“No. I’m good. Go ahead,” I try again, going for nonchalance, but failing. Miserably.
He smirks. “You’re about to bolt.”
I paint on a frown and play dumb. “Huh?”
“That’s not happening,” he states with an air of authority, backing me further into the bathroom, kicking the door closed, and reaching for my shoulders.
He pulls my jacket off and tosses it. His fingers move to my chest and he’s working the buttons of my blouse down one by one, like it’s a fascinating exercise.
But he doesn’t look mad. On the contrary, he’s got a smile on his face.
“What do you mean it’s not happening?”
“You’re my mate. My wife.”
I shake my head rapidly. “No. Back up. Listen… that was… that thing we just did was a mistake. I need you to back up and –” I grab his wrists. It doesn’t stop him. Another button is undone. And then another. And his eyes move to my chest, the smile fixed in place.
I make a frustrated noise as he informs, “Not a chance. I need more of you. I’m gonna fuck you in the shower so that while the water washes my scent off you I’ll be putting it on you again, and then we’ll talk. I’m sure you have questions.”
“No. Not really,” I say, trying to wriggle free, but my belly is dipping, or more like nose-diving. And I can’t pay attention to that or else I’m going to have sex again. And while that thought is tempting, I just can’t.
He eyes me quizzically. “You don’t?”
Another button gets undone and those dark, gorgeous eyes sparkle with amusement.
“Nope, no questions.” I try to slap his hand away, but he gets another button undone.
And another.
“Not even one?” He’s looking at me like I’m a puzzle. A puzzle he plans to figure out. Right after he fucks me again.
I need to do something. And unfortunately, it looks like I’m gonna have to be a little bit mean.
I reach behind me to the sink and grapple for something to use as a threat. Nothing. A bar of soap?
I stare at it and then my eyes bounce to his face.
His left brow juts up in question.
“Wanna wash me?”
The idea of that puts me into a mini daze.
“I like that idea,” he drawls, “but the minute your scent is off me, we’re gonna have to get it all over me again too. I love how you smell.”
I throw the bar of soap as hard as I can. It sails out through the open bathroom door.
“Go fetch!” I try.
He throws his head back and laughs, hard. “Nice try.” His mouth lands on my neck and he pulls the skin into his mouth while cupping one of my breasts.
Now, just the bottom two buttons of my blouse remain closed, and I somehow shake myself out of a stupor and spring into action, bringing my knee up hard between his legs.
He grunts, doubling over.
“Sorry about that!” I call over my shoulder as I grab my boots and make my way out of the bedroom space, boot it across the walkway-slash-bridge and rush down the stairs.
I’m winded by the time I get down to the main floor, but Scooby-Doo run straight for the door, unlock and pull the front door open, and hallelujah, there’s my car, parked beside his truck.
Thankfully, it’s unlocked, and I see my fob there in the cupholder, my purse on the floor of the passenger side.
Perfect.
My purse, my keys. My phone will be in my purse and the suitcase I packed for staying with Ivy will be in the trunk. And because I’m Amelia Brennan, that overnight bag has enough clothes for more than a few days. So, once I get her rescued, the two of us can take off and hunker down somewhere for a while without worrying about clean clothes. I drop my boots onto the passenger seat, thinking, I’m out of here!
Wrong.
The naked and no-longer-smiling Mason is pulling on my doorhandle before I’ve gotten a chance to lock it.
Shit, now he’s pulling me out of the car.
“Let go of me!”
Fear spikes but it quickly vanishes when he rasps, “Naughty little minx,” directly into my ear like he’s looking forward to punishing me in a sexy way instead of retaliating for the knee to the nuts.
He carries me back inside.
I grunt and struggle, writhing to get free, warning, “You’re gonna make me mad.”
“Oh yeah?” he inquires, seeming intrigued, not angry. And he should be furious after what I’ve just done.
And the fact that he’s not angry? This annoys me. I struggle hard, kicking my feet, slapping him and getting more ticked because my slaps are coming out as pathetic girlie slaps on his face and shoulders, and he’s completely unaffected.
“Okay, that’s enough of this. Let me go! Hey!”
God, he’s strong. I can’t break free. And now he’s taking me upstairs.