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I snort. “I’m sure your socials will survive without a selfie refresh for a little while.”
That touches a nerve. Her nostrils flare. “Will your ego survive a few seconds of challenge?”
I could overpower her so easily it’s laughable. I could bully her or manhandle her, but that’s all too easy, too simple. Predictable.
I have other ways to show her who’s in charge.
When I reach my hand out to touch her, she flinches.
Taken aback, my hand freezes mid-air. She was ready for a backhand.
I’ve got no qualms about my palm across her ass if she deserves it, and I can already tell she fucking will. Hell, she might even learn to fucking like it. But only a pussy backhands a woman.
Christ, who did I murder in a past life to warrant literally getting into bed with the fucking Bianchis?
I want her to know she belongs to me, starting now.
I drag my thumb across her lips, smearing pink gloss. I watch her reaction when I part her lips and press my thumb inside her mouth.
I’m unprepared for the sensual feel of her lips wrapped around my finger. My cock aches.
“Something tells me you’re teachable,” I say thoughtfully. “I’ll train you to submit to me.”
The fluttering of her eyelashes and rapid breathing tell me she isn’t as unaffected by me as she likes to think she is. I remove my thumb and pat her cheek firmly. “You’re beautiful for a brat.”
It’s impossible to read microexpressions in the dark, and she’s obviously well-versed in schooling her reactions. But I don’t miss her tone of voice. “You’re acceptable for a villain.”
I touch my hand to my chest. “Avillain.I’ve always liked villains so much more than heroes, don’t you? Anyone could be a hero. It takes classandballs to be a villain.” I reach for her hair again and give it another tug. “We’re leaving. We can pick up this little chat later.” I whisper into the curve of her ear. “Don’t try anything stupid, or you’ll find yourself bent over the hood of my car with my belt across your ass while I make an example of you. Is that how you want to leave here?”
Still holding her head up high, she doesn’t respond.
“Respect, Harper.”
“Respect’s earned,” she seethes.
“And sometimes, respect is demanded and taken. I intend to take what’s mine.”
My hand still entwined in her hair, I march her toward the edge of the trees. I imagine her family’s watching, hidden in the darkened interior of the house. Fucking pussies.
The air is cool and crisp, the only sounds our footsteps on crunchy leaves and the hum of the car that idles in the driveway, waiting for us.
“Not one toe out of line,” I warn, ready to whip her ass if she pulls a move now.
But she doesn’t. She grits her teeth and presses her lips in a thin line.
I open the car door. “Get in.” After a moment of hesitation, she does.
Her defiance is like a match to tinder. The primal need to master this woman claws at my insides, a raging beast that needs to dominate and control.
But I can be patient and bide my time.
I slide into the seat beside her, my full body pressed up against hers, a silent cue that she can’t get away from me if she tries.
I growl at Vas. “Get us the hell out of here. I’ll get my coat later.” I don’t want to step foot in there again, not now.
She turns away from me so I won’t see her swiping at her cheeks. There’s no way she’s crying because I’m taking her away fromthishome. No. There’s another reason.
“Where are you taking me?”
