“By letting you blame yourself for being raped so violently that you lost your baby?”
I jumped to my feet to defend her. “She knew what was best for me.”
“Jesus, Emily, do you hear yourself? Tell me, I’m curious – were you open about this hold she has on you? Did she make you wear a collar?”
I didn’t need that from him – didn’t need him to challenge our relationship. My role with her was already shifting, and the only way I knew to survive was to cling to the few truths that I kept sacred.
“She knew what was best for me,” I said again. “She knew how to keep me safe. And it wasn’t just by imprisoning me.” It was a hit below the belt. He considered keeping Amber locked up at his ranch the worst thing he’d ever done. He’d trusted me when he’d admitted it, and I’d just thrown it back in his face.
I rightfully deserved the callous expression he gave me in return.
Callous and chilling.
He took a careful step toward me, his eyes hard. “What did you say?”
I wasn’t dumb enough to repeat it. And I was smart enough to run.
He lunged when I did, catching me immediately. With his hands gripped on my upper arms, I bent my knee up, hitting him in the gut.
That only enraged him more.
He spun me outward so that I was facing away from him, twisting my arms behind my back and holding them firmly at my wrists. “You’ve been acting like a royal bitch for far too long, Emily. If you’re going to act like one, it’s time you learned, you’re going to be treated like one.”
He pushed me forward, toward the railing, and panic rushed over me even though I knew without a doubt in my body that he’d never do anything to seriously hurt me.
But wasn’t it thrilling to think that he could?
I struggled with everything I had, knowing that I didn’t have a chance of escape. Knowing and loving.
“Let me go,” I said as he used his entire body to pin me against the metal railing.
“No.” He shifted my arms so he was gripping my wrists with just one of his hands.
I twisted my neck to see why he needed a free hand and found him shrugging out of his shirt. Jesus, he was hot.
I turned away, afraid my face gave away how aroused I was. Which didn’t mean I wasn’t mad too. Especially now that he’d forced me to the ledge, the same spot that he’d admonished me for being in earlier. Then, when my hands had been free to grip the railing, the view had been exhilarating.
With him in control, his body position pressing my gaze down, the view was terrifying.
I jerked my shoulders up suddenly, hoping he’d let go from surprise.
“Hold still.” He yanked my wrists down so sharply, I cried out.
“I’ll scream.”
He laughed. “Go ahead. No one can hear you down here, and screaming is a turn-on. Even more than struggling.”
And now I was wet.
“You’re a fucking asshole,” I said, meaning it with every cell in my being.
He switched his hold on me to his other hand. “Sorry to disappoint, but fucking you in the ass wouldn’t be a good idea today. I’m feeling too spiteful. You wouldn’t be able to walk after and I’m not carrying you up that mountain.”
“Jesus, you’re unbelievable.”
“I’m taking that as a compliment.”
I was sweating now, my heart pounding so hard my chest hurt. Suddenly, he let go of my hands. But before I could think fast enough to figure out what to do with my freedom, he wrapped his shirt around my neck. And pulled. Hard. Choking me.
He leaned into my ear and rasped. “Beg for my cock when I let you breathe.”
My hands flew to my throat. I scratched at the material, clawing, using up the air in my chest with my frantic wrestling.
Of course I couldn’t get free. His hold was too tight, too secure. Seconds passed. Several. Then several more. Black spots dotted my vision by the time he loosened his grip.
I gasped, desperate to heave air into my lungs. I’d barely gotten in a good breath when he was choking me again.
“Too slow,” he said with a tsk. “I’ll give you another chance. I hope you’re ready.”
Once again his grip loosened. I blinked, disoriented and confused and definitely unprepared for whatever it was he wanted me to do. “Uh… uh…” I stuttered.
Again he pulled the shirt around my neck, tighter than before. So tight, I didn’t even care that I couldn’t breathe because I was sure the pain would kill me before the lack of oxygen.
“I mean it, goddammit, Emily,” he said, and somehow I understood what he was saying, despite my muddled ability to think. “Tell me you want my cock or I’m walking away right now.”
I hated him. Hated every terrible wonderful emotion he inspired within me. Hated how completely and perfectly he mastered me. Hated how he could be absolutely brutal and yet still required my consent. Hated how much I could never stop loving him.
This time when he let me breathe, I forced the words out as I gulped for air. “I want your cock!”
His shirt disappeared from my neck, and then he was tugging my shorts and panties down my thighs. “What do you want me to do with it?”
I imagined him undoing the drawstring of his pants and letting them fall silently to his ankles. Imagined that his hands were absent from my body because they were freeing his erection.
I grabbed the railing, ready for him. Desperate for him. “I want you to fuck me.”
“I know you do. I always know.” His voice was sweet, soothing, the way a parent calmed a child. He pressed close to me and I could feel the head of his cock rub against my slit. Then at my entrance. Then he was shoving inside, sliding in with no resistance, I was so wet.