Page 7 of Obsession

“Do as you’re told, when you’re told to do it, then…” The hand that hovered at her mouth fell to her chin, stroking her skin as he went on. “Then I’ll hear your apology.”

Crap.

Trepidation knotted inside her as she read his gaze and realized Tucker was deadly serious. His shrewd expression reminded her of the way he’d looked when he’d left her dangling in the barn. Everything he was about to do had been well thought through, but rather than being reassuring, the thought only petrified her.

Tucker had proven what he was prepared to achieve with careful consideration. It seemed little was off the table.

Oh God.

Opening her lips, she dragged in another breath. He’d already stripped her without her agreement. God only knew what else he’d done when he’d had the opportunity. Tucker had hardly contemplated her consent when she’d been conscious, let alone when she’d been out for the count.

Squeezing the muscles at the apex of her thighs, she felt for any anomalies. Did anything seem different since she’d woken up? There was no obvious pain, and that, at least, was good, but how could she know what he’d done while she’d slept? The thought was debilitating.

“Very good.” For some reason, he seemed pleased with her introspection.

No doubt, he believed it to be the product of his warning and that she was contrite when the reality was further from the truth than he could possibly understand.

She’d tell him whatever she thought he wanted to hear to get out of his binds. If that meant apologizing until she screamed the words from the blasted rafters, then so be it. Her pride would have to take the fall.

“Let’s begin.” He swept away the remaining blanket in one fell swoop, displaying her body to the chilly air.

Her lips parted to gasp, the sound echoing around her as he folded the cover and placed it on the chair behind him. The panic shattering her senses overrode her initial intrigue at the care he seemed to take over the task. Why should a man as callous as Tucker—a man prepared to take a woman who didn’t belong to him and use his might to keep her—care about something as trivial as a blanket?

She didn’t know the answer, but as he spun around to face her, all thoughts of the query evaporated.

Whatever happened next, she had to survive.

Chapter Three

Punishment

Tucker

“I’m going to make this punishment count, little girl.”

Mixed feelings settled over Tucker as he enjoyed the sight of her bound and vulnerable body. Of course, Ella was as hot as sin. From her pert breasts to the small thatch of dark blonde hair between her legs, every inch of her was available for him to devour, but as he considered how best to begin, it was his duty of care that concerned him the most.

He’d managed to deny the carnal urges that had demanded attention earlier, but in doing so, he couldn’t allow those baser compulsions to take the lead now.

Whatever happened, however close to the brink her writhing whimpers pushed him, he had to stay in control.

In control.

He inhaled, as though the air inside the cabin would somehow soothe him, but the reality couldn’t be any further from the truth. The air was warm from the fire blazing behind him, and since he’d uncovered Ella, his own body temperature had rocketed. The lust burning in his veins did little to quell his growing fervor.

“Don’t hurt me.” She risked the plea, though her ashen face conveyed her immediate regret. “I’m sorry, sir.”

She was apologizing again?

It seemed since he’d brought her back, contrition had been her key concern, but Tucker knew well enough her remorse wasn’t real. He’d seen her feigned emotion before. He knew unless he sent a tangible message, they’d find themselves right back there again in a day or two—or worse, Ella might encounter an even more ruthless predator beyond the four walls of his cabin.

“I said quiet.” He shot her a glare, reveling in the way she shrank away as far as his bed allowed. “One more mewl and I’ll gag you.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, apparently repentant, as he turned in search of his first implement of torment. Seizing the cloth he’d used to wrap the offending rabbit pie, he found two of the wooden clothespins he used to hang and dry his clothes before returning to her. By the time the fabric of his trousers grazed the edge of his bed, she was practically hyperventilating, her eyes searching his hand for what the items might mean for her plight.

“You weren’t too happy with my hygiene earlier.” He dropped the clothespins between her outstretched legs. “So I can only imagine your disgust about me reusing this.” He snapped the cloth between his fists, enjoying the unspoken panic dancing in her eyes.

There was nothing overtly terrifying about the cloth unless she truly thought him capable of using the material to suffocate her. Tucker, though, had nothing so insidious in mind. The woman needed a stern reminder of her place—namely, bound to his bed—that was all.

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