"Do it."
My voice emerges as if from far away. I wrap my legs around his waist, thrust my hips up.
11
Saint
Her wet heat sears up my shaft; my groin hardens and my spine tingles. My thighs flex, grow rigid. "Jesus, fuck." The growl rips out of me. I balance my weight on my elbows, peer into her eyes.
Angry green sears through me. Emerald, jade and all the fucking precious jewels in the world couldn’t compare to the brilliance in her eyes... And now what? I am waxing poetic?
"What are you waiting for?" Tears glitter in her eyes.
For me? For her? My heart squeezes. The hell? Why do I want to find out what’s making her come onto me, haunt my every step, force herself on me.? Almost as if she is under duress. I stiffen, my shoulder muscles tensing. Is that what this is? Is she trying to trap me somehow? But why? It doesn’t make any sense.
"This is what you want, right?" she seethes, her features a hard mask. "Me at your disposal. Well, here I am, so why don’t you take what I am offering and be done with it? Why don’t you—?"
I shake my head.
She blinks.
"Not like this." I pull back, everything in my body protesting. My pelvis jerks—wanting, needing to be inside of her. Not yet.
Her mouth opens and closes. "Wh…what are you doing?"
I lock my muscles, push up and off of her. "You can’t top from the bottom, sweetheart."
She scowls, then glances away.
I pinch her chin. She peers up at me from under her eyelashes.
"Guess what the masochist told the sadist?" I scan her features.
"What?" She swallows.
"Hurt me."
Her pupils dilate and her breathing grows ragged.
I peel back my lips, "And what did the sadist reply with?" I ask.
She tilts her head, "I…I don’t know."
"Exactly."
She frowns.
"He said 'No,' Sweetheart."
She pales.
"To everyone else, you may be a fragile beauty, but your façade doesn't fool me."
She swallows, then tosses her head, "I have no idea what you mean."
"I can see the cracks in your perfection, the need that eats away at you."
Her breath hitches, "You don’t know what you’re talking about."
"Don’t you?" I allow my lips to curl, "I plan to break you, and when I am done with you, you’ll regret ever having caught my interest."
Her lips part, and the scent of her—lilies with a dash of pepper—teases my nostrils. My dick twitches. My fingers tremble. They fucking tremble. I let go of her and she sags back.
I thrust out my chest, then tuck myself in my pants. "We do this my way." I say.
"What’s that?"
"Thirty days Victoria. If you can survive for thirty days without breaking, I’ll take you as my sub."
She frowns. "That’s…too long," she splutters.
"Twenty-four seven."
"What?" Her cheeks pale. She sits up. Her breasts jiggle and her nipples perking up to salute me… So does my dick. Fuck.
"You’ll work with me and warm my bed…but you can’t give in to me."
"The hell? Do you have any idea how twisted that sounds? It’s impossible. How the hell am I supposed to put up with your arrogance?"
"Your choice. Take it or leave it."
She twists her fingers in front of her, "Saint."
"You don’t get to call me that."
"But—"
"You don’t question me either."
"How?"
I make a zipping motion with my fingers over my mouth.
She squeezes her lips shut.
Thank fuck. Another word from her and I’d have tossed that stupid fucking agreement that I pulled out of my ass into the horseshit pile where it belongs.
"Yes or no?"
Footsteps head toward us and shouts slice through the fog in my head, "Saint."
I shove the noise away, focus on her. Her face pales, then she jerks her chin. I slide up to my feet. Rake a last glance across those creamy breasts, her concave stomach, the slit between her pussy lips. My cock jerks and my balls thrum. I squeeze my fists at my sides. Walk away, walk away before you do something you regret.
A new voice calls out, "Saint!"
I jerk my chin up. Weston glowers at me. Behind him, three other men—the bouncers from the club— stand shoulder to shoulder, forming a wall between him and the crowd that’s busy turning the place upside down. Too fucking bad.
We own the joint. We can do what we want with it, and that includes the possessions in it… Except her… She belongs to me. Mine to do with as I chose.
I glance down and she opens her mouth.
"Nod for yes, shake your head for no."
She stares.
"You can do that, hmm?"
She glowers. I smirk.
"Well?"
I angle my body to leave and she brings her fingers to her mouth, bites her nails. Huh? Who’d have thought the perfectly turned out Victoria would turn out to be, not only an accomplished stripper—but also has the gross-as-fuck habit of biting her nails? She’s nervous. Good. Time things fall into the form I prefer them to be.
I tilt my head.
She nods, a jerk of her chin. My muscles relax. Thank fuck. No, I hadn’t been tense, or on edge… Of course, she was going to a accept my proposal. She had to. She’d dogged my footsteps, crawled into my gut… Time I show her who is the master of her. There can be only one man who commands her every waking moment, her every second at night, her dreams, her nightmares, her innermost fears, her deepest desires… All of it belongs to me… Temporarily. It buys me time to take her apart, piece by piece.
To figure out what the hell she wants from me…and why? And if I use that time to coax her into my model of a willing sub… Well, that is my prerogative. She tips up her head so her gaze collides with mine. I shrug out of my shirt, hand it to her. "Get dressed."
