

I want to f.u.c.k her. Right here and now, I want to own her. I need the rush of it, the control, the high I've denied myself during the entire Meg facade of reforming my ways.

Covering her hands with mine, I slide them upward, pressing them together over her head. Again, I lean in close to her, my lips grazing her neck, her ear. ”I'll do more than try,” I promise. ”As long as we're in this room, I'm in control. I'm your Master.” I tighten my grip on her hands. ”I'm going to let go of you, but you will not move.”

”If I do?” she asks, and I know she's pus.h.i.+ng me, driving me to take her someplace that can be dangerous in other places, at other times, with someone else.

”There's a price.”

”I don't understand. What price?”

My hands travel down her arms, and curve around her body to cup her b.r.e.a.s.t.s again, my fingers tugging roughly on her nipples and then twisting. A sound of one part pain, one part pleasure, escapes her lips. ”Now do you understand?”

”Yes,” she pants.

But she doesn't, and I suddenly realize how very dangerous that is. My sister d.a.m.n sure didn't understand, or she never would have gone to work for a museum and put herself back on Sheridan's map. Gia needs to learn about keeping her guard up, and she needs to learn now.

Tangling my fingers in her hair, rough by intention, I pull her head back, dragging her mouth to mine. ”I keep telling you that you don't understand, but you will.” I kiss her, hard, deep, fast, before punis.h.i.+ng her with a nip of my teeth on her lip that makes her yelp. ”That's for trusting me when you shouldn't,” I add vehemently. ”If I were someone else-”

”But you aren't.”

I grit my teeth, conflicted by how much I want her trust, how much I want to deserve it, and how much I fear that I'm setting her up to give it when she should not. ”Don't move your hands,” I order gruffly, deciding that actions speak louder than words. ”Understood?”

”Yes,” she whispers.

Releasing her, I undress, my c.o.c.k thick, hard, and throbbing with my need to be inside her, but she isn't one of the many f.u.c.k buddies that came before Meg, and my initial need to bury myself inside her is s.h.i.+fting rapidly to anger. I know I won't hurt her, but she doesn't. She can't. I'm a stranger, and she needs to learn the price of trusting anyone, especially when Sheridan is involved. I grab the one condom I have on me out of my wallet, roll it over my shaft, and then put my pants back on, the zipper down.

Returning to Gia, I squat at her feet, my fingers wrapping around her slender ankles, lingering there. And lingering some more. Waiting, waiting, and as I expect, she looks over her shoulder. ”Face forward,” I command and she tenses, but obeys. Intentionally, I stay just as I am, letting seconds tick by, ensuring that she feels my eyes once again raking over her naked body. Lingering, letting her feel vulnerable when she is safe, fighting a need to give her one last memory in her life that is without fear. We don't have that luxury. She doesn't have that luxury.

When I am certain she has waited long enough to feel every touch magnified, I allow my thumbs to lazily stroke her ankles. She stiffens but almost instantly softens, my cue to inch my way upward, caressing her calves. Moving onward I find the back of her knees, where my thumbs linger again, and finally I use my knee to urge her legs to part. ”Open,” I order. She starts to turn and I warn, ”Don't.”

She sucks in a heavy breath and sets her legs in a V. I cup her thighs just above her knees, still using my thumb as a seductive tool. Finally, I explore the lines between her inner thighs, using a teasing touch that doesn't stop until I almost reach the sweet spots in the V of her body. But I don't go there.

I want to. h.e.l.l yeah, I want to go there, but it's not time. Instead, I trail both index fingers over the curve of her gorgeous, heart-shaped a.s.s. And the instant I travel upward, traveling the crevice of her cheeks, she gasps, s.h.i.+fting slightly, her hands starting to drop. I'm on my feet before she's fully moved, leaning into her, covering her hands with mine.

”Now you pay the price,” I promise, and with the tie to the curtain still in the bathroom, I improvise, reaching down to pull my belt free from its loops. Still anchoring her body with mine, one hand holding her hands in place, I quickly wrap it around her wrists.

”What are you doing?” she demands, sounding panicked, uncertain, exactly what I'd expected, planning to make this lesson short and exact, moving on to the adrenaline rush, the pleasure.

”Consequences,” I reply, tightening the belt and buckling it. ”Making sure you remember that every decision you make has them.” Still shackling her wrists, my free hand flattens on her bare belly, my fingers splaying wide, my lips brus.h.i.+ng her ear as I add, ”And now I can do whatever I want to you, and you can't stop me. Are you scared?”

”Do you want me to be?”

”Answer the question. Are you scared?”

She inhales and lets it out. ”Nervous.”

Nervous isn't scared. That isn't good enough. For just a few minutes, I need her to feel panic, to see what poison trust can deliver. I cup her backside with both hands, tightening my thighs around her thighs. ”I'm going to spank you.”

”What? No. No, I-”

”Then I'll f.u.c.k you.”

”No, Chad.”

”Yes, Gia. I'm going to step back and fully undress. If you move, I'll spank you the second you do.”

”I'm going to move,” she a.s.sures me.

”Then I'm going to spank you. It's your choice. I told you not to trust me.”

”So you're going to prove I shouldn't. Is that it?”

I ignore the question. ”Have you ever been spanked?”

”No, I haven't, and I don't want to change that.”

”You might be surprised by how d.a.m.n s.e.xy and thrilling it is.”

”Say that when someone spanks you.”

Once again, I find myself smiling, which is pretty f.u.c.king amazing. I squeeze her cheeks. ”I'm going to undress now, Gia. Remember my warning.”

I step away and shove my pants down, and the instant I do, she turns. I'm back on her before she escapes, turning her back to the wall, locking my legs around hers. ”Chad-” she hisses, but I cut her off.