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“You taste as beautiful as you look.”
His rough hands grasp my arms, slowly rising, calluses brushing over my tingling forearms as he reaches up to encircle my wrists.
More hatred grows as my cheeks flush under his compliments. Cute, maybe pretty, but no man’s ever called me beautiful. Well, boys really, the ones I casually dated.
They were nothing like this massive wall of muscle and masculine energy that practically engulfs me now, strong hands rough from work. I envision him caring for the land, chopping wood to heat his home.
Pulling together my nerve, I grow brave enough to face him. I can see in his eyes he means what he says. He thinks… I’m beautiful.
He moves closer, the heat and hardness of his body, the feel of his clothing, now pressing against my naked body.
He wants me.
It's too much. I need to move away. I pull back but the restraints keep me in place. I turn my head, to at least get my face as far away from his intoxicating scent as possible.
Woodsy musk, rose, and desire.
He cups the side of my cheek I’ve turned toward him, the feel of his hands quickly becoming so familiar to me. “Are you ready for your punishment, beautiful girl?”
Tongue-tied and still avoiding his gaze, I nod.
Not for the first time, he cups my chin between his forefinger and thumb, forcing me to face him. “Use your words, Kitty Rose.”
A sharp gasp escapes me. He’s never used my name before. It doesn’t surprise me he already knows it. And no one calls me Kitty. Not anymore. “It’s Kitt,” I manage to hiss between my clenched teeth.
“So, she does have a tongue. You’ve been so quiet, I was beginning to think I’d have to taste it to believe it.”
My mind allows in the heated thought of his tongue brushing over mine, gentle but dominating, like the fiery trail of kisses he left on my neck.
“Is Kitt short for anything?” he asks.
“No.” I shake my head, my hair brushing my bare back. “Just Kitt.”
He stares.
Somehow the rise of one of his dark brows is enough to make me confess. “It’s Catherine. Shortened to Cat. Then Kitty. And when I was eight, I found the name Kitty extremely babyish and dropped the ‘y,’ insisting on Kitt.”
“Catherine. That’s a pretty name. Do you know what it means?”
“No.”
“Pure.”
He gives me a look that’s anything but.
Is this a good time to tell him that I am? An untouched, innocent virgin, that is. Maybe the knowledge would save me from what’s about to happen.
My mouth feels glued shut. I watch as his fingers go to his waist, to the wide metal buckle of his belt. My throat goes tight, and I swallow it down.
I’ve never felt like this before. Every nerve ending in my body lit from within with electric energy. Is this what it’s like to be alone with a man? I have a feeling most women’s first isn’t as a prisoner being punished by a stranger.
It’s crazy that I’m not fighting him, yelling, arguing how wrong this is. How wrong he is. How much this cannot happen.
Do I not speak up because fear has me silenced? Or is the deep, dark truth that I don’t want this to stop…is that I want to see what this will feel like?
No, I’ve never been more nervous.
And I’ve never felt more alive.
