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“Or you’re out,” I say. “Out on the street. Alone. A sitting duck for Pax and whoever else you’ve wronged.”
“I haven’t—”
“Time to make your choice,” I cut in
“Not much of a choice,” she says. “Is it?”
“There’s always a choice,” I whisper. “Do as you’re told, and I’ll show mercy.”
She holds my gaze, heat in hers that isn’t all anger. Or even mostly anger. Clearly, she feels it, too, the sexual charge whenever we’re alone together. It’s so thick now I can taste it on my tongue—honeyed and sticky sweet.
I let my gaze slide lower, watching her nipples tighten beneath the silk of her shirt. I imagine ripping the fabric from her skin with my teeth so I can lick and suck and bite her nipples. So, I can make her wetter, hotter, so needy she won’t be able to put me off.
She’ll part her legs and beg me to fuck her, to show her what it’s like to be with a man who knows that the best way to dominate his mate, to show her who she belongs to, is with pleasure. Not pain.
Before I can recover from thinking that word—mate—or what it might mean in conjunction with this complicated as hell woman, she whispers, “I don’t want your mercy,” and my temper flares again.
“You might want to rethink that, little wolf,” I warn. “Without my mercy, your life could get very dark, very quickly.”
“You don’t scare me,” she whispers.
The fucking glow in her eyes proving that she’s telling the truth makes both the rage—and hunger—building inside of me flare hotter.
I want to kiss her and lock her away in solitary confinement.
To fuck her and to show her how quickly I can make her life a living hell if she continues to defy me.
Instead, I reach out and whisper, “Oh, but I should.” I capture her beautiful, delicate face in one big hand. “I really should. And I’m going to show you why. Tonight.”
