Page 86 of The Psychopaths

“It’s submission,” I growl, yanking her up by her arm. “Real submission. Not this calculated surrender you’re offering.”

She stumbles against me, hands bracing on my chest. “I don’t understand what you want from me!”

“Yes, you do.” I grip her chin, forcing her face up to mine. “You want this as much as I do. Since the moment I shoved my cock down your throat. You’re hiding behind a lie, pretending you’re just doing this for him.” My other hand slides down her back, gripping her hip to pull her flush against me.

“I—” Her breath catches as I deliberately roll my hips against hers.

“Say it.” I back her against the wall, one hand moving to tangle in her hair. “Say you want this. That it’s not just about saving him.”

“Why does it matter?” she challenges, that fire finally returning to her eyes. “If you get what you want either way?”

I laugh darkly. “Because I don’t want what you’re offering. I want your real surrender. Your real desire. Not this pathetic imitation.”

To demonstrate, I grab her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand while the other skims down her body. She shivers under my touch, pupils dilating despite her attempt to remain distant.

“See?” I murmur, lips brushing her ear. “Your body already knows what you’re trying to deny.”

“That’s just physical,” she argues, but her voice has gone breathless. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Then why are your nipples hard?” My thumb circles one through her shirt, making her bite her lip. “Why is your pulse racing?

She stays quiet, her chest heaving.

“That’s what I thought.” My hand slides under her shirt, palm flat against her stomach. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but your body doesn’t lie to me.”

My hand travels higher under her shirt, fingertips brushing the underside of her breast. She makes a small sound—not quite a protest, not quite a moan. Her wrists strain against my grip, but not to escape. To what? Press closer? Pull away? Even she doesn’t seem to know.

Her head falls back against the wall, eyes fluttering closed as my fingers find her nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. The gasp she releases is pure need.

“That’s it,” I encourage, my thigh pressing between her legs. “Stop thinking. Stop calculating. Just feel.”

I release her wrists to tug her shirt up and off in one smooth movement. Her hands immediately come to my shoulders—not pushing away, but gripping like she needs an anchor in a storm. “Beautiful,” I murmur, taking in the sight of her in just her simple black bra. “Even more perfect than I imagined.”

My mouth finds her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there as my hands work her bra open. She whimpers when it falls away, leaving her exposed to my hungry gaze.

“Arson,” she whispers, my name a question and a plea.

“Yes?” I drag my fingertips down her sides, feeling her tremble.

“I’m sorry about earlier. About going downstairs.” Her words come between shallow breaths. “About seeing Aries without permission.”

The mention of my brother’s name is like ice water being poured down my back. I step back slightly, though my hands remain on her waist.

“You disobeyed me,” I say coldly. “After I specifically told you to stay upstairs.”

She nods, eyes still dark with arousal but now tinged with apprehension. “Yes.”

“Then you offered yourself up like some virgin sacrifice.” I trace the curve of her breast, watching her nipple tighten in response. “Thinking I wouldn’t notice you were just going through the motions.”

“I wasn’t?—”

“Don’t lie.” My hand slides down her stomach to the waistband of her jeans. “Not when I can feel how wet you are right now.”

I pop the button open, lowering the zipper with deliberate slowness. “I think both those things deserve punishment, don’t you?”

Her breath hitches. “Punishment?”

“Yes.” I slip my hand inside her jeans, over her panties, feeling the heat and dampness there. “I promise you’ll enjoy at least part of it.”

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