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With the hand not in his grip, I reach out and grab at his black T-shirt to steady myself.
His muscles bunch under my touch, and I realize just how solid he is.
I don’t answer. I don’t mean tonotanswer. I just still can’t believe what’s happening.
“You have until the count of three to tell me,” Hans demands.
Holy hell.
“What happens on three?” I breathe out.
He presses his hips into mine. “Something you won’t like, Girl. Now answer me.”
I don’t believe him.
I think I will like it.
My breath comes out faster.
I think I’ll like it a lot.
“One.” He lets go of my wrist and moves his hand to my hip, the other hand still gripping my hair.
His fingers press into my soft flesh through my baggy shirt.
With his hold on my wrist gone, I use that hand to grab his other side.
His shirt is not baggy. It’s practically plastered to his toned body.
This man is freaking ripped.
“Two.” Hans tightens his grip on my hair, and the tug is just enough. Just enough to drag a whimper from my throat.
“Cassandra,” Hans growls.
“It was a lady.” I hurry the words out. Not because I don’t want the punishment; I want that very much, but I also want to tell him. I want to give him what he wants. “The photographer was a lady.”
I stare up into his dark eyes as he takes in my answer.
Hans leans his face toward mine until I can feel his exhales puff against my skin. “Who are they for?”
“N-no one,” I try to tell him, but it comes out sounding like a lie.
“Three.”
Before I have time to process what’s happening, his mouth slams down onto mine.
His lips are unforgiving.
Harsh.
Warm.
Fantastic.
Hans uses his grip on my ponytail to tilt my head, and I let him. I let him control me.
His tongue demands entry, and I open.
