“I don’t think—”
“You don’t need to think,” he murmured.
She blinked, swallowed. “I’m going to clean up and get dressed.” She turned and headed for the bathroom. He allowed her to take two steps and he moved fast coming up behind her, pressing her into the smooth wood of the door, pushing up against her so the satin skin of her back touched him from chest to groin.
He nudged his shaft against the curve of her ass.
“Oh.”
He brushed her hair away from her throat, lowered his head to the curve of her neck, and bit down gently.
“Ash, please…”
“I plan to,” he whispered in her ear. He didn’t know whether she meant please release her or please don’t stop. He knew if she asked he would let her go—even in his worst days he’d never raped a woman. But she didn’t resist him.
Her hands were still in front of her clasping the robe and he reached around, plucked it from her fingers, and dropped it to the floor. He circled each of her wrists with his fingers, dragged her arms up, and placed her palms flat on the wall above her head.
“Did you know, in some circles, I’m known as the demon of lust?”
She didn’t answer but her body tightened against him.
“And some say that once you’ve had me, no normal man will ever fulfill you.”
“Talk about delusions of grandeur,” she muttered.
“You think?”
He trailed his fingers down her arms, stroking the silky hollows, then around to her caress the sides of her breasts. She leaned back away from the door so he could slip his hands around her to cup them. His thumb rasped over her nipples, and she moaned low in her throat. He knew then that she wasn’t going to say no. She might not want him for anything else, but he would make sure she never wanted any other man for this.
He massaged her small breasts, while his other hand slid down over her stomach, into the silky curls at the base. At the same time, he pushed one leg between her thighs, widening her stance.
He rubbed his shaft up and down the cleft of her ass until she was shoving back against him. His cock craved the feel of her around him and he bent his knees, probed between her thighs and pushed inside her. She was so wet, he slid in easily, and her muscles tightened around him. It felt so good, and the pain and the anger inside him mingled with the pleasure.
She sagged, her hands on the wall stopping her from falling. Wrapping one hand around her waist, he dragged her forward so her ass pointed toward him, and then he withdrew and sank into her again. He kept his movements slow as he slid one hand between her thighs.
She was moaning now, her ass pushing against him, his body curved around her. He grazed his fingers lightly between the folds of her sex, found her swollen nub, and pinched between his finger and thumb. She let out a small scream and he soothed her with light, teasing circles not quite touching where she needed him most. He pinched a second time and she almost came. He went still, and she rubbed against him seeking relief. Only when her breathing slowed did he move again.
He drew out the pleasure until she was sobbing with need in his arms. Part of him wanted to leave her this way. Unsatisfied, craving his touch, needing to come back for more, even if she hated him.
“Please, Ash.”
“Seems as you beg so sweetly.”
He massaged her clit, this time continuing as she teetered on the edge. The quakes of her orgasm shook through her body, and she threw back her head and screamed. Still he played with her, until the screams died to whimpers, then he thrust into her one last time and spilled himself.
But it was an empty victory.
He pulled himself free of her and stepped back. Without his support. Faith collapsed to her knees and knelt, head bent, her hair draping over her face.
“Get dressed,” he said. “We have a meeting to go to.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Faith stared at herself in the mirror. She was a total mess, like she’d just had her brain screwed out. Teeth marks patterned her shoulder, covering the faint scar from the bullet wound. Her heart ached, and she was sore between her thighs—she’d be walking funny for the next few days.
But she’d never dreamed her body could feel like that. Respond like that. She craved him again even now.
That had not gone to plan. She’d hope to save him pain.
It seemed she had miscalculated the depth of his feelings, but she’d panicked. And she’d hurt him. He’d hit back at her in the one way he could because he knew she wanted him. And he was right; she was incapable of refusing him. If he kissed her, she’d melt in his arms.
It was inconceivable—she wasn’t the swooning type.
She’d always thought nice men in suits were her thing. No wonder she’d never been in love before. Then along comes the demon of goddamn lust and she’d fallen like a teenager for the high school hero.