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8
He fists his hand in my hair and drags me up to my feet as he stands. Without looking at me or speaking, he heads for the bedroom, his grip keeping me hunched and scrambling to keep up. I can’t straighten fully, not without losing a hunk of hair.
He throws me toward the bed. I fall against the mattress but quickly roll to the side, hoping to hit the floor so I can get away before he uses those posters on either corner of the bed. He lets me, watching with an amused little smile hovering on his lips as I jump to my feet and back away.
“Good. I was hoping you might be up for a chase before the punishment. No running, though. I won’t let you get that far.”
My back hits the wall. I thought I knew him. Charlie MacNiall. Sheba’s human. Dr. Wentworth’s client. A man with killer dimples and a sweet smile, with warm brown eyes that didn’t look at me with disgust or horror when I told him my secrets.
But honestly, what do I really know about him?
Evidently nothing at all, because this man smiles like the man I want as my Master, but he’s a stranger.
“Ah.” He nods, and before my eyes, he changes. With one shrug of his shoulders, he becomes Charlie again, not the stranger who body slammed me to the floor and dragged me around by my hair. He smiles at me wistfully, one big hand gripping his neck. “It’s okay, Ranay. I understand.”
“What?”
“This isn’t what you expected. It never is. It’s okay. Thanks again for helping me with Sheba last night.”
My mind flounders for a moment. I ache. I might have some bruises tomorrow, but that’s never been a problem for me. He scared the shit out of me. I’ve never had a man take me down like that, let alone so quickly.
He doesn’t need a whip. Not when he carries this kind of violence inside him.
This is still the same man who wooed me so gently for months and months every time he brought his dog to the vet. Charlie stands before me, rubbing his neck sheepishly. Embarrassed. The same way my need embarrasses me.
He tries so hard to be unfailingly nice. I never expected this much danger lurks beneath his polite exterior. It’s strange and scary and risky, but also exciting. My heart still thunders, my hands shaking with the aftereffects of adrenaline.
He scared me.
And that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
It dawns on me that maybe he orchestrated that whole take-down scene on purpose to illustrate how rough he could be. A last-ditch effort to warn me off. If that’s the worst he’s got…
I clear my throat, drawing his gaze to me. “I thought you said you were going to punish me, not throw me around.”
He arches a brow but makes no move to close the safe distance I put between us. “I don’t want to scare you, Ranay.”
“Yes, you do,” I whisper.
The fragile, breathy quality of my voice makes his eyes darken, and yeah, he’s aroused too much to hide the bulge in his jeans. It’s all starting to make sense to me.
He wants me scared and struggling before he hurts me.
And I want him to hurt me.
I laugh, but it sounds too high and jumpy, exactly like my stomach is pitching around right now. “What a pair we make. I’m a fucked-up slave and you’re a—”
“Fucked-up sadist who tries to masquerade as a safe-and-stable dom. I don’t let this side of me out very often, Ranay. No one’s ever been able to deal with it for long.”
“So what do you want, exactly?” I don’t try to hide the quiver in my voice. I watch his big hands flex at his sides, as though he can’t wait to wrap those hands around my throat and squeeze the life out of me.
“I want to hurt you. I want to scare you. And then I want to fuck you so hard that I’m hurting and scaring you all over again.”
His words make my nipples so hard I can’t stop the little sound of arousal. My fingers are numb, fumbling as I unbutton my jeans.
“Ranay—”
“It’s okay,” I break in, hopping awkwardly to get my boot off. I should have taken them off first. If I’m not careful, I’ll end up sprawled on my ass, tangled up in my own clothes. “I’m up for that.”
