Page 32 of Gideon
“Yes.”
I barely breathed, watching his lips spread in a wide, sinister smile.
“Good girl.” He growled the words, almost more rumble than actual words to be heard. They shot straight to my core, making me clench in response as I tried like hell to keep my composure. Try as I might, I still failed. I let slip a small groan of wanton desire. I watched as his eyes danced with delight at the sound.
“Oh, looky here. Does the little brat like being called a good girl?” he teased.
Don’t nod. Don’t nod. Don’t nod.
I willed myself to close my mouth, to narrow my eyes at him once more, and to resist the mesmerizing way he drew me in.
“No,” I seethed, gritting my teeth against the rising arousal that flooded my body.
“No, you don’t like being called a good girl?” he questioned teasingly.
“Nope.” I popped the “p” with as much sass as I could muster.
“Maybe you like something far more wicked, then,” he teased.
“Ha,” I scoffed, unwilling to let him win this little game.
“Perhaps instead of my good girl, you’d prefer to be my dirty little slut, hmm?” he coaxed. I knew it was wrong. I wasn’t a slut. I had been chaste and a virgin before our consummation and yet… something in the way he said those evil, degrading words made me quiver with desire.
“Absolutely not,” I spat at him.
“Figures,” he chuckled, backing away from my face with a grin I wanted to smack clean off of that perfect face.
I waited just a moment longer; just long enough for him to let his guard down by a fraction before I delivered my verbal blow. The one I knew would turn the tides on this little game of ours.
“But I could be,” I murmured, shrugging as nonchalantly as I could manage. His eyes moved back to mine with unerring slowness. The heat that burned there lit me on fire with this aching and angry need for him. I wanted it back. That side of him that had taken me against the wall and touched me with perfect precision. I wanted to burn alive with him again.
“Excuse me?” he said through gritted teeth. His face was nothing but irate anger, yet his eyes told the truth. He wanted me. Just as I wanted him.
“Perhaps if you’re unable to tell me about your kink, you should just show me,” I pushed right back. I wanted him frustrated with me. I wanted to push his buttons.
And push them, I did.
“Unless you’re afraid to,” I mocked him. I knew I was playing with fire, but I didn’t care. He had told me his truth. I now had leverage on him, should he try anything with me. He hated this town and these people as much as I did. He wouldn’t send me away. But I could wreak havoc on his world if he crossed me. Leverage was everything, and right then I felt like I was invincible. I wasn’t afraid of whatever this truth of his was. But I wanted to know. And I wanted to know now.
“You want to be my dirty girl?” he teased coyly, his hand wrapping around the fabric at my breast, gripping the cloth in his hand as he twisted his fist and pulled me to him. He tugged so sharply, I stumbled into him, gasping as I almost lost my footing.
“Show me your world.” I wasn’t begging, I was challenging him. Pushing him to take me wherever it was he went when he was like this. I wanted to see it. Experience it. Understand it.
“Wicked girl,” he growled right before his lips found mine in an angry, near violent clash of lips and teeth and tongue. I met his anger with my own, unafraid and unwilling to back down.
“Show me,” I sighed, need coursing through my body as our lips parted for only a moment.
“Your wish, my command,” he growled. His hands were everywhere all at once.
He bunched my dress together, tugging it up my hips as he ground his erection against my core. Our lips didn’t part for a second as the sensation of his body pressed against mine stoked the fire within me. My hands wrapped around his neck, my fingers sliding up into his mess of curly locks as his hands found purchase on my hips. His fingers tugged at the waist of my panties, tugging them down. I shifted my thighs, letting the fabric drop down my legs and pool at the floor before kicking them to the side.
I wanted him. I needed his touch and his fire.
His hands pulled my dress up and over my head, leaving me in nothing but my simple bra. As soon as the garment was off of my body and tossed aside, his hand found my braided hair, tugging my head back sharply.
“You will listen,” he commanded roughly. “You will listen, and you will obey. Understood?” My eyes narrowed, wanting to fight him, but the need to know this world of his outweighed my desire to fight and bicker. I nodded, biting my tongue and holding back my snarky retort.
His lips found my shoulder, the place where it met my neck as he growled, inhaling and taking in my scent. It was a hedonistic thing, making me quiver and my lower lips becoming slick with want for him.
