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“You seem upset,” she said. Scared but trying to be cute. I was not, absolutely not, going to love that. I was not going to be moved by her quivering lips or that fucking red tank top that clung to her breasts. Was she even wearing a bra? What was she doing walking around like that? She wore dark makeup around her eyes that made her look young and edgy and so different from the scared mouse I met so long ago. I’d left a sleeping girl with nightmares and opened the door to…some new creature.
“What did I say last night?” I asked her, and she stepped back again. I followed. One step at a time until she hit the back of the couch. “Poppy, what did I fucking say?”
“Not to go. Not to go anywhere. But, Ronan, I’m not a child.”
“You’re acting like one.”
“Stop it,” she snapped, and braced a hand against my chest. Like she could hold me at bay. I was a million times stronger than her, worlds harder and meaner. “I’m acting like an adult and you don’t scare me.”
I knew how to scare her. How to destroy those rose-colored glasses she wore when she looked at me.
Pain.
I smacked her hand away and she didn’t look so sure of me anymore. But still that chin came up like she was daring me. I stepped back. “Take off your clothes.”
“You’re joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking? You act like a child, you’ll be punished like a fucking child.”
“Ronan—”
“Do it. Or I’ll do it for you.”
She stepped sideways, trying to get out of reach. “You wouldn’t—”
I snagged her around the waist. Too much fucking talking. The tank top she wore was silky and hung from her shoulders by tiny little straps that snapped like string in my fists. She gasped and I got so fucking hard. I snapped the other one and she put a hand to her shirt like a damsel defending her modesty. I’m going to fuck that modesty right out of her. I am going to defile her seven different ways.
“What…” She licked her lips, her eyes wide. Unsure. Scared. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Teaching you a lesson.” I threw her over my shoulder and she shrieked, her hands smacking my back. She wore silly fucking shoes, so I undid them and tossed them to the ground as I walked back to the bedroom where I was going to tie her down until all this shit was done. I tossed her on the bed where she bounced, her shirt torn, her breasts bare.
“Ronan,” she said, scrambling backward, and I grabbed her by the ankle, reeling her into me like a fish. Her pants had wide legs and were made out of linen. “You were scared—”
“You should be scared.” I grabbed the waist and pulled, the button pinging off. She screamed and my cock jumped. I didn’t bother undoing the zipper. I just tore her pants open.
“You were scared. For me.”
“Poppy. Swear to God—”
I yanked the pants off her body, revealing black lace underwear. The breath got knocked out of me. I’d never seen her wear anything like this before. Blatantly sexy. Underwear that demanded to be seen. Appreciated. It was lingerie for a lover and she was wearing it. For me. Bought it thinking of me. Put it on this morning thinking of this. This speechless cataract of a moment.
“What the fuck is this?” I growled, tossing her ruined pants on the ground.
I realized my mistake too late. A man dedicated to hurting her wouldn’t be distracted by a lass’s fucking knickers. The power shifted and the razor’s edge of fear I’d been sharpening in her dulled.
“You like it?” she asked and then rolled over onto her stomach. “It has a bow…”
I saw the fecking bow. Right there at the curve of her ass like she was a present for me. It was pink and made out of ribbon. If I pulled that ribbon, she would be revealed to me. It was so pretty it gutted me.
She was looking at me over her shoulder and then had the audacity to wiggle her ass.
I sat on the edge of the bed and hauled her over my legs. Poppy wasn’t dumb. It took her a second to realize what I was planning and she tried to buck her way off me. I held her down with one arm across her shoulders. My other hand cupped the full curve of her ass. Palming it, my fingers slipping between her cheeks. I squeezed her flesh until she squeaked.
“You want to spank me, do it because it’s fun,” she said. “Not because you have some kind of authority over me and my body.”
“Who says I don’t?”
“Me. And you.” Again she looked at me over her shoulder and I wondered how she constantly had this power. How she took what I wanted and gave it back to me with more. How she took my fear and rage and gave me sexy underwear with bows on it. How was I supposed to live like this?
