Page 71 of Save Me

“Is this your house?” He still doesn’t answer, his hand tightly clutching mine, pulling me toward the front door. “Why didn’t you park in the garage?”

For some reason, I ask a million and one questions whenever I get nervous. It’s a habit I’ve had for years and one that isn’t serving me at all right now. It feels like every question seems to anger Dae just a bit more.

“Dae.” I startle when he yanks me through the door before slamming it shut. My back is pushed against it while Dae’s body holds me in place. His hand wraps around my throat.

His jaw is so rigid that if he clenches any harder, he’ll crack a tooth. Even in the semi-darkness of the house, I can see his obscure, stormy eyes.

We stare into one another’s eyes for a long while, breathing heavily, allowing the tension to swirl around us.

I open my mouth to say something. I don’t know what. Yet, as soon as I do, his hold on my throat tightens. It’s not enough to cut off air or prevent me from speaking, but it feels like a warning.

I clamp my lips shut. But with my free hand, I reach up and stroke his cheek. I run the tips of my fingers through the soft hairs of his beard. All of a sudden, the memory of how those hairs feel against the inside of my thighs has my panties soaked.

Okay, I’m lying.

They were already damp before we got inside of his place.

I try to reach his lips, but he pulls his head away. The rejection stings.

“You think you have a right to feel my lips after ignoring me for two days?” he finally asks.

“I didn’t—”

His hold around my neck tightens.

It’s that moment I know something is deeply wrong with me. Because instead of terrifying me as it should, it makes me wetter.

“Work,” I say.

It’s a lie, and we both know it. But I want to push him. I want to see him unleash whatever he planned when he brought me to his house.

“Work,” he spits out.

I nod as much as I can, his hand still firmly around my neck.

“I told you before my job takes up much of my time.” I’m proud of how I keep the tremble out of my voice. However, my body betrays me because my legs start to shake with need.

“That’s number one,” he says, his voice utterly calm.

I narrow my eyes.

“One what?”

“Your first lie of the night. One lie equals a punishment. It’s up to you how this night will end, little warrior.”

For some reason, that nickname triggers me. It makes me feel oddly powerful and even more resolute in the sudden defiance that propels me.

“My current project is really involved and—”

“Number two. You don’t like sitting very much, do you?”

I wrinkle my forehead.

“Because you won’t be able to do much of it if you keep this up,” he promises.

He presses his body into mine, and his very hard arousal presses against my stomach. An involuntary moan escapes my mouth. That causes the corners of his mouth to curl into a grin.

There’s nothing friendly or inviting about it, though. His smirk is wicked and dangerous, and he promises to destroy me.

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