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“You can’t possibly mean it.”
Giving up on trying to look sexy, I finally sit on the floor, tug off my boots and socks, and pull my ruby sweater—yes, I own two that aren’t black—over my head. “I do mean it. I want you more than anyone I’ve ever wanted in my whole life.”
“But you’re scared of me now.”
He says it regretfully, as if he relished the fact that I hadn’t been scared of him before. I tip my head back, studying him. He’s still trying so hard to look like the everyday sort of guy who drives a beige Buick, not the wild man with a nipple ring who dragged me by my hair to his bed. The plain cotton shirt hides the tats. The jeans say he’s just a man who prefers his comfort, good food and nice wine, not some ex-military commando who can sweep my legs out from under me before I could even blink.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “But I kind of like it.”
His eyes narrow. “Kind of?”
I smile broadly and stand up to shimmy out of my jeans and underwear. My panties are absolutely drenched. My body isn’t confused about what it wants from him, not at all. “Maybe. A little.”
He studies my body, and it’s like he doesn’t see me for sex, not exactly. He’s categorizing all the different ways he could mark my body, with his hands, his teeth, whatever other implements he prefers to use.
“Whatever happens,” he says in that rough voice that makes me tremble, “if you sayred, I will stop. I promise. I’ll give you what you want, everything you need. I swear it. I’ll hurt you like you’ve never been hurt before. If…”
His voice breaks and he averts his face, running his hand through his hair again. This time he grips his own curls in a fierce tug that jerks his whole head, as though he’s trying to settle for hurting himself if he can’t get his hands on me.
If I trust him. My gift to him.
“Charlie,” I say to draw his attention as I move closer. I take his big, powerful hand in mine, press a kiss to his palm and then lift his hand to my throat. “Merry Christmas, Master.”
9
No matter how much I want him, it still almost takes more courage than I possess to let him approach me with that thick collar and shackles. This time, I know he’s going to put it all on me. He’s going to make me as helpless as possible.
It’s what we both want.
But that doesn’t make it any less scary. I can’t stop shaking, even though I try not to look too afraid. If he senses how close I am to breaking into a dead run, then he might let me keep running, my so-called limit be damned.
At least this time he puts my wrists in front of me instead of the small of my back. He wrenches the cuff tight on my left wrist while he talks. “I still remember the first time I saw you at the clinic. You made the appointment for me, and you were so fucking adorable.”
To hide how nervous I am, I snort. “I’m not—”
With two fingers, he squeezes the fleshy juncture at my thumb joint and my knees almost give out. Pain shoots up my arm, my fingers spasming into claws. “I don’t like to hear you say negative things about yourself.”
He lets up the pressure and begins tightening the other cuff.
Sucking in a hard breath, I nod although my mind whirls. I’ve never experimented with this kind of pain before. When he said punishment, I thought he meant whips and paddles. Spankings. Maybe uncomfortably tight bondage in unique positions.
My mouth goes dry, I break out in a sweat, and my pussy is embarrassingly wet considering he hasn’t touched me sexually yet.
“With all that wild, curly hair, huge, mossy-colored eyes and the shy, careful way you have of looking at people, you reminded me of a fey maiden who wandered out of her forest and was lost in the world of men. As soon as I walked in, you stiffened. Your internal radar went off. You knew exactly what kind of predator had come strolling in, and I don’t mean Sheba.”
He hooks my wrists together and then begins wrapping the leather collar around my throat. I can’t help the moan that escapes. He hasn’t tightened it yet, and I’m so wet, so ready to be his, helpless and bound and crying out in pain.
“Yes.” That whisper carries a sharp edge like a blade, making me shudder. “With one glance, you saw through all of my disguises. You saw me, the real me. I thought for sure you’d run for the hills, but you surprised me that day. When you thought I wasn’t looking, you kept stealing glances at me through that curtain of hair. And your eyes, Ranay. I saw things in your eyes that no one has ever wanted from me before. You saw what kind of man I am even when I’m just Charlie.”
He jerks the leather tighter, making me cry out again. I bite my lip, trying to control myself. I’m not scared, not exactly. Not like before. It’s adrenaline, hope, joy, terror, all fed by aching need. I’m not normally so noisy and whimpery.
“That sound,” he whispers against my ear, his breath hot and heavy. “I want to hear it. If you jam your fist into your mouth trying to stifle your cries, I’ll redouble my efforts to make you scream at the top of your lungs. If you bury your face in my pillow, I’ll rip it to shreds. I want to hear you sob and wail and beg and whimper and curse. I want it all. I’m going to be rough and violent. I won’t stop. Not until you sayred.”
My brain insists this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, while my body’s jumping up and down begging for the torture to start already. I’ve never needed a safeword before, never even thought about it.
But I’ve never had a man like this prowling around me, making that vicious sound of raw need and barely leashed violence. I open my mouth and he jerks to a halt, head low, eyes iced with that cold dead look that creeped me out before. I’m sure he thinks I’m going to wimp out. Part of me desperately babblesredin the corner of my mind.
“Master.”
