“You always have a choice, Emmett,” I beg. “You’ve done terrible things to me, but I know I’ve seen a glimpse of something good. Or at least I’ve wanted to, anyways. You don’t have to do this. You could help me and they’d never know.”
“It’s getting late,” he sighs, ignoring my pleas. “You want to sleep on the bed? You’re already on it after all,” he winks, eyeing my cuffed hands.
“You’re sick,” I bark back, my heart turning back over with hatred for him. I knew Malcolm was wrong about him. “I’d rather die than sleep anywhere you’ve slept.” I let the sting of the words hang between us, wishing they sounded truer.
He pounces on me, pinning my cuffed hands beneath his hand as he towers over my body sprawled across the bed. His grip causes the cuffs to cut into my wrists against the hard bed frame.
“You’re hurting me,” I gasp with a squirm beneath his hold.
He’s unconcerned. If anything, he’s turned on. His nostrils flare as his eyes light up in anger and lust. His hand moves up to my neck, lifting my chin up to him. I blink and stare straight back, ready for whatever comes next.
All at once he takes my mouth to his, still fuming and breathing heavy as our lips crash together. I bite his lip defiantly, too hard, causing him to jerk back for an instant. But his hands quickly secure their grip again, jerking my head back to the center of his attention.
“You bitch,” he growls, licking his bright red lip.
I soften under his stare, closing my eyes and leaning up again to invite him in for another kiss. He obliges, more gently this time, moaning into my mouth.
We melt into each other, losing ourselves as our tongues explore each other’s mouths. This is all I’ve been able to think about since I ran from him in the classroom the other day. The drum of my heart picks up again, taking me back to all the fantasies I had of him in my bed. Everything that was stirred up again in the car ride here. Only this time, we’re completely alone.
His hands trail down my arms that are chained behind my head, not breaking his mouth from mine as they travel down my chest. I groan as he gropes my breasts, unconsciously spreading my legs wider.
Suddenly, he stops himself. He pulls back in a frustrated gasp, looking at me helplessly. He looks just as powerless to this as I am. And for the first time, I realize if he is only obeying his father’s orders, how much easier all of this would be for him if he wasn’t so inexplicably drawn to me. I guess we could both say that.
He is pulled back down to me, perched next to me on the edge of the bed. His hand runs through my hair in shocking tenderness.
“Why are we so attracted to each other?” He asks breathlessly, his eyes lingering on my lips as I wonder if he’ll give in and dive back down for more.
I can’t answer him. I’m suspended in lust, wishing I could hate him as I know I should. If I can’t have that, I just want him to take me. Just get it over with. But he’s fighting it just as hard as I am.
In my silence, he moves back to the edge of the bed, collapsing his forehead to his hands in exasperation as he tries to collect himself. We sit like that for a long time. Unable to move, I am completely at the mercy of whatever he decides to do.
I swear I can feel his breath on my skin even though he’s all the way at the other edge of the bed. I want more than anything for him to come to me. Take advantage of our situation. Have his way with me. I don’t know what’s stopping him. Maybe he only wants me when I’m resisting. I consider telling him I don’t want him the way I have in the past. Maybe that would pique his interest again.
My thoughts halt as my stomach growls.
“Emmett, I’m really hungry,” I finally speak up reluctantly, wondering if he’ll exploit it to further my torture or if he’ll actually try to help.
“It’s late,” he says again, running his hands back through his hair. His eyes are bloodshot, and I can see how tired he is.
“My lunch got interrupted, remember?” I remind him bitterly, crossing my legs, closing myself back off to him.
“I can’t help,” he insists bluntly, staring at the floor.
“Don’t you have chefs or something?” I scoff. “You could just tell them you want
a late-night snack. And bring it to me instead.”
“And when I leave you alone,” his brows raise, cutting his eyes back over to me, “what then? I’m not the only one in the house. You know that. Those other guys are like vultures. They’ll be at my door the moment I leave your side, trying to get at you.”
I’m quiet for a moment, taken aback with his concern. “I’m surprised you care,” I hiss, jingling the cuffs behind my head. “You’ve watched those two try to feel me up before and did nothing to stop it.”
“Shut up!” He snaps, jumping to his feet and hinting that I’ve struck a nerve.
I decide to continue trying to appeal to his nicer side. “I’m sorry,” I lie. “I’m just hungry, like I said. Starving actually. It’s making me cranky.”
He looks over me again, looking hungry himself. But in a different way. “Maybe I can take your mind off of it,” he suggests coyly.
I want to be intrigued, but it’s no joke. “Emmett, if I don’t eat something soon, I think I might pass out.”