The breath filling her lungs turned hot as reality coursed through her. Even if she wanted to be that sweet, flowers-and-hearts girl, she wasn’t wired that way. And neither was he. She could either keep trying to convince herself she could be or accept what was. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. What she needed—wanted—danced on her lips, the forbidden desire they’d playfully mentioned earlier tonight hovering in the silence between them. Capture. Force.
How often in the last few weeks had she wondered what it would be like to see Grant really let go? Despite everything they’d done together, she always sensed he was being careful with her, like he was afraid to show her too much darkness. But she craved that from him.
“Tell me what you want, Charlotte,” Grant repeated, his voice like the far-off rumble of a thunderstorm. “And I’ll do it.”
She pushed herself upright, her resolve calming the disjointed emotions battling inside of her. She met his stoic gaze in the mirror, her own expression reflecting the confidence in her decision, but also the underlying trepidation inherent in it. She turned around to face him.
“Well?”
She swallowed past the kink in her vocal cords. “I want you to make me do it.”
TWENTY-SIX
The flicker of surprise that crossed Grant’s features at Charli’s request was as quick as a blink, but she hadn’t missed it. He unfurled his arms from their crossed position over his chest, his fingers flexing at his sides. “Tell me your safe word, Charlotte.”
Her heart pounded so hard, she wondered if her ribs would have a permanent imprint. “Texas.”
His eyes seemed to turn black in the soft light of the bedroom. He leaned over slowly, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear. Then one whispered word filled her mind. “Run.”
Her body reacted before her mind kicked in, her bare feet squeaking against the wood floor as she juked around Grant and took off into the hallway. Her house wasn’t big, but she had the advantage of knowing every hiding place and every room with a lock. He gave her a few seconds’ head start, so she slammed her office door to make him think she was hiding in there and headed to the kitchen instead. The attached laundry room had a lock and had another door that led to the screened-in porch on the back of the house. That could work.Author: Roni Loren
She hurried past the pantry and slipped inside the alcove. She locked the laundry room door, her fingers trembling, and pressed her back against the door to the porch. Even though she knew this was a game, an undeniable zip of fear buzzed through her. Grant wouldn’t harm her in any kind of serious way, but she wasn’t under the impression he’d go easy on her either. The thought only served to make the achy pulsing between her legs more unbearable.
She strained her ears, trying to listen for his heavy footfalls. She doubted the man could walk softly even if he tried. There was a distant squeak—probably the office door opening. He’d probably try the laundry room any second. She looked around for anything to use to distract him, but all that was in there was a basket full of unfolded laundry. She grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of running shorts off the top and slipped them on. He’d never expect her to go outside since she’d been half-naked, but this could give her the element of surprise.
She reached behind her and turned the knob on the door to the porch, keeping her eyes on the other door and doing her best to not make a peep. When the knob gave, she backed onto the porch, never taking her focus off the kitchen door. One, two, three steps and she’d be to the screen door that led to the backyard. She spun on her heel, ready to bolt, and slammed smack into the hard wall of Grant’s chest.
Before the scream could even exit her throat, Grant turned her, clamping a hand over her mouth. The noise came out a pitiful, muffled sound.
“Going somewhere?” he said, his breath hot against her neck.
Not ready to lose so easily, she jammed her elbow into his ribs and tried to wriggle free. But he was too damn strong for her to even get an inch of space between them. He gripped her harder.
“Now you’re just pissing me off, princess.” He dragged her back into the laundry room and kicked the door shut behind him. “If you play nice, I won’t have to get rough.”
She grabbed for the hand he had locked over her mouth and dug her fingernail into his cuticle—a self-defense move her brother had taught her.
“Son of a bitch!”
His hand dropped, and the moment’s distraction let her slip free. She vaulted back through the door to the kitchen, an angry cowboy hot on her heels. When she took the turn into the living room, she thought she had enough of a lead to make it back to the bedroom, but before she hit the hallway, he grabbed hold of her shirt and yanked her backward. He caught her before she landed on her ass, but soon she was on the floor anyway. He pinned her down on the rug, belly down, knee against her back.
“I should’ve known you wouldn’t be cooperative.” He yanked her shorts and panties off in one rough tug, then tore her T-shirt, a long rip down the back.
The sound of the tearing and his handling of her had every sensory system in her body firing. Her mind tumbled into that place where thoughts went quiet and sensation took over. She struggled beneath him. “Please, please don’t do this. You can take whatever you want from the house.”
His dark chuckle was almost unrecognizable as he unhooked her bra. “You think I’m in here for a fucking TV, princess?”
“I have money in my closet,” she said on a whimper.
“I don’t need your money.” Something wound around one of her wrists, then he was shoving her knee under her, and the same scratchy material wrapped around her thigh—rope. “What I need is this tight, virgin ass of yours.”
A hard tremor moved through her. She tried to move, but her wrist and thigh were now anchored to each other. He gave her the same treatment on the other side until she was left with her ass in the air, knees spread wide, and the side of her face pressed into the rug.
Breath rasped through her lungs as she fell into the moment, surrendering to him, her desire for him swallowing any lingering fear. Her clit throbbed from neglect, the soft rug caressing her nipples and only ratcheting up her desperation further. “Please.”
He stood, his shoes coming into her peripheral vision. “Why do I get the feeling you’re no longer begging for mercy but begging for me to fuck you?”
“Because I am. Please.”