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“Run, Rosie,” Dean hissed. “Run before I fuck it up and ruin us.”
“Try me,” I insisted. “Break me. Use me. Fight me. You’ve chased your prey for months. Years. A whole decade, goddammit. Are you just going to let it go?”
The smack to my ass cheek made me tumble forward and shocked the living hell out of me. I’d never been spanked before. Not because I was against it. I guess it was one of those things I never got around to. Like bungee jumping or watching Schindler’s List. Perhaps it was the fact that all the men I’d been with always treated me like a fragile thing that was about to die in their hands. Or maybe it was due to the fact I was never completely stripped of my self-conscious and shame when I was in bed with anyone else.
But Dean wasn’t anyone else.
He was the one.
I groaned, the desire and sting swirling in my body, scooting my ass toward where I’d last felt Dean, begging for more. It felt dirty, but I didn’t mind being dirty with him. He never judged me. Come to think of it, he was possibly the only person in my life who accepted me for who I was. Even Millie tried to convince me to move back to Todos Santos.
The sound of flesh beating flesh assaulted my ears before I felt the second smack, and this time it was somewhere between my butt and pussy. Drool pooled in my mouth and my head sank to the ottoman, my eyes rolling in their sockets. Why did it feel so divine when the man who claimed he wanted to “save” me hurt me? Maybe because a part of saving sick little Rosie was by showing her what she was capable of suffering without breaking.
“Scoot up.”
I scurried up the ottoman until my upper body was draped over it and my ass was in the air. Dean squatted down behind me—I felt his naked body against mine—and shoved four fingers into me all at once. It hurt, but I sucked in a breath and pulled through. He played with my arousal a little before taking it out and serving me my juices.
“Taste your pussy.” His voice was detached. “Taste what I fucking do to you,” he added.
Even though that was another definite first I’d never thought of doing, I brought my lips to his shiny fingers and licked them. Shoving them into my mouth, he demanded after a brief moment, “Suck them clean, Rosie.”
I tasted sweet and warm. Not half as bad as I thought it would be.
He wiped the remainder of my juices on my ass and smacked it again. This time, I leapt forward, but didn’t whimper. I think he liked that I didn’t bitch about it. His groan told me so.
When his tip started teasing my entrance from behind, I lolled my head from side to side, waiting for him to plunge in. But he didn’t. He did this for a whole minute, driving me out of my mind, before I begged, “Dean…”
“Mmm?”
“Don’t torture me, please. Do it.”
“Do what?”
“Get in.”
“Wrong terminology. Try again.”
Holy hell.
“Fuck me, please.” I gulped.
“Condom?” he inquired. His tone was edgy. Like he was expecting something.
“I’m on the pill.” The lie was bitter in my mouth, and I was already breaking the rules we agreed on yesterday. The honesty part. I didn’t need to be on the pill. But he didn’t need to know that. Not until I was ready to tell him, anyway. Apparently, we both didn’t need to know a lot of things. What a fucked-up start to a relationship that was.
“You are? Because in Vegas, you weren’t.”
Jesus, with this guy.
“I am,” I whimpered, waiting for more. Whatever more entailed.
“If you say so,” he taunted, placing his palm flat against my throat at the same time he thrust himself into me in one go from behind. I cried out as he pounded into me, the blood in my body rushing to my head, my sex, everywhere. Dean wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to hurt me. This time he didn’t hold back. He fucked me so hard, I was sure my inner thighs were going to burn and my insides throb for weeks later.
“Turn around,” he ordered out of nowhere, still riding me, pumping in and out. Was he that drunk that he didn’t know what he was asking me? I managed a little frown between moans.
“I can’t. You’re on top of me.”
“So? Turn. Around.”
“You’re heavy.”
“And you’re strong. Fight me for it.”
Ignoring the tickling sense of orgasm, I placed my palms on his floor and tried to push myself up, but he leaned forward, deliberately putting more of his weight on my back to stop me. The fact that he actively tried to make me fail irritated me, so I pushed harder. Dean was built like a professional rugby player. Six-three on two hundred pounds of lean, defined muscles. I stood no chance. At the same time…I was wired to fight back.
