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“I’m sorry I . . . scared you.”
He stilled, pausing in the long, slow strokes against my uplifted cheeks.
“You can’t take risks like that anymore. The stakes are different now.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
He sighed and shifted. I could feel him getting hard underneath me. I felt my own answering warmth, deep in my belly.
“I have to do this, Evangeline. I have to make sure you don’t forget.”
I nodded jerkily. I knew I was going to cry. I didn’t want him to see me cry. I’d done my best never to cry in front of him.
I didn’t like to cry in front of anyone.
He lifted his hand, and I braced, not sure how hard he would hit me. When the slap came, it was sharp and quick. It stung, but nothing more. I should have known he wouldn’t have hurt me.
Antonio would never hurt me.
He slapped one cheek and then the other, again and again, until it did start to hurt. Somehow, each strike was exactly the same. The same tempo and strength. The same speed.
I kept thinking it was almost over. But he didn’t stop. He wasn’t going to stop anytime soon, I realized. That’s when the tears started to fall.
As soon as I felt the fabric of his trousers grow damp underneath my hands, he stopped.
“Evie,” he breathed, holding perfectly still. Then he pulled me up, smashing me against his chest. “I hated doing that to you.”
“I hated it too.” I sniffled against his chest, unable to stop the sobs once they started. “Are you still mad?” I finally asked.
“I was never mad,” he murmured against my hair. “I was terrified. You can’t . . . please don’t do that to me again,” he said hoarsely.
I lifted my tear-stained cheeks to face him. His eyes devoured me. His fingertips brushed the hair away from my damp face.
“I can’t lose you, Evie.”
“You won’t.”
He gripped my face hard, so hard it almost hurt.
“I can’t,” he said again. Then he took my mouth in a brutal, unforgiving kiss. This was the real punishment. His lips, pressing hard into mine, his tongue, seeking and stroking. The feeling of desperation that rose in me.
Pain and pleasure.
Love and hate.
Fear and security.
We were doomed, I thought for the thousandth time. But I didn’t care. I didn’t care about any of it.
All I wanted was more.
Chapter 43
Antonio
“Evie,” I moaned as I positioned the beautiful girl in my arms to my liking. I wanted her legs spread, circling me. I wanted her tits pushing into me. I wanted them in my mouth.
Fuck. The fire was burning just as hot as it had the first time. Maybe hotter.
I opened her thighs and pushed her dress up around her waist, gathering the raw silk in my hands. I stared down at the lace panties I had bought her. Mine, I thought with every beat of my heart. Mine, I breathed as my fingers found her softness, playing with her folds through the sheer lace. Mine, I promised as I crushed the red dress she wore in my hands. I cursed the dress. I cursed the fact that she wanted more than me. That she wanted out.
I could never, ever give her what she wanted. I had to keep her close. Hold her too tightly.
I rubbed my thumb over her clit, wondering if her ass was sore. I’d hated punishing her. But I’d liked it even more.
“I want to tie you up,” I breathed into her neck, tugging on her hard little nipples through the silk dress. “I want to devour you.”
She whimpered and nodded. I lifted her and carried her to the bed, feeling like she had just given me a gift. I’d dabbled in BDSM. But what I wanted with Evie was more than just games.
I wanted to own her. I wanted to control her every breath. Her every thought. Her orgasms.
“Don’t move,” I commanded, and she didn’t, lying there on the bed like something out of a dream. I felt her name pulse through my veins, more important than blood.
I took four ties from the drawer across the room and knelt on the bed beside her. I took one arm, holding her eyes as I tied her wrist, then attached it to the steel and reclaimed wood headboard. I stood and walked to the footboard, repeating the process with one foot and then the other. Last chance, I thought as I reached for her wrist. Last chance to stop me.
Last chance to stop this.
“Too late,” I murmured triumphantly as I knotted the tie to the headboard with a sense of finality. Nothing could stop me now.
Nothing and no one.
I could do whatever I wanted with her.
And I would.
“Don’t want to tear your pretty dress,” I said in a faintly mocking tone. I wouldn’t tear it. But I was going to make a mess. I untied the flirty shoulder straps and dragged the dress down to her waist, then shoved the skirt up so it bunched around her waist.
