His smile widens
I snap my mouth shut. "That's not what I meant."
"Oh?" He tilts his head. "I beg to differ, but let me be absolutely clear, you won’t be taking me anywhere. I’ll be taking you. And I promise you, I will take you, and when I do, it will never be a meeting of equals, for..." He leans in close, "I hold the power. Never forget that."
I stare into those cold blue eyes.—the blackness that crawls in their depths, that pulls at me, calls to me, that resonates with that most intimate part of me, the one that I've never acknowledged, that wants to be taken without mercy. How dare he find out about my innermost needs when I had never acknowledged them myself? Only when my palm connects with his face, do I realize what I've done.
I gasp. My fingers tingle. I take in the reddening fingerprints on his cheek.
"I... I'm sorry," I whisper.
He peels back his lips, his teeth flashing white against his tanned skin. "Oh, you will be."
He swoops down. I cringe away, but he's too fast. He buries his fingers in my hair, tugs me forward. I strain against his hold. He applies pressure—not bruising, not punishing, but just enough for me to lean into him. The black scarf slips from around my neck.
He lowers his gaze to where the tops of my breasts are exposed from above the low-cut neckline.
His jaw tics.
"What belongs to you, but is used by others?"
His voice coils around me, slithers down into the crevasse between my lower lips, reaches deep inside, touching, stroking, molding to my contours—a living entity that wants and takes, that never stops, that will not be satisfied until I submit to him. Submit.
"Answer the bloody question." His tone rams through the jumbled quagmire of my mind, pulling me in, drawing me down, insisting that I focus my attention on that beautiful visage.
"You have one second to answer." He raises heavy-lidded eyelids; a flush of red suffuses his cheeks. So, he's not impervious to me either. This, whatever it is between us, affects him as well.
What does that mean? Can I use it to my advantage? Do I dare leverage it to get what I want from him?
I tip up my chin. "I… I don’t know." I swallow.
"Are you sure you want to find out?" He leans in close enough for his scent to overpower me. The heat from his big body slams into my chest. His breath sears my cheeks, and our noses bump. He drops his gaze to my mouth. I part my lips, close the remaining millimeters between us. The world tilts. He grabs my shoulder, applies enough pressure that I slip off the car seat and down onto the floor on my knees.
I glance up at him, "You have some nerve."
He smirks, widens his legs.
Don't look down. Don’t. I glance down at the bulge that tents his crotch, which is definitely considerably larger than what I'd noticed at the wedding. Saliva pools in my mouth. How big, how beautifully heavy he'd feel down my throat. What the hell am I thinking?
"I just buried my husband," I swallow.
"You didn't love him."
My jaw drops, "How dare you arrive at that assumption?"
"Am I wrong?" His gaze burns into me. A pulse beats at his temple. He peruses my features, "Tell me."
I shake my head.
His shoulders relax. Huh, does it mean anything to him that I had no feelings for Adam? That it was all a front to get me here? Why is it important to him that I didn't love another man?
I blink at him.
He lowers his chin, "Ask me to pull the car over and leave."
"Would you do it?" I frown.
"Nope," he chuckles, "but it sure was fun allowing you to think you had the option."
Anger twists my chest. Blood thuds at my temple. I raise my hand again.
He doesn’t take his gaze from my face. "Don't," he rasps.
One word. A softly spoken command. My belly quivers. The force of his personality seems to grow until it fills the space, pushes down on my shoulders, holds me in thrall of this strange connection between us. I lower my arm
"Good girl."
A flush burns my cheeks. Why does his praise mean the world to me? Why do I want to please him with every fiber in my being? This is unnatural. I frown.
"You think too much, Gigi." He touches his finger to my forehead.
"My name's Victoria," I retort.
"Gigi suits you better."
"Why is that?"
"Short for Good Girl." He presses his knuckles below my chin, "Also you look like a Gigi.” He turns my face up, "Definitely, Gigi."
I stare up at him. I've always hated my name. How the hell did he perceive that? My pulse begins to race.
"Also, the answer is 'my name,'” he drawls.
"What?" I frown. "What do you mean?"
"The answer to my earlier riddle, of course. And you're welcome."
"For what?"
"I've decided to spare you the blow job."
"What?"
He nods.
"Don't tell me you didn't think about it?"
"Of course, not." I lie.
"How about this? The more you cram into it, the wetter it grows. What is it?"
"Another riddle?" I bite the inside of my cheek.
"You started the game," he reminds me. "Think you can keep up with me?"
His lips curl in that smirk—that I am coming to hate.
"This your idea of fun?" I set my jaw.
"No, but this is."
He lowers his zipper and his cock springs free. Hard, massive, it points up at me, inviting me, mocking me. A vein pulses up the underside. The head is swollen, nearly purple— How is he this aroused? Why is it that every time I see him, he seems to be erect? Why do I care? So what if my mouth waters and a pulse flares to life between my legs? The man's seriously packing, and hell, if I don't want to wrap my fingers around that beautiful length. No, no, no, did
