I can say yes. Admit I savor the feel of his teeth on my neck and his hand on my ass.
Or I can say no. Play this game. Admit I want him to force me.
"I asked you a question." He wraps some rough fabric around my wrists. Pulls it tight. Binds my arms behind my back. "Do you want me to hurt you?"
"No." I agree to the scene. Because I trust him. I trust him completely.
Enough to ask him to hurt me.
Enough to ask him to force me.
Enough to admit I want this.
"Then do what I say." His voice is all rough edges. There's no tenderness. None of the sweet Ty I know.
This other person.
The brutal man I crave.
"What do you want?" I ask.
He pushes me against the wall. “I want to watch.”
Fuck.
My sex clenches. I'm already wet. Already wound so fucking tight.
Without warning, he shoves my dress down my shoulders. Over my chest.
To my waist.
The fabric collects around my wrists, holding them against my back, restraining me further.
He shifts his hips, so his cock is against my ass.
"Can you do that, princess?" He slips his hand under my skirt. Curls his fingers around my thigh. “Can you put on a show for me?”
Fuck.
He pushes my panties off my ass. Lets them fall to my ankles.
He digs his nails into my thigh.
Hard.
Hard enough it hurts.
Maybe hard enough to draw blood.
Too much, but I want more.
I always want more.
"I asked you a question," he growls.
"Please."
"Please?"
"Don't hurt me."
"Then do what I say." He wraps his arms around me. Lifts me—my entire body—and drapes me over his shoulder.
Like before. Only without the tease or the tenderness.
Like he's going to take me somewhere no one can find me.
His fingers dig into my thighs as he moves. Down the hallway.
To the bedroom.
Our bedroom.
He throws me on the bed.
I land on my wrists. On some hard metal. A buckle. His belt or handcuffs, I'm not sure.
It smarts.
But that only winds me tighter.
I look up at him.
He's wearing jeans and a t-shirt.
No suit. No tie. No shoes.
No sign of the buttoned-up man who commands an office.
Only the wild lover I know here.
Handsome. Strong. Brutal.
And, there, in the corner of the room, next to the mirror—
A video camera pointed at the bed.
Holy shit.
“You’re recording this?” I barely get the words out.
“I want to watch.” He does away with his t-shirt. “Now. Later. Whenever I want to see you take it.”
“Just you?”
“Why, princess? Are you shy?” He moves to the bed. Drops to his knees. “You don’t want people to know you like being hurt?”
“I—”
He wraps his fingers around my thighs. Pulls me to the edge of the bed.
God yes.
He knows I want to watch, so he’s recording this. For us.
I almost break character to congratulate him, tell him how much I need him, how much I appreciate him.
But I don’t.
I stay here, in this moment of him threatening me, exposing me.
“You what?” he growls.
“I don’t.” I need more. It’s so fucking good, but, still, I need more. “I don’t want anyone to see.”
"Then why are you wet?" He slips two fingers inside me.
My eyes close. My body takes over.
He's good at this. Too good.
It terrifies me.
It terrifies me how much it thrills me.
How little I care.
His hand finds my neck. "You like being on display.”
My eyes flutter open. Go to the mirror. It's so fucking beautiful, watching Ty standing between my legs, driving his fingers into me.
Fuck.
He drives his fingers into me again and again.
Then he drops between my legs. Brings his lips to my thigh.
He bites me. No teasing, no ramp up.
He bites hard.
I yelp.
Fuck.
He does it again. Only higher. Closer.
Then again.
Again.
Almost.
My thighs shake against his lips.
Then his mouth is on me. He licks me hard and fast. Utterly without tenderness.
It winds me tighter and tighter.
Then his nails scrape my thighs and I come.
He works me through my orgasm, then he brings his teeth to my thigh. To that same spot.
He bites me again.
I let out a groan.
He scrapes his teeth against my thigh. “You like being watched.”
“No.”
“You want men like me to watch. Men who will hurt you.”
I shake my head.
He stands. Flips me onto my stomach. Presses his palm into the space between my shoulder blades, pinning me to the bed. "Admit it."
I do.
I like being watched, I like being hurt, I like everything about this.
"Yes," I breathe.
I expect him to break, to gasp, to show some surprise. But he doesn't.
He lets go, gives in to the scene.
Ty pins me harder. He brings his knee to the back of my thigh. Holds me in place as he unzips his jeans and pulls me in position.
He lifts his knee.
Replaces it with his hands on my hips.
He pulls me onto him.
He slams into me so hard and fast I groan.
I reach for something, but I'm bound.
He presses down, pushing me into the bed and drives into me with steady strokes.
Too hard.
Too fast.
Too deep.
It hurts.
But still, I want more.
I let my eyes close for a second, then I force them open.
I soak up every ounce of sensation.
The camera in the corner.
The sharpness of his nails on my hips.
The earthy scent of his shampoo.
The rough edge to his groan.
The sweet pressure of his cock inside me.
Again and again.
Until I'm there.
Groaning as I come on his cock. Pulsing so hard and fast I can barely breathe.
It pulls him over the edge.
He rakes his nails over my ass as he comes. He works through his orgasm, letting out low deep groans as he spills every drop.
When he's finished, he pulls back. Sits next to me. Undoes the bindings around my wrist.
Helps me out of my dress.
Pulls me into his arms and holds me like he'll never let go.
He is mine.
Here, he's mine.
I'm the only one who gets this part of him.
Whatever else happens, I have that.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Indigo
For a long time, I lie there in his arms. He helps me wash and dress. Makes dinner. Sits with me on the balcony.
We talk about nothing as we watch the moon bounce off the Hudson.
We stay in this beautiful, perfect place for hours.
Before we go to bed, he takes the tape from the camera, wraps it in a purple gift box, slips it into my purse.
It’s mine.
This recording that could destroy him, destroy the reputation he’s paying me to fix, is mine.
He trusts me to keep it safe.
He trusts me.