“I promise I’m not going to hurt you,” Cal said, the words a whisper in her ear.
She stopped trying to move. His hands loosened around her wrists, and slowly, carefully, his fingers slid up her arms. His dark, half-lidded eyes contemplated her.
“Lean your head to the side,” he said again, this time softly.
Reluctantly, Fern did as he asked, still watching him. A lock of her hair had tumbled loose from a pin as they’d scuffled. Cal brushed it aside. And then, without warning, he lowered his lips to her neck. She dragged in a sharp breath and shoved him away.
He stepped back, though not far, and she clapped a hand to where he’d just kissed her.
“What’s the problem? It’s just a brand.”
“A what?”
He squinted down at her. Then his eyes went soft, his frown smoothed as he seemed to realize something. Her eyes watered with mortification as she determined what he’d quickly come to understand: How alone she’d been in her turret, how sheltered. He raked a hand through his hair. “A brand. A love bite. Listen, do you believe I’m not gonna hurt you?”
Fern gave a hesitant nod. She wanted to believe that, at least.
“Then just let me do what I need to do.”
He waited for her to nod again, and when she did, he moved fast.
Cal hauled her against him, and his lips came down onto her throat again. His teeth nipped her skin, pinching it, stunning Fern to absolute stillness. And then came the warm, wet press of his tongue. It rubbed away the prick of pain where he’d bitten her. She whimpered, a sound unlike anything she’d ever made. Fern didn’t recognize it. She bit her lip, embarrassed. Cal’s mouth pressed harder. His teeth scraped her neck and nipped again, and his tongue suckled and kneaded to chase away the pain. Heat suffused her body. It twisted and curled and rushed, not to where his mouth was, but to the juncture of her thighs. Fern gasped at the hot lick of it, at the way it made her ache.
Cal softened his grip on her arms and braced her head, his fingers pulling at her hairpins. She went limp, the fight she’d promised him gone like sugar dissolved in water. Cal gathered Fern close, and she clung to him. Herfingers balled into his shirt. Unable to breathe evenly, her lungs swelled, and her vision went dark. His fingers left the tangle of her hair, slipped to her shoulder, and then, with a hard yank, ripped the seams holding her sleeve. Fern startled and tried to twist away, but Cal sunk his teeth into her skin again. She went still as his tongue stroked over the stinging pleasure.
The moment the hush of his tongue took over, she wanted the delicate pinch of his teeth again. She couldn’t make up her mind which felt more divine. She just knew, with startling clarity, that she didn’t want him to stop. That the ache between her legs needed something more than this suckling.
Fern shifted her footing, then the angle of her hips, and brushed against Cal. That aching point flared bright as the sun, as a hard part of him made contact.
He groaned and ripped his mouth from her neck. Cold air slapped her wet skin as Cal heaved himself away. “Fuck, Fern.”
He immediately turned his back and walked toward the bed.
She touched her fingers to her neck, the skin there numb and damp. He’d suckled so hard, his teeth unrelenting, he had to have left a bruise.Evidence. The ripped hem and shoulder seam of her sleeve were evidence too.
Cal cleared his throat, his back still to her. “Leave your hair the way it is.”
The twisted low bun had practically unraveled. Locks of hair framed the right side of her face. Fern touched it, then dropped her hand again.
Cal straightened his shoulders, his back. He grabbed the perfectly tucked green blanket on his bed and pulled, rumpling it.
“If the photographs served their purpose, why this too?” she asked him.
They’d already successfully blackmailed her father. Ruining her just seemed…gratuitous.
A bell chimed. Fern lifted her eyes to a small brass bell rigged near the ceiling in the corner of the room.
“Francis,” Cal muttered. He came back toward her. “Crack me across the cheek. Hurry, princess.”
She gaped at him. “You want me to slap you?”
He tapped his cheek. “Don’t hold back. Make it look good.”
Cal stood there, waiting for her to hit him. To leave more evidence, perhaps, that she’d fought off an attack. Her stomach twisted, hating him, hating everything about this place and his world. But Fern gritted her teeth and slapped him. Her palm prickled as Cal shook off the strike, his hands hitched on his hips.
“Again. Harder. Twist your ring around.” He grabbed her hand and turned the onyx stone ring she’d received from her mother on her last birthday so that the small stone was facing inward.
The floor creaked beyond the bedroom door. Francis cleared his throat loudly as if to announce himself.
