She huffed. I chuckled. She struggled against me, but that didn’t last long. Soon, my jeans were back on the floor and she was submitting to me, and it wasn’t because I made her.
London belonged to me because she wanted to. And that was a woman’s ultimate control.
Hard Limit
“BABY, YOU KNOW I love a challenge and if you decide to make a run for it,”—I stalked across the room toward her—“know that I’ve never lost one.” I didn’t. It was a fact. Losing was a word I had no experience with because I didn’t know how to give up.
Her brows lowered and her nose twitched before she tucked her hair behind her ear. I loved that she was a little uncertain of me, on her guard and yet still her blood rushed through her veins in heated anger. It was the London I’d been attempting to get back, the girl who would stand up to a killer, the girl who challenged me.
My cock strained against my jeans and I liked the discomfort.
I waited. Eager to see what she’d do—if she’d run, fight or submit. I wanted all three in that order. I smiled as I stood a few feet away from her, arms crossed, completely relaxed, at least in appearance, and yet my muscles thrummed, ready to react.
“I don’t understand you.”
“I’m not meant to be understood, merely… pleased.”
“I tried that. You didn’t like it,” she retorted and I loved that she threw attitude back at me. What I didn’t like was what it meant—time for me to return to Toronto and deal with shit. Every night for the last week I went to bed swearing I’d leave in the morning, yet every morning when I woke with her naked in my arms, I said, ‘Tomorrow.’
I laughed. “Quite right. But having a woman suck me off because she is trained to doesn’t please me. What pleases me is if she gets wet merely thinking about wrapping her lips around my cock. That, my dear, pleases me.”
“And if she doesn’t want to?”
My eyes roamed the length of her, seeing the slight jerk in her body, the tiny goose bumps on her heated skin. There was no question she wanted me. The question was whether she’d push herself. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t want to if I asked you to, right now?”
She hesitated. No doubt contemplating whether to lie to me or not. “No,” she replied. Good girl. “But why do you want to do this? Tie me up.”
I shrugged. “Push your limits. And because I think you need it.”
“I don’t like it.”
I chuckled. “I know. But you’ll do it.”
“Are you going to force me?”
“Braveheart, I don’t have to force you to do anything. You’ll willingly do it because you trust me.” I paused, grinning. “And because you’re in love with me.” Oh, she didn’t like that, but the truth blazed in the depths of her eyes. “Come here. Or run. Either way is fine with me.”
Her finger tapped on her thigh as she decided. “You’re pretty damn confident making that ridiculous assumption.” She smiled and mimicked me, crossing her arms then cocked her hip.
Ah, baby, you have no idea who you’re dealing with.
“Am I?” I slipped my knife from the holster and dragged it across the palm of my hand.
She pursed her lips together, eyes narrowing, brows low. She was contemplating like she had in the car when I’d made her drive into the woods.
“Fine. I’ll do it.” Then she added, “But it’s not because I’m in love with you.”
I shrugged. It was better if she believed that, but she wouldn’t do this if she didn’t trust me completely. Love? It was an emotion I had no experience with, and I’d said it to see what she’d say.
I stood leaning against the wall, waiting, giving her the time to accept what I was asking. This was more than a challenge. I was rewriting the trauma and my little braveheart was living up to her nickname.
She took a long, deep inhale, her chest expanding and causing her nipples to push against the button-down dress shirt she wore. My button-down dress shirt.
This might be a challenge for her, but it was for me, too, because I wanted to rip my shirt off her, draw her nipples into my mouth until she arched and begged for me to sink inside her.
She walked over to the bed. The mattress creaked as she knelt on it. Crawling to the center, her eyes closed briefly and goose bumps appeared on her naked thighs. This was past her comfort zone, and I was pushing her limits.
She lay back.
When she opened her eyes and looked at me, determination settled within the depths. Then she raised her arms above her head and crossed her wrists.
My girl, so fuckin’ brave.
Restraint.
Helplessness.
Vulnerability.
She’d spent years restrained like a dog, an object, something to be abused. Made to feel powerless and worthless. I had to change that. She was no longer a victim and the fear that was hidden behind that stubbornness was still present, lingering like a leech on her skin sucking out the pleasure.
I wanted the fear gone.
I needed it gone.
But most of all, she needed it gone.