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“I think I need to make some rules regarding your clothing choices.” He snapped the strap. “Do I even want to know what you have on here?” He pressed his palm between her thighs. To his satisfaction, she gasped, though she quickly regained composure.
“Probably not. It’s very ugly. Lots of material. Saggy. Unwashed even. So you can go away now.” She flitted her hand as if to show him going away.
“I think not.” Anteros bent down and pulled down the elastic pants. She was wearing a pair of white underwear, nothing spectacular. He paused between her thighs, enjoying how her confidence wavered when he stalled.
“I’m wearing what you put in the closet.” Frankie glared down at him. “Do you expect me to wear lingerie every hour of every day?” Contrary to what Frankie thought, Anteros had very little to do with picking her clothing; he’d hired a professional for that. He had guidelines, though. She must have a look befitting his station. Her dresses and clothing could not be found anywhere else, and she must have lingerie. The best lingerie. If there was such a thing as American royalty, Frankie was to look it.
Money was not an object.
“Yes,” he replied, staring back up at her. God, she had undeniable self-control, and that was an incredible turn on to him. She had iron will, a steel backbone, and Anteros relished being th
e fire to make her melt and bend. “Let’s get this clear right now Frankie, you are mine. When you are mine, there are rules you will follow.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” she spat.
“Like no cursing,” he said evenly. “A slave is submissive in all ways.” Her eyes flared. “I think you already know not to go somewhere unless I expressly give you permission.” Her chest rose heavily with anger, but the way her tongue darted out to lick her lips betrayed her. “And no alcohol.”
“Where the hell am I going to get alcohol?” she hissed.
He gripped her thighs. “What did I say about cursing?”
“Anything else master?” She asked with mock sweetness. He thought back to the chess match, to the face of iron she wore during the entire game.
“Do you remember when you asked if there would be a rematch?” Anteros asked, sliding his hand beneath the white cotton of her panties. His palm met her hot, naked skin.
“Now?” she asked. A small smile came to his face as she sucked in a jagged breath.
“Now.” He wanted her to feel every single bit of what he was doing, feel the anticipation more than the actual event. Frankie shivered, but it was so slight he almost didn’t notice. “Do you like this, Frankie?” he whispered against the skin of her thigh. His hand slid from her pussy, down around her ass, rounding slowly over the curve.
“About as much as I like my period,” she replied. “The bad ones. The really bloody ones.” Her voice was shaky, and he knew that she’d said all of those disgusting things to turn him off and get him to leave.
But this game he wasn’t going to lose.
He pulled back abruptly and, standing up, pulled her pants back up. He had to give them credit—they showed off her legs well. She looked relieved until he narrowed his eyes. “Soon you will realize giving in to me isn’t the worst thing that can happen to you.” Anteros gripped her hand, dragging her from the library.
When they reached his bedroom door, he stopped. Anteros was about to open the door but paused. That look on her face, not of dread but complete stoicism, had returned. He knew she was tunneling inside herself, becoming unmoving. He thrust her up against the door and her eyes widened.
Anteros kept his hands on the wall the entire time, pressed to either side of her. He didn’t even press his body against hers. He started by kissing her neck, just lightly tasting her. Still, one hot, slow lick just above her shoulder was all it took to have his cock punching against his pants. She tasted sweet yet somehow spicy, and it made him fucking insane. His fingers curled into fists on either side of her, trying to stay in control.
Anteros waited until he heard Frankie sigh, then he brought his mouth up to her ear. He took the lobe between his teeth, biting softly. Against her skin he whispered, “You taste fucking incredible.” Releasing her ear, he turned his attention to her face.
Frankie waited, eyes wide, but they were wide with anticipation now. Leaning his head back down, he traced his tongue along the seam of her mouth and gently pulled at her plump lips with his own. They parted and she released a small, musical-sounding moan. Her chin was tilted up when he pulled back and she leaned toward him, but she still didn’t close the distance. His gaze flicked to her chest, the breaths heavy, as evidenced by the rising and falling.
He deepened his assault, crushing his lips against her. Though it killed him, his tongue didn’t penetrate her; he was still waiting for Frankie to beg his entrance. He just kissed her, sucked her. Pants escaped her mouth like a heated, steamy spring on a winter night. Biting her lower lip, Anteros dragged it out with a groan of his own.
When that small, hot thing finally pressed against him, he couldn’t hold it back anymore. Anteros plundered her. Frankie closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck. He pushed her back against the door, chest to chest, legs intertwined and she rubbed against him, body undulating, grooving and grinding.
For a moment Anteros forgot what he was doing, that the reason was to get her to submit. He bent his head to her neck to draw a long, fast lick. Then he sucked fiercely on her chin, her lips, her cheek—anything. She returned his fervor, taking his hot, wet lips to her mouth. Frankie bit at him, sucked his tongue into her mouth, and her fingers gripped so tightly against his back he was sure there would be marks.
He separated their mouths for a brief instant and she made a whimpering noise.
She’d caved.
He took two steps back. He’d gotten what he’d wanted but somewhere in that kiss it stopped being about her submission and just about kissing her. Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled jaggedly. Eyes wide, she looked stupefied. Her cheeks were red and she panted. It was like waiting for the lights to come on at the end of a movie. Frankie stared at Anteros, trying to work out what had just happened. When it clicked, the flush on her face deepened.
“I hate you,” she seethed.
“That’s okay.” Anteros closed the distance once more, gripped her face, and plunged his tongue into her mouth. “It’s not your love I want.”
