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“Yes. Tell me why you lost.”
His hand slammed down on the little table with enough force to make her jump. “No! I have no intention of whining about my problems to you.”
She stood up, tossed her napkin on the table. “Fine.”
“Where are you going?”
“If we’re not talking and we’re not having sex, I’m leaving. I don’t want to be part of your madonna/whore complex. I’m tired of being someone who meets in the middle.”
“Come back here.” His voice held a warning that made her spine tingle.
“Make me,” she tossed over her shoulder and kept walking.
“You’re looking to be punished, Roo.”
Ah, there he called her “Roo” again. The true Miguel.
“Promises, promises.” She went through the open sliding glass doors, into the condo and pressed the elevator button. “Come on, Miguel,” she muttered under her breath. The elevator doors opened.
An arm clamped around her waist.
Miguel pulled her back against him, hard. She struggled and he caught a flying hand, pulling it up and behind her. The elevator doors closed again with a whisper, and he spun her around, seizing her wrists and stretching her arms above her head, pinning her against the metal doors.
“Say your safe word,” he demanded.
She turned her face away and he bit her neck where it joined her shoulder. She cried out, the sharp thrill of it making her knees weaken. Finally.
“Say your goddamn safe word or you’re in for it, Roo. I’m not joking.”
She met his eyes, sparking wild, brimming with that ferocious energy that had driven him the last few days. Then
blew him a kiss and pressed her lips together.
The transformation that shimmered through him was remarkable. As potent as if he’d become a werewolf or Mr. Hyde. The restless irritation gelled into that focused sensuality that had captured her from the beginning. He might think his intellectual machinations had cornered her, but it was this. Animal and sexual both, he demanded her surrender and she gave it.
With a snarl, he dragged her over to the couch and pushed her over the high back, then pulled the white skirt over her head, baring her ass and blinding her to the world. His hand smacked the underside of one cheek, hard, and she yelped, rising up on her toes. With a grunt of satisfaction, he positioned her hips over the edge and kicked her ankles wide apart, so only the tips of her big toes touched the floor.
“Don’t you dare move.”
She didn’t, holding the pose and trembling with excitement. This emotional state could be called neither happiness nor fear. It transcended both—a kind of pure ecstasy of simply being.
He returned and clicked the cuffs around her ankles, then ordered her to cross her wrists behind her back. She had to fight her arms out of the voluminous skirt to get them there and, without the support of her hands and with her body pitched forward so much, her face mashed into the couch. He slapped her upturned ass again and told her to hold still. Whimpering a little, she did her best to obey. He roughly locked her wrists together, all hint of indecision gone, and her body melted at it.
A pinch and her clit flared. The familiar clamp tightened, far more than it ever had, and she cried out into the couch cushion. He chuckled and fiddled with it, not making it tighter, but adding something—some kind of weight that dragged it down. She rolled her hips, trying to assimilate the pain, tears springing to her eyes, and she made a noise of protest while he spanked her several times in rapid succession.
“Your safe word or nothing, Roo. You asked for this.” He pumped two fingers inside her slick channel, curving them into her G-spot so the incipient climax eclipsed the sting of the clamp. “Haven’t you ever heard to be careful what you wish for? I’ll teach you to bait me.”
He loosened the halter ties and reached under her, squeezing and kneading her breasts, pinching the nipples so her pussy flooded in response.
“Do you know what I originally planned for you tonight? Eight maids a’milking.” He pulled her upright and turned her, so she sat on the back of the couch, pulling off her dress and making her spread her legs widely again. The weight on her clit dangled down between them and she desperately wanted to see it—but didn’t dare look without permission. Miguel had her breasts in his hands, pumping them suggestively, his expression savage. “A little titty torture. Is that dirty enough for you? Do you even know what that is? No you don’t because this isn’t really your scene, is it, Roo? This is a vacation excursion. Dabble in some kink and go on your merry way.”
He took something from the counter and fastened it onto her nipple. “This isn’t the clamp you had before.” He tightened it down and she bit her lip not to cry out, while he studied her face. “Is this what you wanted? Because I will give it to you. I’ll keep pushing you until you say that fucking safe word and end this.”
She breathed through the pain. It connected to her throbbing clit, joining in an unholy trinity of rapture when he clamped the other nipple. He added weights to those, too, Mayan-style medallions like he’d hung in her ears. Finally he slid the gold collar around her neck and attached the leash.
“Come with me, little Roo-pet, let’s take a walk.”
As if she had a choice. The medallion tangled between her thighs as she followed behind him, twisting her clit, and the swaying of the ones attached to her nipples sent her into distraction. Her mind spun, aroused beyond belief.
