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“Because it turns you on to be the bastard that owns me?” I whisper, hating the way my hands are captive to this wall, wanting to touch him, wanting to hit him and kiss him and ten more things I haven’t even considered yet.
“I do believe it does,” he says. “Does it turn you on?” He slides fingers against the wet, slick heat of my body. “I do believe it does.” His lips go to my ear. “I’ll only punish you if you ignore my orders, but I promise to make it hurt so good.”
“Punish me?” I demand. “What does that even mean?” His finger slides inside me and I bite back a moan as he pulls back that finger.
“I can give,” he says, “and I can take away.”
My gaze meets his. “Two can play at that game, you do know that, right?”
He laughs, this low, sexy laugh that I feel in the clenching of my sex and the empty ache he’s created there. “We’ll see.” He rotates to stand behind me again. “Don’t move,” he orders, “or the next time I put my tongue on you, I won’t finish you.” With that threat,he steps away from me and I can feel the heat of his stare on my naked body, and the ache between my thighs has me clenching them together. There’s a shuffle of clothing and the tear of the condom wrapper, and that’s it. I can’t take it. I’m all for playing a sexy game with this man, but his reasons for all of this get to me. They really do.
I turn around and my mouth goes dry as I find him naked, rippling, long, lean muscle from head to toe, his cock jutted forward, and the condom is in place. He drags me to him, his erection pressing to my hip. “I told you not to move.”
“I’ve already had your mouth,” I say, not even sure where this daring in me is coming from, but it’s alive and well with this man.
His eyes spark with amber flecks but there is something more in his gaze, a knife of emotion that I feel like a cut. “Is that right?” he asks, his voice low, raspy, his mood as dark as a stormy night.
“Yes,” I say, and I can feel his bottled-up torment in every part of me and it strips away my fear of being hurt by Eric. I dare to say exactly what I feel. “I hate that you left that night. I’m glad you’re here now.”
His lashes lower and I have this sense that he doesn’t want me to read some emotion in his eyes before he looks at me again and says, “Me too, princess. Me too.”
Those words, a few small words, hold so much implication and they expand between us, stealing my breath. We stare at each other and what passes between us is almost too much, it confuses me. It calls to me. He calls to me and I want to know him. I want to understand him. In some ways, I already do and I believe he knows this. Which is exactly why my hand settles on top of the stunningly created jaguar on his arm, and I don’t miss the very Kingston-like blue eyes, or the fact that his animal is a symbol of the Competing car brand. “Is it a fuck you to Kingston Motors?”
“I’m pretty sure my father considers me a fuck you to the Kingston name.” He leans in to kiss me, his mouth lingering just above mine. “I’d have already fucked them if Grayson hadn’t held me back. You need to know that.”
“Of course, you could have fucked them ten times over. Everyone knows it. And I know you don’t believe me, but the idea that you could have and didn’t, I like that about you.”
He doesn’t reply, but seconds tick by before his mouth is on my mouth, and this time, there’s no holding back. He’s not about control this time. He’s about consuming me. He’s about drinkingme in and touching me and I don’t hold back. I have wanted him for so very long. I’ve compared everyone to him for no justifiable reason except he was a fantasy bigger than life. A man with a common bond and more of an understanding of who and what I am than he ever knew. We are both wild, burning alive, touching each other, but suddenly, he pulls back, staring down at me, searching my face for something, I don’t know what.
My fingers find his face, the rasp of stubble on my skin as I trace the strong line of his jaw. His hand covers mine and suddenly he kisses me again, a hard, punishing kiss, as if he’s angry. I taste it. I feel it as he smacks my backside again. I yelp and I have no idea why I’m so incredibly aroused by him doing this, but everything with this man is well, everything. And that’s it. That’s why I’m so damn aroused. This is him. He’s more exposed than not. His anger—and heisangry—is a piece of him.
“You want to punish me for who I am,” I accuse, my fingers curling on his chest. “You want to own me because of who I am.”
“I want a lot of things where you’re concerned, Harper,” he says, tangling rough fingers in my hair. “Too many fucking things.”
“The bastard doesn’t get to fuck me. Whatever you do, you own. Whatever I do, it’s with you, Eric.”
“Is that right?”
“Oh yes. That’s right.”
His jaw sets hard, his eyes burning a mix of hot fire and anger, I think. He turns me to the bed and before I know his intent, I’m on my knees in front of him. It’s then that I realize just how determined he is to own me, how much he actually needs this from me. It’s not about sex, either. It’s about family, and the empire that has dominated his life.
It’s about him owning me, and through me, them. It’s about this moment. It’s about now. No matter what I do, I can’t change this need in him. I’m not sure I want to change it. Let him own me. In some ways, he has for six long years.
Chapter eleven
Harper
His fingers slide into my sex and sensations rock my body. I arch into the touch, and his cock slides along the seam of my body, back and forth, back and forth, until—oh God—he’s pressing inside me. He’s stretching me, filling me in a long, slow slide until he’s buried deep. And then he pulls back and thrusts hard.
I gasp and his hands shackle my hips, he’s driving into me, pumping hard and fast, and I want more, so much more, that I forget what that even means—just more of this man, of this night, of everything where he’s concerned. Yes, everything. I forget everything but the pleasure of him inside me until suddenly he stops and leans into me, his face buried against my back, his cock still throbbing inside me. “Eric,” I breathe out, confused, and aching for more.
He shifts and pulls out of me, and before I can recover the shock to my body, we’re on the bed, and he’s pulling me to face him, lifting my leg and pressing back inside me; filling me again, and when he’s buried deep once more, he strokes my hair from my face and tilts my gaze to his. “I decided I wanted you to know who’s fucking you.”
“Because you want me to know the bastard son fucked me?”
“No, Harper. Because I want you to know that I came here foryou, not them. Just you.”
