“Even so. I now question everything I feel. Everything you feel. I want to do right by you, but what if Agent MacDonald is right? What if I’m only holding you back?”
“She’s wrong!” Angela’s eyes filled with righteous tears that didn’t spill. Her voice was strong as her little hands fisted with indignation. “I don’t want to hear you or her say my feelings aren’t real because of what I’ve been through. My mind and my heart might be hurting, but they’re not broken. They’re working just fine! I know what I want!”
She was shaking, as if the force of her words conjured fear after so long of not being able to speak her mind. The strength in her voice did crazy things to Colin.
“What do you want?” he asked her.
She closed her eyes. “I want you.”
So many things flitted through Colin’s mind at top speed. Did she want him for good? Or temporarily? Did she need to fuck him to get closure from him? So many reasons cropped up for him to tell her no. It’d only been a handful of days since she’d found freedom. He could still be taking advantage of her.
She stood there before him, head down, fists clenched in frustration, and Colin had never wanted to touch a woman so badly. The absolute certainty and exasperation in her voice made him push all doubt aside. As he made his decision, he felt desire working its way through him, spinning like a maelstrom. And he embraced it.
He stepped closer, nearly growling. “You want me?”
She sucked in a breath, and Colin knew she could surely see the arousal growing in his pants. “Yes, Mr. Douglas.”
Even the sound of her formal name for him made him feel wild. Unfettered.
“On your knees.”
She dropped to her knees without hesitation, sending a thrill through his nerve endings strong enough to push his guilt aside. Maybe she really wanted this, or maybe she only thought she did. Either way, he was going to give it to her.
“Tell me exactly what you want, Angela.”
Her eyes stared down at her hands on her thighs. “I want…”
He stepped forward, placing a hand on her head, digging his fingers lightly into her hair. “Yes?”
“I want you to own me. Right now. To be my master in the bedroom.”
Colin had never been so hard in his life. He struggled to take even breaths.
“Stand up, Angela. Take off your clothes.”
She did as he asked, letting the clothes fall to the floor at his feet. Her body was as gorgeous as he recalled, taut valleys and soft curves begging for his touch. Her apparent nervousness only added to the lust factor for him.
He stepped closer until he was inches from her, and she kept her head down, never moving.
Colin reached behind her and pulled out the ponytail holder, then thrust his fingers into the hair at her neck, tugging lightly to lift her head.
“Look at me.”
She did. Their mingled gazes were almost too intimate to handle.
“Tell me what else you want,” he demanded.
“I want you inside me. In every part of me. From every angle. I want you to use me.” She paused for breath and it took every ounce of self control for Colin not to attack yet. Then she said, “I want to be your slave. Your whore.”
He leaned his face closer to hers, feeling fierce. “You are neither of those things to me, Angela. You are my woman. My beautiful, submissive woman. Do you understand?”
She gave a tiny nod and then gasped as his grip in her hair tightened.
“Words.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“I want to hear you say it. You are not a whore.”
She closed her eyes and he held her hair tighter, forcing them open.
“I’m not a whore.”
“You’re not a slave.”
Her voice cracked when she whispered, “I’m not a slave,” and Colin felt that place inside of him that she owned crack open as well.
“You are my woman.”
A tear slipped down her cheek and he made no move to wipe it away. It was a part of her. It could stay.
“I’m your woman, Mr. Douglas. Yours.”
He crushed his mouth to hers, using his hands to pull her tiny, naked body against him. He felt her fingers at the button of his trousers and he grabbed his shirt, ripping it over his head.
Colin let go of every fear. Every doubt. Every worry.
He let it all go, and embraced his instincts. He would own this wee lass. Completely.
I’d never wanted to cry of happiness from a single touch until that moment. But each fingertip that met my skin, each hungry tug and pull, each press of his palms and crush of his lips made me want to weep with joy. These were touches born of true desire. These were touches I’d chosen, and he’d chosen, despite how difficult I know it’d been for him.
He was too noble for his own good, and to see him let loose lit me on fire.