Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
“Then maybe you should explain it to me.”
He bites off every word. “The point is that nothing can ever happen to you.”
“Only to you?”
“You have Claire to think about, goddammit.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I’m doing this for Claire but also for you and for us?”
He closes his fingers more, allowing me just enough air to breathe. “It was dangerous and stupid.”
“It was brilliant. It worked.”
“Goddamn, woman.” He yanks me against him, making our chests collide. “Don’t ever pull such a stunt again. Don’t you dare do that to me, do you hear me? I can’t go through that again, thinking I’m going to lose you to—”
To death.
I melt in his hold, leaning into his touch. “Then don’t work so hard on pushing us away.”
He snarls, looking like a demon fighting an internal battle. “You deserve better. Do you value yourself so little?”
Wrapping my arms around his middle, I hug him tightly. “I love you. I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s the truth.”
He shifts his hand from my throat to my breast, his voice already husky when he cups the curve. “You only think you do, tesoro.”
I tilt my head to look at him. “Are you going to tell me you conditioned me? That I’m acting out of guilt again? Or that it’s called Stockholm Syndrome?”
His smile is sad. “All of the above.”
“I can’t make you see when you choose to be blind.”
His smile turns wry. “A very fitting metaphor.” Then his expression becomes serious again. “You have to promise me you’ll never do anything like that again. When I thought what could’ve happened to you, I died a thousand times, and each was worse than the time I almost did. All I could think about was pulling you over my knee and tanning your ass so hard that you wouldn’t be able to sit for a day.”
I burrow my face in his chest, inhaling that spicy scent that makes me feel safe. “But you didn’t.”
He catches my hair in a ponytail and pulls back my head, forcing me to meet his gaze. “The reason I’m not tanning your ass is because I’m angry with you. Very fucking angry. And I’m not going to do it out of anger. All those times I spanked you was never about punishing you. I’ll never lift a hand to you in anger. You know that, right? It was a game I enjoyed that turned me on when I realized you liked it too.”
Yes, I knew from the first time he did it in my kitchen that it wasn’t about disciplining or hurting me. It was far more perverse and lustful.
He lowers his head while kneading my breast, catching my bottom lip between his teeth. The soft nip has me gasping with need. Liquid heat gathers between my thighs as he works my nipple into a hard point between his fingers. He pulls harder on my hair, tipping my face to give him better access.
The bite of pain on my scalp hits me straight in my core. It heightens the need that sparks in my belly. I part my lips, inviting him to take what he wants, and he doesn’t hesitate. He sweeps his tongue inside, claiming the depths of my mouth. He abandons one breast for the other, stroking my nipple with his knuckles. A moan slips into our kiss when he pinches lightly before rolling the extended tip with deft fingers.
I’m lost in the moment and in him. It’s only when he guides me to the floor that I realize he’s not using the cane but standing on both feet. He cups the back of my head, forming a cushion with his hand as he stretches out over me without breaking the kiss. Pushing up on one elbow, he carries his weight while letting me feel the muscular length of his body and the hardness between his legs. The warmth of his skin penetrates mine through the layers of our clothes, warming all the cold places where I need him.
Impatient to feel his naked skin, I unbutton his shirt. He pushes up my blouse and the cups of my bra to expose my breasts. Like me, he’s too impatient, only pausing long enough to bunch my skirt over my hips.
Finally having his shirt open, I brush the edges aside and sigh in ecstasy when I sweep my palms over the broad expanse of his chiseled chest. I dip my hands beneath the shirt and smooth them over his back, tracing the small round scars that were left by bullets and the bigger patch of uneven skin from the burn close to his shoulder.
Another growl resonates in his throat. He lifts up on one arm and works his jeans open. His gaze is feverish, reflecting my own urgency.