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“You a scrappy little thing, you know that?” he muttered.
When he pried one of my hands off the banister again, he took it with his other hand, forcing me to wrap my arm around myself. With the one hand out of commission, it was easy for him to lay claim to the other one. He wrapped his arms around me again, making sure my arms were wrapped around me. “Little bit of self-love, hey, sweetheart?”
To my surprise, I growled. Not just a grunt or a whine of frustration; no, the sound that came out of me was angry and feral. I kicked my legs fruitlessly, but all Cole did was laugh as he carried me back into the room and back over to the bed.
“No biting,” he instructed as he tossed me onto the mattress.
I scrambled onto my hands and knees, trying to scurry away again. My skin was hot, and my heartbeat echoed in my ears. Before I could make it to the edge of the bed, Cole grabbed my ankle, flipping me back over and dragging me across the mattress over to him.
“I don’t think so,” he said, a sharp quality to his smile that made me want to melt and fight in equal measure. He climbed on top of me, resting on my pelvis with enough of his weight that it pinned me in place. I tried to scramble from under him, feet kicking, hands grasping for purchase.
His hands went to the buttons of my blouse.
Right—this was the fight. The goal was to get me undressed for the bath.
I swatted one hand away. He reached with his other, and I smacked it. This continued while he gave me a shit-eating grin. After a few minutes of this little game, he gathered both my wrists in his large hand and pinned them above my head. I wriggled beneath him, trying to get out from under his hips.
“Attagirl, keep fighting,” he said. “It’s not over till it’s over, sweetheart.” His other hand worked at my buttons with infuriating ease.
Kicking and thrashing, I railed against him until I finally got a hand free. I grasped his shirt, pulling and struggling. His smile fell, and his brow set with determination as he made to subdue me again. He got close to grabbing my free wrist, but I swiped it away, scratching him in the process.
I gasped, and we froze for a few seconds. I watched the blood spill over his skin. It wasn’t a deep cut, and it wasn’t like he was bleeding profusely. It was more like the kind of scrape someone might get from brushing too close to a rose bush.
“Naughty,” Cole murmured.
When I looked back up at him, his grin was almost hungry. His eyes narrowed, his pupils pinpricks despite the dim lighting of the bedroom. I could almost swear that his canines had become slightly elongated in his excitement.
This was a hunt, and I’d just drawn first blood.
Realizing the gauntlet I’d just thrown down between us, I started to struggle again, finally managing to wrench my legs free.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he growled.
I thought he’d go for my hands again. Instead, he ripped my shirt open, the small pearl buttons flying onto the bed and floor. I couldn’t tell if I was frightened or aroused by the show of power. Maybe a bit of both. Wasn’t that the whole point of this?
I scrambled more, getting myself free of him. He grabbed the back of my shirt, and the only way I could get free was to slide my arms out of it. I ran to the other side of the room, pressing my back against the wall, panting wildly, my bra straining as my chest expanded with every breath.
He slid off the bed, tossing my ruined shirt to the floor and flexing his hands at his sides.
“One down, three more to go,” he said in a menacing singsong. “I can hear your heart racing over there, Marley. What’s your plan now? Going to run again?”
“M-maybe,” I said, eyes darting around the room for the best possible escape route.
The stairs were my best bet. I could find a hiding spot downstairs, or run outside.
I must have made my thoughts too obvious, though, because just as I tore away for the stairs, Cole was going for them, too. He intercepted me, and I slammed into his body, knocking the wind right out of me.
He didn’t wait for me to catch my breath, though. Instead, he hefted me over his shoulder, tugging at my jeans. He was able to get them off in three rough tugs. His movements were so rough and jostling that I had to choose between letting myself fall to the floor or grasping onto his shirt for dear life.
His palm connected with the curve of my ass with a hard slap. He cupped his hands where my thighs met my hips, the warmth of his fingers brushing dangerously close to my center as he clasped me hard against his chest.
I pounded against his back in a futile attempt to get him to let me go. When he seemed unbothered, I resorted to scratching again, fighting with the hem of his shirt until I found the smooth skin of his back. This time, I intentionally dug my nails in and dragged them up his skin.
“Gah! Fuck,” he hissed as he tossed me onto the bed again. “You little minx. That hurt.”
Despite the guilt and the urge to flee, I giggled.
“Oh, you think it’s funny?” he demanded, hooking his hands around the back of my knees and pulling me to the edge of the bed. I tried to bat his hands off, but it was ridiculous how easy it was for him to tear right through my panties and toss the scraps of fabric away. “You’re lucky I love this bra so much,” he muttered as he flipped me over roughly. “Otherwise, I would have ruined it along with the rest of your clothes.”
