Page 22 of Devil in Disguise
“In the house,” he said, which was, yes, telling her what to do. He didn’t wait, either, just headed through the door like he expected her to follow him. He hit the button on the garage door on the way in, and it rolled down behind her.
She could either stand here in the dark or go inside.Pick your battles,she told herself, and went inside.
He was standing solid on a patch of shining wood floor in the middle of the great-room space, between the breakfast bar and the living-room area. So they weren’t sitting down for this. Fine. His arms were folded, which was something she’d never seen him do outside of a publicity picture. For once, he wasn’t smiling, and he looked even bigger than his three hundred seven pounds. He looked like a bison shifter.
It didn’t matter. He was mad? So was she. “So what gives you the right?” she asked him again.
“I don’t have the right to make you do anything,” he said. “I have the right to tell you how I feel about your choices.” His words came out measured, but his body was almost pulsing with—something. Tension. Strength, held back. Whatever it was, it was winding her up the same way it was him.
“Fine,” she said. “You’ve told me.”
“No. I haven’t. I care about you hitting your head because I love you. What about that is so hard to understand?” His voice was a little louder now, or maybe just a little deeper. Whatever it was, it went right through her, all the way to her feet again, and everywhere else, too. And she was thrown. For once, she couldn’t think of anything to say.
“I’m trying not to grab you right now,” he said. “Don’t push me, Dyma.”
“Thengrabme,” she said. “Did I tell you not to? You don’t have the right to make me do anything? That’s true. Have you noticed me pressuringyouto have sex? No, you haven’t, because I respect your choices. I respect your independentpersonhood.But if kissing me will make you feel better?” She raised her arms from her sides. “Then kiss me. Here I am. I’m ready. Kiss me. Touch me. Take off my clothes. You have my consent.”
He didn’t move. If anything, he … vibrated even more. “If you want to know the truth?” he said, his voice more measured than ever. “I want to put you over my knee and spank you hard.”
“Oh, nice.” She managed to say it, but barely. The idea was a thrill. And it was a shock. “And that’s a no. I’m not a child.”
“Then maybe you should stop reacting against everything I’m saying like you are one!” He wasn’t managing the voice control, and his arms weren’t crossed anymore, either. “And tell me that you’re listening. That you get that I’m concerned, because all I want is to know that you’re safe!”
She didn’t have any more words. Every part of her was quivering, just under the surface, all of her vibrating to his frequency. She stepped across the space between them, put her hands on the snap front of his Western shirt, and yanked it open.
That was as far as she got. His mouth came down on hers, and she was off her feet. He had one hand under her skirt and the other one in her hair, and he was carrying her, kissing her all the way through the room. Down the hall. There was a splintering crash, and he was striding into a dark bedroom.
He didn’t throw her onto the bed. He put her there, his hand behind her head as she hit the bed, but he came straight down over her, and his size was a shock. She was pulling on his shirt, and he was pulling on hers. She managed to say, on a gasp, “Did you … kick down the door?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Shut up.”
She was about to tell him what she thought of that, but he was kissing her, and she couldn’t. His hand was still in her hair, pulling some, and this wasn’t sweet, controlled Owen anymore. His lips moved from her mouth to her neck, and she had an arm around him, clutching hard at his back, trying to pull his shirt loose.
He sat up with a curse, yanked it out of his jeans, and tossed it to the floor, and she struggled to her knees, got her hands under his T-shirt, and pulled it straight up his body.
“Off,” she told him, and he did it. That shirt joined the other one on the floor, and there he was.
She knew he was big. It wasn’t like it was a surprise. Facing all that muscle, though, was … overwhelming.
He was breathing hard. He was also bruised and scraped. On his bicep. On his forearm. On hisneck.The marks were a livid red, and they were enormous. She wanted to ask if he was all right. He didn’t give her the chance.
“You all right with this?” he asked.
In answer, she pulled him down over her, got her own hand in his hair, and pulled his mouth closer. Her other hand was on the warm skin of his back, touching his body in the way he’d never allowed her to do.
His hand, pulling off her sweater, then yanking up her tank top. His mouth, dropping down her body to suck at a nipple through her bra, and the impossible friction of it. The moment when he left her and pulled off her boots and socks, and then his own. When she pushed him onto his back, and he let her do it. Not saying anything. Breathing hard, though, as she kissed her way down his chest, as she ran her hands over enormous biceps, the carved bulk of triceps, then kissed him there on his inner arm where his skin was so unexpectedly silky over the hardness of the muscle beneath. The catch in his breath when she touched his belt buckle, and the tension in his body when her fingers went to pull the tongue of leather out of his belt loops.
Her heart was beating so fast, she was panting. Her hands shook a little as she got the belt undone.
She had her hand on the zipper of his jeans when he put his own hand over it and said, “You sure?”
“Owen. Come on.” She was still dressed, for once, and he wasn’t. And she wanted to see more.
His hand stilled, and she moved the zipper slowly down. And she’d swear he was holding his breath the whole time.
* * *
That little skirt.Short as can be, and when he’d walked through the restaurant behind her, he’d been able to see all the way through it. And when she’d leaned across the table, offering him a bite of something vegetable-intensive, he’d seen her nipples harden under not enough bra and not nearly enough shirt. He’d have sworn that thing was an undershirt.
