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I crossed my arms over my chest. “Am I? You’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t want me.”
“When you’re living in my house, you belong to me. Is that understood?”
“I don’t belong to you. I’m not your property.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I beg to differ.”
My frustration bubbled over. “You want to know why I talked to him?” I blurted. “He was nice to me. Do you know how that works? Being nice to a woman to prevent them from wanting to talk to strange men at bars?”
His dark eyes glittered. “Oh, you want me to be nice to you, do you. Fine. Get on the fucking bed.”
“That’s not being—”
He snarled between gritted teeth. “I. Said. Get. On. The. Fucking. Bed.”
I didn’t dare disobey him. I climbed onto the bed and sat there, glaring at him.
“Now take off your clothes and lie back.”
“So nice to see romance isn’t dead.” I couldn’t hide the sarcasm—it seemed it was my default setting when I needed a defence. My stomach felt hollow, my limbs shaky. But still there was that undeniable flutter of arousal. What was he going to do to me? I didn’t think he planned on hurting me. There was anger, but also lust in his dark gaze, and when I dropped my line of sight down to the front of his trousers, there was already an outline of his cock.
I pulled my dress up over my head. I hadn’t worn a bra underneath, the straps too thin to hide one, and so I was left kneeling on the bed in nothing but my knickers and high heels. Tam’s tongue darted out and swept across his lower lip.
“You might be a bloody pain in my arse, but you have a body that should be immortalised in marble. Now lie the fuck back and spread your legs.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and let out a whimper, but I did what he said. If I refused, would I get the same treatment as the man in the bar? But I couldn’t refuse, could I? If I told Tam I didn’t want him, that would be the end of the fucked-up relationship we had.
So, tell him. Go home to your father.
And face my dad’s wrath and cause the end of the Wynter family? I couldn’t do that either.
Tam crawled over me on the bed and roughly yanked my knickers down my thighs. I was completely naked now, except for the heels, while he, once again, remained fully clothed. Other than that night where I’d watched him in the shower, I’d never seen him undressed, and even through the blurry shower glass, I’d only then been given a hint of what lay beneath the expensive suits.
He ran his hands down over my breasts and then gave my tits a sharp slap—first the left and then the right, sending them jiggling from the contact, my nipples pink and smarting. I cried out, my body jerking at the impact. Then he bent his head and bit me, just hard enough to hurt. I let out a squeal and fought not to push him away.
He moved lower and paused above the juncture of my thighs.
“Tusk, tusk,” he tutted through his teeth. “What do you call this?”
He scratched his nails through the small patch of curls. It was postage-stamp sized and something I’d wanted to keep so I didn’t look like a little girl.
“It’s called pubic hair,” I hissed. “I’m sure you’ve come across it before.”
“Not on the women I fuck. I prefer them to be bare.”
I was waxed, but not fully. I’d never had a problem with leaving some hair, up until now.
“Maybe that’ll mean you won’t want to fuck me then.” I didn’t know how that made me feel. I should be pleased if I turned him off, maybe then he’d leave me alone.
“Who said I was going to fuck you.”
He got off the bed and crossed the room to the bathroom, leaving me lying there, alone. Had I really put him off that much? I should be pleased—my tits were still stinging from the slaps and the bite—but my cheeks heated with shame. Surely, he wouldn’t just leave me here. But right now, I didn’t know what he was capable of. He was a man who thought nothing of killing, so leaving me naked and alone for God knows what length of time wasn’t beyond his capability.
But then he returned, and I twisted my head, trying to see what he had in his hands. He had a towel and a cannister of something. My stomach lurked as my gaze locked on the third item. Was that an old-fashioned razor? The sharp silver blade caught in the light.
He knelt back on the bed with me, then grabbed one of my legs and pulled it around his hips, so he was between them. The towel he’d brought with him was damp, and he wiped me down, and then pumped what I realised was shaving foam out into his palm.
Oh God. He was going to shave me. I wanted to die of mortification right there.
