39
Knight
"But you didn’t."
Her voice is soft, her gaze softer, and her touch? Her touch is so gentle, it slices me to the core. I’ve shot at men and killed them. I’ve withstood torture. I’ve seen my fellow teammates die. But nothing has affected me as much as the whisper of her fingers as she trails them down my cheek. I want to turn my face into her touch. To press my lips into her palm, absorb the comfort she’s offering me. I want to… Push her on her hands and knees, grab her hair, and tug on it as I take her from behind. What does it say about me that she tries to console me, and I want to fuck her, and in the most animalistic way possible? Why do I feel incapable of giving her the tenderness she obviously deserves? Why is it that I want to channel all of the violence, all of the hate inside me, into what should be an act of affection? Why do I want to rut her like the animal I have become instead of make love to her like the man I wish I could be for her.
I pull away from her, and her face falls. A piercing pain fills my heart. I tamp down on it, then swing my legs over the side of the bed and rise to my feet. I struggle against my desire to see her one last time, and I lose the fight. Turning, I see her crawling toward me, and fuck, if the sight of her in such a subservient pose doesn’t make my balls ache. The blood drains to my groin. I try to move back, but my feet seem anchored to the floor. She pauses in front of me, her breasts swaying, her back curved to meet the flare of her hips. Then she sits back on her heels, and I can’t look away from the triangle of skin between her thighs.
"You didn’t hurt me, Sir."
I draw in a sharp breath because, fucking hell, when she calls me Sir, I forget about that heaviness in my soul, the emptiness in my heart, that grief for what I’ve lost that haunts my every waking moment. The echoes of cries, of pain, of the despair that laces my dreams… All I become then, is hers. And she's the only one, the only thing that will stop me from losing my mind to the cavernous darkness that stretches in front of me.
She tilts up her chin and meets my gaze. "You can never hurt me. You would never allow yourself to do so. Surely, you realize that?"
"I woke up with my fingers around your throat. You could have died. You realize that?"
"You stopped before you cut off my breath. Besides…" She brings her finger to her mouth and chews on her fingernail. "Besides, isn’t erotic asphi…asphiation a thing?"
"You mean erotic asphyxiation?" I narrow my gaze.
"Yes, exactly."
"How do you know about erotic asphyxiation?"
She rolls her eyes. "I might have been a virgin, but remember, I was also an actress. And when I realized I had no roles lined up, not even auditions, I contemplated taking part in an, uh, art film."
An unknown emotion—anger, combined with possessiveness?—twists my guts. "You acted in a porn movie?"
She rolls her eyes, then holds up a finger. "Wait a minute. I didn’t act in it; I only contemplated it. Almost went for an audition, too—"
"You auditioned for a skin flick?" I growl.
She blinks. "Aren’t you hearing what I’m saying? I almost auditioned. Except, I got cold feet at the last minute. Doesn’t mean I didn’t do my research."
I slowly uncurl my fingers at my sides. Some of the tension leaves my muscles. I take in the glint in her eyes and realize—"You didn’t almost audition for an adult movie, did you?"
She looks guilty for a second, then shakes her head.
"You said that to distract me?"
She hitches a shoulder. "It worked, didn’t it?"
"Hmm…" I cross my arms across my chest. "You knew I’d be pissed to find out you contemplated taking part in one of them."
"I wasn’t sure, but I thought it was worth a try." She searches my features, and whatever she sees there makes her swallow. "I don’t regret saying it. I wanted to take your mind off whatever you were thinking, and I believe I succeeded."
"Maybe too well."
This time she pales. I expect her to put distance between us, but instead, she tilts up her chin. "Are you going to punish me for almost fibbing, Sir?"
I hold her gaze for a second, then another, and let the silence stretch until she wriggles in place.
"Do you think I should punish you?" I purr.
Her breath hitches. Pink crawls up her throat and streaks her cheeks.
"Should I, Little Dove?"
She lowers her chin.
"I didn’t hear you."
"I think you should punish me," she replies at once.
"And how do you propose I do that?"
She peers up at me from under her eyelashes. "By doing anything you want with me."
My pulse rate instantly shoots up. My blood thunders in my veins. How is it that she knows exactly what to say? How can she be so absolutely perfect? How can she be precisely what I need right now? "You don’t know what you’re saying."
She merely smiles. A sweet, shy and very confident smile that makes my heart bang against my ribcage, my dick extends, and my balls grow so tight, I’m sure I’m going to come right then. And I can’t do that. Not until I’ve shown her the kind of pleasure she’s never experienced in her life, and never will again with anyone else. She can’t be mine. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to ensure she’s so high on endorphins that she’ll have a satisfied look on her face and an ache between her legs for the next week. So every time she moves, she’ll remember who fucked her.
"You don’t know what I’m saying." She rises to her feet then launches herself at me.
40
Penny
He catches me with his big hands under my butt, and I wrap my legs about his waist. I saw the emotions flit across his features. The nightmare he had earlier must have lowered his barriers because I’ve never seen him this open, this vulnerable. This real. And I can’t lose this opportunity to get close to him. Physically. Emotionally. This is my chance to get him to reveal the person he truly is—to the extent he’s willing to share, that is. And maybe I’m making use of the fact that his defenses are down, but that’s okay. A girl’s gotta play with the cards she’s dealt. And the one thing I know is that, regardless of how grumpy and growly he comes across in my presence, he’s affected by my body. If that’s what I have to work with, then so be it. I’m going to use every advantage I’ve been afforded to ensure he never forgets what it feels like to be with me. I twine my hands around his neck and hold on.
His nostrils flare. "You shouldn’t have done that, Little Dove."
"And you’re still talking, Sir, you—" I gasp as he plucks me off his body with seemingly no effort, then throws me over his shoulder. My heart flutters like a trapped butterfly. My hair flows down my face, hiding my line of sight, but I sense him moving. I manage to push back the strands from over my eyes as he turns and marches off toward the closet.
"Where are you going?" I huff when he brings his big palm down on my backside. The pain shivers over my nerve-endings and my scalp tingles. All the pores in my body seem to wake up. He walks across the floor of the closet—in between empty shelves built into the walls. Huh? I tilt my head and spot a couple of pairs of shoes, and a row of suits—all black—as well as a few pairs of jeans and sweatshirts folded on a shelf. There’s nothing else in the space.