"Yes," he says in a hard voice. A shiver runs up my spine. The pores on my skin pop. He reaches behind, grabs his shirt, and pulls it off.
I take in the tattoo of a coiled snake that covers his chest and the bicep of his left arm; it flows down to disappear under the waistband of his pants, and I know that more tattoos cover both of his thighs. I have seen them before, but not had the chance to pay such close attention to them. In between the coils are a chrysanthemum, a peacock feather, an anchor, a weeping Virgin Mary, a scorpion... I also spot 'Xander’ scrawled on the right side of his chest, over his pec with the dates of what must be his birth and his death. There are more objects that I can’t make out. I know the tattoos cover his back as well; all of the designs are in black ink. His entire body is a tapestry; almost every inch of his torso is covered. All except for a space over his heart. But I can’t ask him about that. He straightens, grabs one wrist of mine, then the other.
My body trembles in anticipation, and hell, if that doesn’t make me angry. I’ve only spent a few days with him, and damn, if he hasn’t already trained me to enjoy his kinks. Anger jolts through me. I pull back both of my knees and plant my heels on his chest. The hard plane of his chest digs into my soles as I push.
He huffs out a breath, and his feature break into a delighted smile. "That’s it, Flower," he croons. "Fight me; fight for what you want from me."
"I want you to get off of me."
"Liar." He smirks, then reaches over for the length of a satin ribbon from the sewing basket. I draw in a breath, then push against his chest with all my might. He laughs as he begins to wind the ribbon around my wrists.
The slither of the satin against my skin sends goose bumps trailing across my body. My belly shudders, my sex quivers, and moisture drips down my inner thigh. His nostrils flare, and I know the asshole has smelled my arousal.
Bloody hell. If I stay here for a second longer, I’m going to be parting my legs and inviting him to take me. And I want it. I want him to bury his thick, hard, wide cock inside me and stretch me, and yet… I don’t want to give in, not yet. I will not make it easy for you, alphahole.
I grit my teeth, tighten all of my muscles, and throw everything I have behind it as I push.
He pauses, blinks, then barks out an exuberant laugh. "More." He bares his teeth. "Do that again, Flower. It makes for a hell of a massage."
"Argh," I make a sound deep in my throat as I pull up my knees, then plant my feet on his chest again and again and again.
He smirks.
I snarl and lower my feet to the ground.
"Giving up so soon?" His lips curl.
I allow my lips to curve. "Come closer," I murmur. "I have something to confess."
"You do?"
I nod. "Come on, baby, don’t you want to hear what I have to say?"
His smile widens. He leans in closer, and that’s when I rear up and snap my neck forward. My head connects with his nose. I hear the crunch of cartilage. The next moment blood drips down between us.
I lean back, my breath coming in pants, and glance up to find his lips twisted, nostrils flared, blood flowing down his mouth to splatter on his chest. His gaze widens as if he can’t believe what I just did. Then a growl rumbles up his chest. Those blue eyes glint with intention, and something deep in their depths seems to catch fire. He seems both shocked and angry, and something more. Something very much like arousal.
"Don’t—" I open my mouth. That’s when he closes the distance between us and smashes his mouth to mine.
35
Aurora
The coppery tang of his blood fills my mouth. He thrusts his tongue between my lips, owning my mouth, possessing me in a way that I know I’ll never get used to. He bites down on my lower lip, and pain shivers down my spine. My core clenches, and I’m aware of the flutters in my belly, how my breasts swell, how my nipples harden into pinpoints of pleasure, even as my heart races in my chest.
The combination of fear, of arousal, of being trapped, of wanting to escape, yet needing to be overpowered, grips me. My breath comes in pants, and my palms begin to sweat. That’s when he plants his hips between my thighs, forcing them wide apart.
He winds his fingers around my throat, leans his weight forward, and I can’t move. I’m pinned in place by his massive chest on mine, his thick column stabbing into my sensitive core, his wide fingers around my throat. I raise my bound hands, and he grabs my wrists with his free hand and forces them back.
I snarl into his face, then wriggle and writhe in his grasp, and the thickness between his legs seems to grow bigger, more insistent. A melting sensation grips my core even as anger fills my chest. I know what he’s doing. I asked him to indulge my consensual non-con scene, and that’s what he is doing. So why am I so angry that he’s able to arouse me by doing so? He’s only giving me what I asked for, so why am I so upset with him? Is it because he’s able to slip into the role of someone who enjoys taking me without my consent? Is that what’s bothering me. Or is it because I’m enjoying this role play too much? Is it because I’m disgusted with my own needs?
More blood drips down from where I smashed into his nose, and he licks it up.
My gaze widens. "You’re an animal," I burst out.
"And it turns you on." He smirks. "Admit it; you love to see me lose control and not give you a choice. My kinks bring out that part of you you’ve been dying to reveal to the world, but haven’t had the courage so far."
"I admit no such thing," I snarl, "you, you … jerkaloupe."