“I cut you,” I blurted, trying to comprehend why he wasn’t responding to my violence in kind.
“You did,” he said coolly, completely unconcerned by the little rivulet of blood dripping down over his defined abs. “Are you really so eager for another spanking already? Did you enjoy it so much? I’ll have to devise more clever punishments for you.” The ghost of a smile flickered over the corners of his lips. “We are going to get along very well.”
“Stop saying that,” I forced out, my voice trembling. His calm was beyond unnerving. “I don’t want you to spank me. I don’t want you to touch me.”
He moved with lightning speed, and his body suddenly pressed against mine. My back bumped against the wall, and he captured both my wrists in his big hand again, pinning them above my head. He caged me in, his powerful body too close for me to defend myself.
My breath caught in my throat, fear fluttering at the center of my chest.
“Liar,” he said smoothly. “I won’t tolerate that, either. You enjoyed your spanking.” His thigh wedged between mine, forcing my legs apart. He reached between us with his free hand and lightly slapped my sex.
A strange, strangled sound left my chest. It felt… weird, being spanked there. It stung, but the rebuke went deeper than physical discomfort. The punitive touch to my most secret, sensitive area was a causal demonstration of ownership. Something inside me clenched. A shadow of the toxic fear that had overtaken me the last time he’d touched my sex made me shudder.
He stared down into my eyes, his black gaze penetrating my soul. He spanked my sex again. This time, a wet sound accompanied the slap.
I bucked in his hold, struggling to escape. My writhing caused his palm to rub against my bud of sensitive nerve endings. I gasped and shivered, my body alight with sensation that was utterly foreign to me. My toes tingled, and warmth curled low in my belly.
But fear persisted, fogging my brain.
“What are you so afraid of, cosita?” he asked, his voice low and silky smooth. “The pain or the pleasure?”
“What?” I managed. Pleasure? Nothing about what was happening was pleasurable in any way. My situation was horrifying, disgusting.
He studied me for long, torturous seconds, his hot palm resting against my sex in an obvious proprietary gesture.
“Do you really not understand?” he finally asked. His long fingers played through my sensitive folds, and I felt the slickness of my flesh under his touch.
I pressed my lips together, refusing to contemplate what was happening to me.
Something like a growl rumbled from his chest, and his dark eyes burned into me. “How innocent are you, Samantha?”
“I… I don’t like when you touch me there,” I whispered the truth.
“There?” he repeated. “You mean, your wet little pussy?” He rotated his palm against me, and something strange crackled through my system, making me cry out.
“Stop,” I moaned. “I don’t like this.”
“Liar,” he accused again, delivering another stinging slap against my labia. I tried to close my thighs, but he kept me securely pinned in place.
“I don’t want you to touch me,” I pleaded. Despite the unfamiliar electric current that was coursing through my body, fear still sapped my mind.
Wrong. Dirty.
Dirty little girl.
You want me to touch your secret place again, don’t you, dirty little girl? The low, masculine voice whispered across my mind. I stiffened, my horror creeping up my throat to choke off my air supply.
The heat of his hand left my sex, and his palm came up to cup my cheek, his thumb hooking below my jaw to tilt my face up to his. “Look at me,” he ordered in soothing tones.
I blinked, and my eyes focused on his face. His scar was deeply pronounced, drawn downward by the twist of his frown. The sight of his displeasure might have made me flinch with fresh fear, but I detected only concern in his dark eyes. He watched me with such intensity that I was unable to look away.
“You will learn to accept my touch,” he said. As though to prove his point, he rubbed his thumb along the line of my lower lip. My sensitive nerve endings crackled and danced, and I sucked in a sharp breath. My body quivered, my skin pebbling. “You will learn to crave it,” he continued, imbuing the words with command.
“Please, let me go,” I begged, unravelling. All my earlier bravado had been torn away as swiftly and as easily as he’d disarmed me. I was left in a fog
of fear and confusion. Trapped by Andrés’ powerful body, I had no hope of escape. All I could do was plead with him. I struggled to gather my wits, clinging to the final weapon that remained: my mind.
“You have to let me go,” I said, with a little more strength. “You can’t… hurt me.” I couldn’t bring myself to say rape me. “My friends will find me. Do you really think the FBI won’t do whatever it takes to get one of their own back?”