Page 41 of The Villain
“Sorry,” he murmured, scowling as if he found the taste of the word repugnant. “For what, exactly? For the ruin your brother made of her life? For being so naive and sheltered that you could never have fathomed your precious Bertie could be so despicable?”
She shuddered when his body came against her, pinning her to the door. Wedged between two hard, unrelenting things, there could be no escape. The planes and ridges of his torso held her captive, his chest compressing her breasts and one large thigh shoved between hers.
“Yes,” she whispered, raising her head to look at him. “For all of it. If I had known—”
He scoffed. “What would you have done?”
“I … I do not know,” she stammered.
He chuckled, the sound lacking humor and making dread curl low in her belly. “That is the problem, is it not? You know nothing … not even the truth of your current situation. Youdarecome in here to offer me your pitiful apology, as if it would change anything between us … as if you mean anything more than a means to an end. I do not want your apologies … I do notneed them.”
Her chin trembled, but she forced herself to maintain his gaze, to hide her fear in the face of his anger. He would enjoy it too much, knowing he had terrified her to her core.
“I know apologies are not enough,” she replied, using her most soothing tone.
She needed him to release her, to let her out of this room. Coming here had been a mistake, but it could not be too late for her to escape.
“I understand you feel the need for vengeance,” she added.
“Do you understand, truly?” he taunted, lifting a hand to grasp her face, his fingers biting into her jaw. “How it feels to hold in my hands the object of his affection … to fantasize about wrapping my fingers around your throat and squeezing until you go limp … holding you down and fucking you until you scream and plead for mercy … tearing you to pieces until there’s nothing left?”
A sob welled up in her chest, his words striking her as carrying more weight than a mere threat.
“Please,” she pleaded, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to compose herself.
Her body jerked away from the door, and she gasped, kicking and flailing as he lifted her off her feet. His fingers bit into her arms as he hauled her to the center of the room, then threw her down on the rug in the center of the floor.
Panic flared in her gut as he knelt over her, reaching out for the belt of her robe. Despite knowing she had given him free use of her body—that she could not deny him without reneging on their agreement—she could not fight the instinct telling her to run, to preserve the parts of herself Adam would surely destroy. She backpedaled, her robe falling open as he snatched the belt loose. The heavy garment fell off one shoulder as she scrambled away from him, her legs tangling in her gown.
With a frustrated growl, he grasped her ankle and gave her a rough jerk, pulling her back to him and straddling her.
“Do you think she begged, too, little dove?” he ground out through his clenched jaw, tearing her dressing gown from her shoulders, then tugging at the straps of the silk scrap she wore, snapping them completely. “Do you think he listened … that he cared when she cried and pleaded for mercy?”
She bit back a cry when he tore the gown down the front, exposing her breasts. A rough sound emanated from him in reaction to the revealed flesh, his tongue creeping out to wet his lips. Her nipples shrank and hardened beneath his gaze, a twinge between her legs filling her with shame. Despite her fear—or, perhaps, because of it—her body reacted to him, the sensation of arousal unmistakable.
He grasped both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand, using the other to pull the bodice of her nightgown farther down. Then, he palmed one breast, squeezing it until she squirmed beneath him, her nipple rasping against his palm.
“So goddamn perfect,” he spat, almost as if the perfection he accused her of disgusted him to no end. “So smooth and unblemished … so breakable. Have you any idea how badly I want to destroy you—how much pleasure it would bring me?”
She gasped again when he pinched her nipple, her eyelids fluttering closed as he plied it with his thumb and forefinger. Her eyes flew open again when he gave it a vicious twist, sending liquid heat and agony spiraling through her belly. It melted and spread to her core when he released her, her sharp cry of pain melting onto a sigh of relief … of bliss.
“So responsive,” he murmured, treating the other breast the same way—teasing her nipple into a stiff peak before torturing it with a twist. “You like this, don’t you, little dove? Being defiled … controlled … used.”
Turning her head and avoiding his gaze, she clamped her lips shut. Answering his question would damn her. More than that, it would force her to confront things about herself she was not yet ready to face.
Lowering his head, he pressed his mouth to her ear, the linen of his shirt teasing the tips of her breasts, his hips fitting into the cradle between hers.
He laughed again, the sound bristling her spine and stoking her ire. “I can see you do, my little wanton …whore.”
A rough cry of rage tore from her throat, and she bucked beneath him, kicking and yanking her arms free of his hold. Lashing out at him, she screamed, raking his face and neck with her nails, squirming to try to work her way from beneath him. Damn him for doing this to her, for poking and prodding at the deeply hidden parts of herself and making her acknowledge them. For making her hate him and want him all at once.
Laughing as if she amused him, he grasped one wrist and then the other, immobilizing her as quickly as he had before, pressing her back against the carpet. Red welts rose up along his cheek where she’d mauled him, the buttons torn off his shirt, the opening exposing a wide swath of his chest.
“Yes, little dove,” he said with a slow, predatory grin. “Fight me … you know how I love it when you fight.”
Her face went hot when he surged his hips against her, letting her feel the evidence of his words. He had gone hard as stone, the heat of his lust searing her through the layers of his breeches and her nightgown. She went still, hovering on the line between wanting to fight him and being afraid to provoke him further.
Reaching between them, he swiftly jerked open his fall. Her cunt clenched hungrily at the sight of his cock—large, red, and angry—peering at her from the opening in his breeches. Jerking up the skirt of her nightgown, he fell upon her again, keeping a tight hold on her wrists as he fit his cock into the cleft between her legs.
