“Say your safe word, Molly,” he said, coming closer. “Tell me to stop.”
God, that face, with that chiseled jaw and those carved cheekbones and the firm, masculine lips that were currently pressed together in determination.
“What are you going to do?” I dared. “Fuck me until I say yes to marrying you? There’s not a chance in hell, especially after you and Mercy—”
“Say. Your. Safe. Word.” His voice was almost menacing, almost mean, and Lord help me, I felt my response to that dampening my thighs.
“No,” I said haughtily. “I won’t.”
He was on me then, his arms like steel bars around my back, pressing me close to him. I was forced to lift my face to see his; he glowered down at me, his eyes like the heart of a flame, hot and blue and deadly. The last time he’d looked at me like this, like he wanted to eat me alive, had been last year…
“Say it,” he demanded. “Make me stop.”
Was it stubbornness or lust that made me dig in my heels? I wasn’t sure. But I could feel his erection grinding into my corseted stomach, feel the possessive way his hands roamed across my back, until he dug his fingers into my hair and forced my head back even farther. My pulse pounded everywhere—my exposed throat, my wrists, my empty, wet cunt.
It pounded for him.
“I’m not saying it,” I said. “You can’t make me.”
“Oh, is that the game?” he growled. “I have to make you?”
He bent his head down and nipped at my throat, and my whole body sang. Sang with righteous fury and pent-up resentment, maybe, but it sang nonetheless, singing for him and him alone. The nip turned fierce—a real bite—and I hissed, raising my hands to shove him away even as my center clenched with want.
He caught my hands before I could push him, and then his mouth was on mine, searing and marking and angry. Why he was angry with me, I didn’t know, except that maybe we were always destined to be angry with one another. And then his mouth parted my own with insistent, needy force and his tongue slid against mine, licking and fluttering and plundering my mouth.
My knees seemed unable to hold my weight, and without breaking our kiss, he reached down and hooked his arm behind my legs and I was swept up into his arms. He carried me to a nearby bench and sat down, and for a moment, I felt the twin tugs of desire and disappointment. The kiss was deep and urgent and I never wanted it to end…but I couldn’t have this with Silas. This greenery and blue sky and this pleasant bench in the cooling shade—this was what lovers did and we were not lovers. We were…something else, maybe. But not that.
Then he pulled away and in the space of an instant, I caught his blue eyes, as dark and inscrutable as the midnight sky. And then I was summarily flipped over onto my stomach on his lap, my forearms braced on the bench and my feet hanging off the other end.
“Silas,” I protested, struggling, and he pressed a firm hand on the small of my back as the other worked to lift up my skirts. I realized what he was doing a second too late; his palm cracked against my ass with a noise that rang through the maze.
“No!” I shrieked. “Let me go!”
His hand on my back held me tightly in place. “You know what you have to say, Molly. Say it. Say it, and I’ll stop.”
I froze. Saying it was admitting defeat, and I hated defeat. I liked to win—I loved to win, and if Silas thought he could spank the safe word out of me, he was dead wrong. Besides, there was the way that my ass felt after the slap—warm and glowing—and the way my breathing sped up as he shifted under me and the way that my nipples tightened as his fingertips ran lightly over my thighs.
But.
But.
I wasn’t used to being spanked. Hell, I wasn’t used to being dominated at all, had never let a man run my body this way, not since Mr. Cunningham had bought my virginity from me for five hundred thousand pounds when I was fourteen.
You’d never let a man since Cunningham…until Silas last year.
“Aren’t you going to say your word?” he crooned in my ear. “Are you really going to let a man you hate lay you over his lap and spank you?”
I told myself that the shudder my body gave at his words was a shudder of anger and not a shudder of lust. I looked over my shoulder at him. “It doesn’t matter how hard you spank me, Silas. You won’t win.”
Smack.
I cried out as his hand landed on my bare flesh.
Smack.
Smack.
Smack.
