But please rip it.
He follows my thought instead of my spoken plea and rips it off me anyway, freeing my breasts. “I’ll buy you a hundred bras, Skye. A new one for every time I fuck you, just so I can rip it off.”
My nipples are tight and hard, so ready for his touch. But he doesn’t touch them. Can’t he see them reaching for him? Instead, he’s still cupping the rosy flesh of my breasts, still gazing at them.
“Please,” I say when I can no longer take the ache.
“Please what?”
“My nipples. Touch them.”
His lips turn up into a surly smile. “You want me to touch your nipples, Skye?”
“Yes, God. Please.”
He brushes his lips against the top of my throat. “How do you want me to touch them, baby?”
“I don’t care. Just touch them. Please.”
“What if I don’t? What will you do?”
What? What can I do? Nothing. I can do nothing if he doesn’t touch my nipples. What kind of mind game is he playing with me? Perhaps he’s simply teasing me, and I’m so not in the mood for teasing. I meet his fiery blue gaze. “I… I’ll leave.”
He moves backward, releasing my breasts. “Go ahead. You’re not obligated to stay here.”
Seriously? He gets me all hot and bothered and then wants me to leave? I’m ready to call him out on this little mind fuck until I drop my gaze to his crotch. His tux trousers are tented. Big-time.
He doesn’t want me to leave.
Two can play this game.
I clear my throat. “Fine. But I’ll need a…shirt or something.” An overcoat would be better.
He shoots darts at me with his eyes.
Do I repeat myself? He knows I can’t leave here without something covering the top of me, and my bra and dress are in tatters. I open my mouth to speak, but he pushes me back against the wall, his hands gripping my shoulders. He moves toward me slowly until our lips are only millimeters apart. He’s playing again. I know because his lips are trembling. He’s using all his will to keep from kissing me. I’m not completely sure, but that’s my take.
I close the distance and press my lips to his.
He pulls back, still gripping my shoulders. “I thought you wanted to leave.”
“I thought you wanted me to leave.”
“When did I say that?” he queries. “You’re the one who brought it up. What kind of a game do you think I’m playing, Skye?”
“I…don’t know.”
“That’s because I’m not playing a game. You may think this is a cat-and-mouse thing, but it’s not. I enjoy making you want me.”
“Braden, you know I want you, but if you ever tell me to leave again, this whole thing is over.”
“Is it?”
I gulp. How much will I give up to remain in charge? How fucking much?
“I’m afraid so.”
His bulge is still apparent. He won’t let me go. He won’t.
He releases me, walks through the entryway to a large door, and opens it. He pulls something out and walks back, handing it to me. It’s a blue cardigan.
“Go ahead, Skye. Leave.”
Chapter Twenty-One
If you ever tell me to leave again, this whole thing is over.
Leave.
This is a strange and frightening game I’ve walked into. I don’t want to leave, but that’s not the most frightening part.
The truth is that I can’t leave. Can’t force my arm to extend and take the sweater. Can’t force my feet to move the few feet to the door.
I can’t.
Braden’s power over me is that strong, that omnipotent.
And that’s the most dangerous part of this.
But I said it would be over if he told me to leave. I fucking said it, and if I don’t do it, I’m nothing but a weak-willed mouse.
Think, Skye, think. How do you get out of this?
I wait. I wait for him to tell me again to take the sweater and leave. He doesn’t. He simply stands three feet away from me, the sweater dangling from his hand.
Stalemate.
I have two choices. I can take the sweater and leave, or I can stay, effectively giving up control over this situation.
My body wants one and my mind wants the other.
Frankly, my body’s argument is a lot stronger.
I open my mouth to say I’m staying when Braden finally closes the distance between us, dropping the sweater and again gripping my shoulders. He’s not hurting me, but his grasp is firm and I can tell he means business.
“No more games, Skye,” he whispers darkly. “Give in to me tonight, and I promise you more pleasure than you’ve ever known.”
His words enter my mind slowly in a deep drawl. Again and again they weave into me, searing my brain with their power. My body is hot and bothered, thighs quivering, pussy pulsing.
Give up control. Give up control.
“No more games,” I whisper.
He kisses me. Hard.
Harder and deeper than ever. His own ache and hunger feed into me, and something in me blossoms. He breaks the kiss and then scrapes his teeth over my jawline and down my bare shoulder. My nipples are still hard and wanting, and this time he takes one between his lips and gently kisses it. Just that tiny contact sends me reeling.