When I only stare at her, infuriated by her hubris, she says politely, “I’ll be rubbing this in later, but for now, may I get back to my call, please?”
I put the phone to my ear. Looking into Sloane’s eyes as I speak, I say, “Tell Kazimir that if he doesn’t cancel both bounties within the hour, Sloane’s mutilated body will be dumped on his doorstep by midnight.”
I disconnect and glare at her.
She folds her arms over her chest and glares back. “That wasn’t smart.”
Seething, I say softly, “You have no idea what kind of game is being played here, lass. None at all. You’re absolutely fucking clueless. And to tell you the truth, I’m sick of listening to you run that bloody mouth.”
I slip the phone into my coat pocket. When I start to work at the knot in my tie, she backs up, shaking her head.
“Don’t you dare try to gag me, gangster.”
I whip it off and stalk toward her.
“I’m warning you!” she shouts, stumbling backward. “I’ll kick your ass!”
I lunge.
She yelps and whirls around to run away, but I’m too close. I grab her by the scruff of her neck and yank her against my chest.
I’m rewarded for that move by her heel smashing down onto the top of my foot.
It’s a hard strike. A good one. But it takes a hell of a lot more than that to stop me when I’ve lost my temper.
And I’ve finally lost it. Honestly, it’s a miracle I’ve held on to it this long.
I shove her face-down onto the bed. Twisting like a caged animal, she kicks and screams as I straddle her waist. She’s furious she can’t budge me. When I pin her arms behind her back, she kicks up with her heel and catches me right in the kidney.
I forget about wanting to stuff the tie down her throat and tie it around her wrists instead.
The punishment I’m about to administer doesn’t require silence.
She’s shouting. Bucking like a wild bull, trying to throw me off. I realize she hates to not be the one in control almost as much as she hates to show anything remotely close to weakness.
It gives me a profound sense of satisfaction that I’m subjecting her to both.
“Fuck you and your laughing!” she hollers.
“Come on, hellcat. Weren’t you supposed to be kicking my ass? So far, I give you a five out of ten.”
“Prick!”
“Don’t tell me that’s all you’ve got. I think you can do better.”
Frustrated that I’m throwing her words back at her, she lets loose a scream. She screams louder when I laugh again.
I sit on the edge of the bed and drag her onto my lap, holding her down with one hand gripped around the back of her neck, the other around her hip.
It’s not easy. She’s fighting me hard. And she’s stronger than she looks. I have to give her credit for that. But she can’t match my strength, no matter how hard she fights.
I yank down her underwear—my underwear—to the middle of her thighs and rain down a series of sharp, stinging blows with my open hand on her bare arse.
She sucks in a breath, back stiffening.
“You deserve every one of those,” I say through gritted teeth. “And every one that’s coming.”
I spank her again and again until my palm is hot and her bottom is bright red. I’m so intent on what I’m doing, I don’t notice until I stop that she’s no longer struggling. She lies still, her cheek pressed to the mattress, her eyes closed. She’s breathing as hard as I am.
Trembling, too. Her entire body is trembling.
And my dick is as hard as a rock.
After a moment, she whispers brokenly, “Three out of ten.”
It’s a dare.
My breath leaves my chest in a ragged rush. I stare down at her naked arse—firm, round, cherry red—and am almost overcome by a savagely powerful need to take it.
To release my aching cock from my trousers and shove it deep inside her.
To hold her down and fuck her hard while I bite her neck.
To listen to her cry out as I come inside her, pulling her hair.
To punish her, dominate her, make her submit to me.
To make her mine.
Her eyes drift open. She looks up at me. Whatever she sees on my face sends a shiver through her body.
I growl, “Not a fucking word.”
She swallows. Licks her lips. Tries to do box breathing to calm herself and fails.
I like her like this.
Obedient and mercifully silent, obviously turned on. That she’s allowing me to keep her on my lap without struggling or trying to get away tells me that she enjoyed that spanking, just as much as her erratic breathing and flushed face do.
Or maybe it’s how hard she’s trembling. Or that wild look in her eyes, like she’s unsure what I’m going to do next and can’t decide if she likes not knowing or hates it.
Watching her face closely, I say, “I’ve got a question for you, hellcat. And if there’s been any time since we met that you need to tell me the truth, it’s now.”
She squeezes her eyes shut.
“No, don’t hide from me. Open your eyes.”
She turns her face to the bedsheets.
I drop my voice and say her name. It’s a warning, and she knows it.
Her voice muffled by the sheets, she says, “Please don’t make me say it.”
“You don’t know what I was going to ask.”
After a pause, she speaks in a miserable whisper. “Yes, I do. And we both know the answer. And I couldn’t bear it if you made me say it out loud. I’ll hate myself forever. Please don’t make me say it, Declan. Please.”
Ah, fuck. What that does to me.
It’s like she plugged me into a socket. Electricity jolts through my body. Adrenaline floods my veins. I break out in a sweat, and my heartbeat goes arrhythmic. My dick aches, my balls are tight, and holy fuck, I want this woman so much, my mouth waters.
And all it would take is to force her to admit she wants me to keep going.
Which she does…but also doesn’t.
I exhale slowly, gathering my self-control.
I flip her over, settle her between my spread thighs, and grasp her jaw in my hand.
I kiss her. Deeply.
She responds, sagging against the arm I’ve got wound around her back and making a soft, feminine sound of pleasure deep in her throat.
Then I push her off my lap, stand, and walk out of the room.
In a life full of difficult moments, this one makes the top five.
15
Sloane
So here I am, sprawled on the carpet with my hands tied behind my back, stunned, panting, and humiliated.
And soaking wet.
Because although I hate Declan, my coochie thinks that bastard is divine.
To top it all off, he handled me like I was as weak as a limp noodle. All those years of self-defense training, all the hours I’ve sweated through advanced yoga poses, contorting my body in near-impossible ways, honing my core strength and toning my muscles, and that bossy Irishman wrangled me into submission in ten seconds flat like I was a bleating baby cow in its rodeo debut.
Then he spanked me, kissed me, and—for the final indignity—shoved me onto the floor and swaggered out.
The arrogant son of a bitch. First, he almost made me cry. Then, he almost made me come. As soon as I get the chance, I’m going to kill him.