"I'm not touching you, Bridge. This isn't for you. I'm merely getting more comfortable in my new abode. Because as far as you dictated it, this is where I live now. Although, do tell, what's going to happen? Are you going to chain me up in the basement? In one of those coffins you boys used?"
I swallowed hard. I hadn't planned on holding her here for long. Just long enough for her to see sense and agree to move to the Winston Isles until this was over.
She sashayed away, her bare feet daintily tiptoeing on the marble. I couldn't help it. I broke, lurching after her because that was the only way my reaction could be described. Lurching. Like someone had reanimated my body because I could not coordinate any of it. None of it worked right at all. And then she did the unthinkable. She unsnapped her bra and my mouth went dry. "Emma Varma, if you—"
She turned then, shimmying it off and tossing it in my general direction. I almost did swallow my tongue then. The sight of her, all the beautiful brown skin, her nipples tipped just right like a dessert I wanted to taste.
"Emma, come back here,” I growled.
“The hell I will. I’m not your child. I’m your wife. You can’t order me around. And besides, you were very fucking clear that you will never touch me again. Which, you know, is fine by me because I know I'm amazing. And I know that eventually, you will cave in, and you will beg me. And I want to make you beg."
"If you do not—"
"What? Drop to my knees, lick your cock, and tell you how much I want it? What are you going to do?" Again, she asked me the question that my body knew the answer to, but my brain did not. I found myself at a loss for words. Emma continued on for me. "I'm sure that you want to pick me up and spank me, toss me on the bed, and do the one thing that you said you're not going to do. Isn’t that right, Bridge?”
She was right. So right. "You're not playing fucking fair."
"I didn't know we were playing a game."
My world-famous control slipped just a little then, and I dragged her to me. My hand slid into her hair, fisting her dark locks around my fingers. “If you don't stop, I will bend you over the settee and give you that spanking you're asking for. And I'm not going to stop until you tell me out loud how horny it makes you. Then only after you beg and ask me oh so nicely will I let you get yourself off. Do. Not. Play. With. Me.”
Her eyes went wide as her lips parted. Her tongue peeked out to lick her bottom lip, and her gaze stayed on my lips. But then she narrowed her eyes and met my gaze. “I’ll do what I like.” Then she broke away from me.
I followed the sashay of her arse up the stairs until she was at the top. And then she bent over, hooked her thumbs in her panties, and tugged them down. I tripped as I tried to run after her.
She turned with her knickers on the very tip of her index finger. "Uh-uh, don't you dare."
I froze where I stood. “Fuck."
And then Emma Varma Edgerton smiled. It was a slow, soft, satisfied smile, right before she flipped her knickers at me.
Since I couldn't move any of my extremities, they hit me smack in the face and then fell to my feet.
Why was she like this? Why was she trying to torture me?
"I know, Bridge. I know. You want me. Well, now you can't have me. And whose fault is that?"
And then she turned around, bare as the day she was born, every single one of her assets on display for me, to torture me, to make me want to beg.
"Ems," I warned.
"You made your decision, and now you’re just going to have to get used to it, aren't you?"
"I swear to God, Emma, if you—"
"I know, I know. You’re gonna spank me. Make me beg. You don’t scare me."
She was standing on the second stair now, and she still wasn't eye level entirely.
"I already warned you."
"If you think that I'm—"
I didn't let her finish. I just bent slightly, easily picked her up, and put my hand over her arse to keep her steady.
Oh, right. To keep her steady.
I carried her the rest of the way up the stairs. She kicked and she squealed. Then she slapped my hands. Twice. Hard, I might add. The sting only made me laugh. When we reached her bedroom, I kicked the door open, marched her to the bed, and tossed her on it. She bounced, and I chuckled low as I watched her arms flail. “Bend over princess. I’m going to give you that spanking you want so badly,” I growled.
She sat up and rolled out of bed, scowling at me like an angry kitty. "You overgrown, overbearing oaf. What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
"I already warned you. Now bend the fuck over and ask me nicely to show you what happens when you tease me.”
“You know better.”
“What did you think was going to happen? Tell me. Use your words."
She lifted her chin. "I can't remember."
I lifted a brow. "What?"
"I told you, I can't remember."
My hand twitched at my side. She was goading me. She was pushing me and wanted me to do this. I was the fool caught in her trap. Probably like the great mastodons of the ice age, minding their own business and then realizing that they were trapped by humans.
The humans had no reason to chase them. The mastodons would simply do all the work for them and tire themselves out and eventually lie down and accept their fate. Was that what was going on? Was I just being pulled into her web and there was not much for me to do about it? "Use your words, Ems."
"Well, I think you said you'd start with spanking. I have to tell you, that doesn't scare me."
"For my little virgin, you sure do learn fast."
"Thanks to you, I'm no virgin anymore. And I'm not completely innocent. I saw Fifty Shades."
I guffawed. "What? What the hell are you talking about?"
"Trust me, I'm well aware that the film does not reflect the BDSM lifestyle properly at all. But I know some people get off on it. If you think you are going to spank me to test me out, you're welcome to test the validity of your assumptions."
I stalked toward her and lifted a brow. "Why does that sound a lot like you’re saying fuck around and find out?"
She grinned at me then, a beautiful resplendent smile, and my heart ceased. I didn't want to fight with her anymore. I just wanted… her.
And you can have her.
I could forgive anything if she'd just tell me what the fuck she was doing with him. I glanced down at the scattered items spilling from her purse, and I frowned when I saw the pictures peeking out of a folder.
When I bent down, she lunged for me. "Bridge, no. I—"
I picked it up. I opened the folder, and the bottom fell out of my gut. Jacob Milton. His photos. All that blood. I remembered it as if it was yesterday. Remembered how angry I'd been. Remembered the feel of his blood on my fingers. I remembered the helplessness. When he'd come after me, I knew I had to fight.
I thought I was going to die. And then he'd fallen on his own goddamn knife. And the relief and the shame and the anger came back. What was she doing with those photos?
And then I saw the pictures of Melissa Carlisle. Her shaved head. Stabbed fifteen times. And I knew. My gaze lifted to hers.