He turns me to face the couch, forces me to catch myself on my hands. His hips frame mine, his thick erection pressed to my backside. His lips are at my ear as he challenges, “Do you really think you can handle who I am?”
“I know I can.”
“If you can’t, go now, because if you say you can, and then you can’t, you’ll cut me. Then I’ll bleed out. Because I don’t let anyone inside my world. Not one but—”
“Me,” I whisper and I know now why he turned me. I don’t know how I know, but I know. He didn’t want to admit that to me while he looked at me. He didn’t want me to see weakness in him. He didn’t want to see my face when he gave me that kind of control over him. But he has that same control over me. I want to tell him this. I want to show him this, but I can’t. He’s tugging my shirt over my head, all but tearing off my bra and then I’m folded against him, his body anchoring mine, his hands cupping my breasts, pinching my nipples and not gently. Almost as if he wants to punish me for making him admit what he just admitted, yet that punishment is pleasure. The pinch of pain followed by the bliss of erotic sensations and when I can take no more, he tugs my nipple even harder. I cry out. I moan.
“Does that hurt?” he demands.
“No,” I reply definitely. “No, it doesn’t hurt.”
He pinches and tugs. I cry out again, my sex clenching so tightly I can barely stand how empty it is, how much I need him inside me. “Eric,” I breathe out.
“Can you handle who I really am, Harper?”
“Is this who you really are?”
“Yes.” He pulls my pants down, lifts me and gets rid of every stitch of everything I have on, every barrier I have left. His hands plant on my hips. His palm slides to one of my butt cheeks and he squeezes. “I will push you and push you until you know no limit.”
“You mean push me and push me until you leave, but I won’t, so do what you’re going to do. Fuck me however you want to fuck me so we can get past you thinking I’ll leave.”
“You sure you want that?”
“Yes!” I lower my voice. “Damn it, yes.”
He smacks my backside, a sting that radiates up my spine but only borders on pain. I don’t cry out. “More,” I say. “Because if that’s all you have, I think you talk a big game and can’t deliver.”
He doesn’t immediately reply. His cheek is at my cheek and I can hear his inhalation of breath, feel his struggle for control. “Stop trying to control what you feel. You need an outlet. You need a way to deal with what’s going on in your head that doesn’t bring you to your knees, so bring me to my knees. I can handle it. I want to handle it.”
“Don’t move.”
He backs away and I can feel the rustle of clothing and I know he’s naked. I listen for a condom for him to place that barrier between us, to shield us from the monster that is inside him, that he is certain would be his curse, passed to his children. But it doesn’t come.
Instead, he grabs me and turns me to face him, molding me to him and then while he’s staring at me, he spanks me again, his palm on my backside. I suck in a breath,
an erotic thrill shooting through me. I’ve never imagined being spanked. I’ve never wanted to be spanked, but I want more, and that’s what I say. “More. I want more. I want everything.”
His jaw clenches, his eyes sharpen, his fingers flex on my backside but he doesn’t give me more. He maneuvers us and suddenly I’m facing the couch cushion again. The next second, I’m on my knees, my hands catching on the back of the couch. He’s spreading me wide, sliding his fingers along the seam of my body, and oh God, exploring me front to back, every intimate part of me, and I have no idea what comes next. But I think that’s the point. I don’t know what comes next. He wants me to feel fear. No. That’s not what he wants. He wants me to tell him to stop. He wants me to tell him that I don’t trust him.
“More,” I whisper. “You, Eric. All of you.”
He caresses my backside. He slides fingers inside me. He pats my sex and then smacks my backside and I say the same thing I said before. “More. I want more.”
And this time, I get the more I want. He sits down next to me and drags me across his lap until I’m straddling him and he’s tangling his fingers into my hair. “More,” he whispers, and then he’s pressing inside me, filling me, and I’m sliding down the length of him until I have all of him.
All of him.
Not just his body.
Now, he lets me look into his eyes and he says what he said just minutes ago. “If you leave, you’ll cut me and I’ll bleed out.”
“If you leave, you’ll cut me, and I’ll bleed out.”
And then we’re kissing and one thing is clear: more is not enough. It will never be enough and no matter who comes at us, we will fight and we will fight together.
CHAPTER TEN
Harper