Page 7 of Kidnapped for Christmas

“So, you’re going to take my phone away?”

He looks down then back again. “Do I need to?”

“Maybe.” This is the weirdest flirting on Earth. I want him to come and take this phone from me. I want him to wrestle it out of my hands.

He huffs out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry I got upset about the bed thing. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“Whydidyou yell?”

“I was frustrated.”

“Why?”

He swallows a visible lump in his throat then blows out a breath. Something is agitating him.

“What is going on? Are you pissy?”

“I came to apologize for yelling.”

“No, you came to tell me to stay off my phone.”

His eyes close and his lips go flat. “If you’re going to be difficult, I’ll tie you up for real.”

My thighs squeeze together. I’d love for him to tie me up. Maybe I’ll keep being difficult. “Oh, will you?” I stand from the bed and step toward him. He’s huge. “I’d love to see you try.”

He laughs under his breath. “Is that right? You’d love for me to take your pretty, little wrists and tie them over your head? Then what?”

Now I’m the one swallowing a lump. We’re so close, my nose is nearly touching his. And while I realize a second ago, I’d decided I have daddy issues and this man is obviously off limits, I’m currently standing in front of him with soaking wet panties.I mean, he said my wrists were pretty.

“Then, you do whatever it is you’re trying to do.” I wet my lips, my gaze on his.

What am I doing?

Arnie and I have never spoken like this. He’s always been sweet and kind. I think the one and only argument we had was about who was stealing the spatula from the kitchen. I swear that thing has legs of its own.

He turns me around and leans me against the wall, holding my hands above my head as he leans his giant frame in toward me. “So I tie you up like this… and I do whatever I want to you?”

What the hell? Is this happening? Does he realize what he’s doing?

I stare up at him, thighs shaking, heart pounding, clit throbbing. He’s massive. Massive and strong. Massive, strong, and he smells so damn good.

“What… what would… what would you do to me?” The words spill from my lips like a scared schoolgirl who’s never been touched. To be fair, it’s sort of the truth.

He stares at me for a long while, his breath so heavy that his chest rises and falls with effort. He’s clearly frustrated with something.

My heart pounds harder and a bead of sweat drips from my forehead. Every ounce of my being is desperate for him to say dirty, filthy things then lay me down and fuck me hard. We don’t have to tell anyone. It can be our secret.

He huffs out a heavy sigh and growls under his breath. “Get in bed.”

I don’t move. Neither does he.

My chest moves with my rapid breath, and every bit of anxiety I thought I had before amplifies to a million. I don’t want him to let me go. Not in the slightest. I want him to lean me back on that bed and show me what it feels like to be touched by him. I want his hands all over me. I want his mouth on mine. I want the rough edge of his tongue to slide across my thigh and back again.

What’s wrong with me?

I sigh and look away, hopeful that he somehow gets off on reluctance.

Instead, he moves his arm and paces back toward the door. “Go to sleep.”

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