“Lesson one,” he said, and the room spun into a smudge of indiscernible shapes and colors. Before Charley could suck in another breath, she was face-first against the wall on the other side of the room, his body pinning her in place, her pathetic stake clattering to the floor.
Dorian gripped the back of her neck in one impossibly strong hand, the other capturing her wrists behind her back. Then, mouth close to her ear, “If you’re going to threaten an apex predator after he specifically warned you not to, best to follow through.”
“Fuck… off.” She jerked against his hold, but it was no use. He was a wall of solid muscle and supernatural strength, and he had her exactly where he wanted her.
Trapped. Helpless. Vulnerable.
“Quite the conundrum, isn’t it?” He dragged his mouth along the curve of her neck to her shoulder, then back again, pausing behind her ear, his breath hot. “You’ve managed to trigger the predatory response in a beast that could kill you faster than you could draw your next breath.”
“Do it, then, you fucking monster!” she cried, tired of the power games, the secrets, the lies. She’d come all this way to spy, to help her crew rob him blind… Maybe she deserved to die at his hand. At his bite. “If you’re so set on killing me, finish it!”
“Killing you? Now that doesn’t sound like any fun at all.” He spun her around, then pushed her back against the wall, wrists pinned above her head as he shoved a muscular thigh between her legs.
She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to look into his eyes. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear.
Her desire.
“What am I to do with you, little prowler?” he asked, lips brushing her mouth, her jawline. His thigh pressed closer, teasing her. “Posing as a guest at my fundraiser. Snooping around my manor. Threatening to stake me in my own bedroom.”
“I don’t care what you do with me.”
“Somehow I doubt that.” He shifted his thigh, sending a zing of pleasure through her core.
Charley fought off a shiver. It took her a full beat to realize her hips were moving, rocking against the delicious pressure of his thigh, desperate for the heat, the friction.
She knew she should stop. Beg him to let her go. To forget they’d ever crossed paths.
But she couldn’t.
Because deep down, beneath all the bravado and F-bombs, Charley wanted to be here. Wanted him.
“Look at me, Charlotte.”
“Go fuck yourself, highness,” she muttered, but there was no fire behind her words, and they both knew it.
Dorian released her wrists and hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her face up, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Look at me.”
She finally opened her eyes, and Dorian stared at her with such intensity, she thought she might catch fire. His eyes were golden and fierce, his mouth an invitation she wanted to accept, again and again and again.
“Option one,” he breathed, “or option two?”
The reminder of their stolen moments in the penthouse made her heart stutter. But tonight, he wasn’t just asking for a forbidden rendezvous in the closet. He was asking her to forget everything she’d witnessed, everything he’d done, everything he was.
He was asking her to submit, completely and without reservation.
And in that moment, despite all the dangers, despite all the warnings clanging in her head, Charley knew that when it came to Dorian Redthorne, there was only one answer.
There would always be only one answer.
“Two,” she whispered. “Fucking two.”
His mouth descended in a hot rush, crushing her lips, owning her. He fisted her dress and tore it in half, pushing it down to her hips as his mouth continued to devour a hot path along her flesh—her neck, her breasts and… oh, fuck… her nipple…
She slid her hands into his hair and lost herself to the delicious pain of his teeth grazing the stiff peak, his tongue soothing the ache. Without breaking his kiss, he gripped her hips and spun her away from the wall, moving them toward the giant bed.
“What’s… what’s happening?” she breathed, every nerve sizzling with heat.
He pulled away from her nipple, then slid his hand between her thighs, dragging his fingers over her soaked underwear.
“Remind me again how you like to be fucked,” he replied, his tone dark with desire. “Soft and slow was it? Wait, no. That’s not right. I believe your exact words were… ‘I like it rough. Don’t you dare disappoint me.’”
Charley didn’t have time to confirm. In another impossibly fast blur, he pushed her onto the bed, then flipped her onto her stomach, running a hand up her back and fisting her hair. Climbing on top, he licked the back of her neck, then pulled her hair just right.
“Put your arms above your head, Charlotte. Now.”
She did as he asked, and he tore the remaining scraps of the dress from her body, binding her wrists to the bed with a piece of the black satin. She was powerless beneath him, her hands tied, her body pinned by his impossibly strong form, her breath coming in short, wild bursts.
The mattress shifted as Dorian rose from the bed and stripped off his clothes. Charley tried to turn over to watch, but before she could get a good look, he was on her again, one hand tangled in her hair, the other smacking her ass.
“I did not give you permission to move.” He smacked her again, then brought his mouth to her flesh, soothing the white-hot sting with soft, luxurious kisses. Electric jolts of pleasure zipped across her skin, making her shiver.
Another slap, another kiss, and Dorian slowly worked the underwear down her hips, tossing them to the floor.
Sliding his fingers inside her, he shifted positions and brought his mouth back up to her ear, his voice so sexy it almost made her come.
“Whose pussy is this?” he demanded, thrusting in and out, deep and perfect.
“Yours. God, it’s yours.”
“Whose?”
“Yours, Dorian.”
“You mean yours, Mr. Redthorne.”
She tried to turn over, but he pushed her back down again, hand wrapped around the back of her neck. “My bed, my rules. You’ll call me Mr. Redthorne tonight. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
He squeezed her neck, making her gasp.
“Yes, Mr. Redthorne,” she tried again, wanting nothing more than to please him.
“That’s better.” He slid his fingers out, then fluttered over her clit, sending another jolt throughout her body before plunging back inside.
Holy shit, did he know how to work her.
Charley was face down on a bed of black satin sheets, her gasps muffled by the pillow, still in her bra, ass in the air, every inch of her body craving his touch. Hard, then soft. Fierce, then soothing. The flood of sensations made her drunk and dizzy, desperate for more.
Nothing in her life had ever felt so good, so right.
So incredibly, mind-blowingly perfect.
A clear sign you’re crazy…
“Tonight,” he said, “in my bed, you’ll neither speak nor move without permission. Is that clear?”
“Yes. I mean yes, Mr. Redthorne,” she amended.
“Hmm.” Dorian removed his fingers, and the mattress shifted again, indicating he’d gotten up. She waited for the return of his touch, but it never came.