“I’m not a sadist. And neither are you.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing, Sloane?” He sounds exasperated. Completely at his wit’s end. I put the gun back into the duffel, remembering to snick the safety first, and then I kneel down behind him. I carefully stroke my fingertips down the defined grove between his shoulder blades, taking great pleasure in the way he shivers at my touch. From there I lace my arms through his so that I can run my hands down over his chest and his abs. I’m so close to him, my chest pressed to his back. His skin still smells of outdoors and the faint tang of masculine sweat. He’s incredible. I can’t stop myself; I carefully press my lips to his back, closing my eyes.
“God, Sloane,” he whispers. Nothing else. He doesn’t ask anything of me. He just trembles as I trace my fingers across the planes of his stomach and downward, to the tops of his thighs. I kiss his shoulders, running my tongue over his heated skin, licking and biting at him, gently this time. Not hard like before. My knees hurt like hell, but it’s worth it if only for the way his body comes alive against me, twitching and reacting to each and every considered stroke.
The anger that I just utilized, living inside of me, eventually turns to something more heady, sexual and basic. The power that I have over him right now—it feels incredible. I could do anything I wanted to him and…and realistically he could probably stop me. He’s still kneeling where I told him to because he wants to, not because I’m forcing him. But still…
I slide my hands lower, and then lower still until I find what I’m looking for. His cock is rigid, pressing against his boxers, begging to be set free. He sucks in a sharp breath when I take him in my hand and squeeze, the way he did back in his apartment the second time I slept with him. No, not slept with him. He was right earlier. I fucked him.
“Do you want me?” I whisper into his ear, grazing my teeth against his ear lobe.
“Yes.”
“Are you going to behave if I let you come play with me on the bed?”
Zeth makes a low, guttural sound in the back of his throat. His breathing is fast now; he’s never actually been like this with me before. I’ve never felt like he’s completely lost in what was happening. Control is a big thing for Zeth. He’s always in charge, always handling what’s happening between us, but for the first time I realize that he’s not handling anything right now. I don’t think he’s even realized himself yet.
I stand and let him rise as well. His eyes are hooded by his half-lowered lids. I take the knife from his duffel and I cut the duct tape, freeing his hands—I want him to be able to participate in what I plan on doing next. He hooks his thumbs into his boxers and strips out of them without me asking him to. And then, not two seconds after thinking he’s actually giving himself over to me, I realize how wrong I was. I think I’ve tricked myself into a false sense of security, because I’m actually surprised when he rockets forward and grabs hold of me by the waist.
“Zeth!”
In less than a heartbeat, a hungry, angry look has replaced his lazy, sex-doped expression. He’s lit up, fizzing with fury. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?” He has me off my feet, practically over his shoulder. Three long strides and then he throws me forcefully onto the bed. I hit the mattress with a very unladylike, ufff! as the oxygen leaves my lungs. I lash out with my feet, trying to push myself up the bed and away from him, but it’s no good. I’m all arms and legs, panicking, and Zeth is a dangerous predator. He has my arms pinned over my head before I can scramble my way off the bed. “Stop struggling.”
I can’t. I want to, but my natural instincts continually warn me about trusting a man who carries a Desert Eagle around in his sex kit, and I can’t help myself. He huffs impatiently and then lowers his body weight on top of me, effectively immobilizing me on the bed. “Sloane, stop fighting me.”
“Get off me and I will!” I regret pulling the gun on him. I regret it massively; I have no idea what kind of retribution he has planned, but I’m sure I’m not going to like it. “You told me to do it, Zeth! You can’t hurt me for doing what you told me to!”
He lifts himself a little, rearing back to get a good look at me. The anger on his face has morphed to something else. “Hurt you?”
“For the gun!” I have to get him off me. I need to. I buck against him, but the bastard doesn’t shift an inch. He’s a dead weight on top of me.
“What do you mean, hurt you?” His voice is cold. Detached.
“I don’t…I—” The disbelief on his face finally hits home. He doesn’t look like he’s set on killing me. If anything he looks horrified.