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“Thank God you’re safe.” I begin to tighten my arms to hug her, but she pushes away.
“You’ll squish Angel,” she says.
“I would never hurt your cat,” I say gently.
She narrows her gaze. “You swear?”
“Yes.” I grab her arm, tugging her inside. “Now let’s get you both safely inside.”
She follows. I leave the door open behind us, needing the cool breeze to calm my nerves. Once we’re in the room, she pulls her arm from my grasp. “Let me get the kitten settled. Then we can talk.”
“You still think you’re the one calling the shots here?” The anger I want in my tone doesn’t show up. I guess I’m relieved to have her safe.
Moving over to the desk, she carefully unzips the bag, cooing to the little cat. It sits in her hands, yawning, clearly bored with the adventure. Her hands hover over the basket where the kitten sleeps. She gives me a hard stare. “You swear you won’t hurt her?”
“No, I won’t,” I say. I toss her words back at her. “I’m not a monster.”
“Debatable,” she says, placing the cat gingerly in the folds of the sherpa blanket that lines the basket. Her back is turned to me. She pets Angel’s head, whispering to her as she settles her in. Without looking over her shoulder, she calls to me, “Can you go in the bathroom? Her water bowl is on the counter. Please.”
Am I seriously doing this?
Getting her cat water when she’s just tried to escape my house? I find myself moving toward the bathroom, like I’m watching myself from overhead. I find the small pink bowl encrusted with pink jewels, a tiny painting of a pink cat pawprint in the bottom of the empty bowl. I turn on the tap, testing the temperature with my fingertips, making sure the water is cool.
I glance up, catching my reflection in the mirror. What the hell am I doing? Letting a woman boss me around, filling her cat bowl when I should be punishing her. The anger finally finds its way inside me. Finally. Thank God. I turn back into myself. Damian, mobster with a temper no one can control. I shut off the tap and leave the bowl sitting there, striding out to confront her.
“We are talking now.” My loud voice echoes through the marble room. I round the corner, leaving the bathroom. “What the hell were you thinking—”
I’m speaking to an empty room.
Fuck.
I run my hand over the back of my neck, staring at the open door. Of course. I dash across the room, flying out onto the balcony. She’s halfway over the railing, one leg on each side, straddling the rail. She glances at me, a wild look in her eye, scrambling to complete her escape.
I reach her in two strides, wrapping my arms tight around her waist. She gives a moan of displeasure as I pull her, hard, against me. I press my lips to her ear. “Nice try, beautiful.” I drag her toward the house, her right leg sliding across the railing. Her legs fall as she goes boneless in my arms, her sneakers dragging across the concrete as I pull her through the opening of the glass doors.
Doors I stupidly left open the first time I brought her back inside from this balcony.
She’s pushing at my arms, trying to loosen them from the hold I have around her waist, still dragging her legs, attempting to make her body heavy and harder for me to control.
It’s not working.
I throw myself onto the edge of the large four-poster bed, the mattress sinking below our combined weights. Keeping one arm wrapped around her waist, I center her over my lap. Kicking a leg out, I trap hers before she can fight me in earnest.
My mind goes blank with anger. Not only did she try to escape once, but twice, throwing herself over the railing with no thought to her own safety. I start spanking her ass, the tight spandex of her black leggings perfectly encasing her tight curves.
I spank her, hard, my open palm stinging as I bring my hand down over and over across the center of her ass.
“No,” she moans, twisting under my grasp.
Her belly digs into my stiffening cock. It grows harder, turned on by finally having power over her. I love the control, having her under my thumb, locked in my rooms, not leaving unless I say so.
“Headed for the docks? Were you going to hide in a crate overnight? Go back to the mainland and cry for help?”
She gives a deep moan, wriggling harder, trying to get away from my flat, paddle-like palm. “Yes!”
“Did you stop to think about the fact that we have guards all over that shore? Guards who carefully watch the boats, tracking their movements? We see every person who gets off and on any boat that comes to or leaves the Parrish. Not to mention the checks we do before a boat leaves Parrish waters. The same checks the flight crew did when they found you on my jet.”
“Your staff didn’t find me till we were high in the air. What makes you think the same thing wouldn’t have happened this time too? That they would have done a half-assed check on the boat and missed me? I could have made it to the mainland,” she says. “You don’t know.”
