Page 97 of Lesson Learned

I push her down on the bed, using my weight to pin her in place, hauling again at her hair until she moans, my teeth bruising a deepening mark on her tender flesh.

Then I come up for air, raising to my knees to straddle her, pulling strands of hair from my palm when I tug my hand free, pausing, watching the need and frustration grow in her eyes until I reward her with a sliver of a smile.

I grab the neck of her dress in both hands and tear it open, ripping it to her waist, exposing her bare midriff, nipples stiffening as they feed off the hit of cold air, tightening with anticipation.

“Is this what you want?” I ask, my vocal cords thick with desire. “It’s your last chance to call off because I’m about to stop listening. Three seconds and you can scream no as many times as you like. I won’t stop.”

Her pupils widen, spiralling out to take over her irises until all I see is blackness.

“Three.”

A whimper emerges from deep in her throat. More of a yes than a no.

“Two.”

Her lips part, breath rasping as she inhales. Their innocent pink deepens to red as arousal pumps blood into them, swelling them ready for my punishing kiss.

“One.”

CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR

PAISLEY

The biteon my neck stings as I look up at him. Something changes behind Conner’s eyes, slithering into the back like a stalking predator, watching, waiting, readying itself to pounce.

A delighted shiver takes hold of me. The thrill of the unknown, of unleashing a beast I’ve never been privy to. The Conner that could beat a man half to death for drugging me, even though he was the one to take the spoils.

The man who could do it again, just to satisfy himself. To get another taste.

He slides his hand beneath my neck, supporting me, staring straight into my eyes until the unbroken gaze grows so intense it’s psychotic.

I’m trembling when he finally moves his eyes, ravishing my body, turning that same scrutiny onto my mouth, my throat, my breasts, the ragged edge of my torn dress.

“No knife,” he says, and he sounds like my Conner. “You’ll have to make do with my hands instead.”

He grabs at my dress again, finishing the job he started. When it’s torn in two, he roughly turns me over, yanking the fabric so my arms twist behind my back, caught until he drags the sleeves free.

When he flips me again, he leaves it in a tangle near my head. “I’ll keep it handy in case you make a mess.” The voice is detached, making me shiver again. “Are you going to make a mess, baby?”

I open my mouth to answer, and he covers it with his hand. “No screaming. You don’t make a sound from now on or I’ll have to punish you.”

It’s not verbatim, but an echo plays in my head, his voice overlapping with the earlier attack, parallel but different. Where James made me cringe in terror, Conner’s voice makes me open, blossoming like a flower seeking the warmth of the sun.

This new side of him causes hesitation but not enough to make me regret my decision. Not enough for me to throw myself on his mercy and beg to retract.

Not that it would make a difference. He told me plainly enough there were no takebacks.

He pulls his shirt off, his open fly doing little to hide the jut of his erection. I lick my lips, my eyes jumping from his face to his cock, his chest to his cock, never straying too far.

Conner lifts my hands, placing them above my head and holding them while he transfers his weight to my wrists, staring at me, tracking each rise and fall of my chest.

He keeps them pinned with one hand, the other roaming to my tits, grabbing at each one in turn, watching my face while he plays with them. “You like that, huh?”

I do. And he must see from my expression that it’s a problem.

I don’t want him doing things I like. I want him to do the things I hated, the things I never wanted to have done to me.

Conner nods, then he lowers his head oh so slowly, pressing his lips against mine in a gentle kiss that grows harder, firmer, sloppier as he plunges his tongue into my mouth, roaming and exploring and beating mine into submission. His grip on my wrist eases and he grips my chin with one hand, the other pressing near my throat, the thumb coming out to play with my windpipe, rubbing along its hard ridges, growing firmer with each stroke.

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