Page 37 of Yield to Me

Chapter 20

It was silent on the way back to the hotel. The car curved around the coast, and Owen looked out the window the entire time, every so often glancing out the windshield. I noticed that Owen wasn’t looking at me; he was clearly was avoiding me. But it’s in my head, I told myself, I didn’t do anything wrong. He has no reason to avoid me.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” I asked. Owen didn’t answer. I forced a smile, telling myself that he was deep in thought after all of that networking. I reached for his hand from his lap and he jerked it away. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Do you think this is a relationship?” he asked.

I looked at him with confusion in my eyes. “Well, it might not be a traditional one, but we’re definitely more than friends, Owen.” I crossed my arms. “I know it’s against our rules, but I know you can feel it too.”

“I don’t do romance, Miss Glass.” A chill crept across my spine. The barrier he was building between us was growing, the subtle use of my last name digging the gulf deeper. “I thought I told you that.” My hands felt cold and clammy, and I looked out the window too, avoiding his gaze now. It felt like he was trying to make me feel stupid, but I ignored that feeling too.

In the hotel suite, Owen held open the door for me, then walked to the bedroom without saying anything. I slipped off my shoes and followed.

He took off his tie, staring out of the open window at the darkness to where the sea was, but there were only shadows there now. It was as if a black cloud of tension followed him, warning me not to approach him. But I had to do something. I had to know what caused a shift in his attitude.

Finally, he turned towards me, taking off his jacket. He hung it up in the closet. The closet door shut loudly, breaking the silence.

“On your knees,” he said. I kneeled without questioning him. The carpet rubbed against my stockings. I looked up, waiting for Owen. He stared at me, waiting too.

“What do you want from me, Riley?” he asked.

I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t he know what I wanted? “What do you mean?”

“You know how I am. What I want. Why do you still want me?”

I flushed. “I don’t understand. We were fine at the party—”

“I’m asking what your needs are with this,” he paused, then gestured between us, “relationship.”

“I don’t know,” I said. He put a hand underneath my chin, raising my face to look at him. “I don’t know, Owen.”

“You want me to love you,” he said.

I flinched at that sacred word, and Owen shook his head in disappointment. He circled me, sizing me up like a predator to prey. “Stand. Take off your dress,” he said. It felt cold in the room, colder than I remembered from earlier in the evening. I unzipped my dress, started to roll down the stockings when Owen stopped me. He rested an arm against my stomach. It was the only part of him that touched me, and he kept me at that distance.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I said. My face was hot, and I was nervous. It almost felt like a lie, because I did feel afraid, but I told myself I was confused. Anyone would be in our situation.

He pulled my hair and raked my head back so quickly and violently that it hurt, straining my neck. “You should be,” he said. He bit down on my skin until I cried out. He had bitten me before, but this time it felt like he was chewing the tendons, trying to break the flesh. Then he flung my body on the bed. I felt my neck, expecting to find broken skin, but I didn’t find anything. He pinned me down quickly, crushing me with his weight, and pulled my legs apart. Moving my underwear to the side, he felt my folds. I hated that he was acting angry with me, and I hated my body even more for responding to his aggressive touch. I wanted to give him what he wanted, but I wanted to feel like he wanted me there, not like he was forcing himself onto me.

“I don’t do nice,” he said.

“Bullshit,” I hissed.

He slapped my face. The shock radiated through me. It didn’t hurt, but I hadn’t expected him to do something so humiliating. I raised my fist to hit him back and he pinned me down again.

“I’ll show you what it’s like to be mine,” he said. With ease, he pulled me over his knee and felt my ass, lingering on the skin below my cheeks, then smacked me hard. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. He could hurt me if he wanted, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing me.

“You want this, Riley?” He hit me again. Then he paused. “Tell me to stop.”

I shook my head, angry tears welling in my eyes that I blinked away. I wasn’t scared of a spanking. But he hit me again, this time harder. The strikes were quicker in succession and I wrestled out of his grip, finally screaming and catching him off guard. I hugged my body, tucking in my knees, glaring at him. I knew he was trying to push me away. He was trying to make me hate him.

“Why are you doing this?” I whimpered.

He motioned for me to come to him. I waited, staring at him.

“Do you want this or not?” he said quietly. I did want this, but it wasn’t as simple as that. I inched closer, still covering my body with crossed arms. “It’s only going to get worse,” he murmured.

I touched his knee, and he pulled my hand until I was lying on the bed. I gulped. I could smell his earthy scent mixed with musky heat. The moisture between my legs made me grimace. I wanted him, I knew I did, but not like this. He felt the need between my legs and dipped his head back in pleasure, then turned to face me. He inserted a finger, jabbing me, not his soft kneading that I was used to. But I moaned anyway. Even if he had hurt me worse than this physically, this felt different than before, callous. Like we were strangers, using each other. He crawled down, bit the insides of my bare thighs so hard that the pain was like a blinding light, feeling it all the way up to my shoulders, making me scrunch my eyes.

“This is what I do, Riley.” His words buzzed across my skin, and suddenly he was in my face, peering down at me. “I break pretty things like you, show you what you’re made of, and spit you out again. Is that what you want?” I looked away and Owen wrenched my chin back, demanding that I look at him. “Do you think someone like me is capable of love?” He paused, then added, “Of loving you?”

I cried, my sobs mixed with moans, and when I came, I hated Owen for it. He kept beckoning me to tell him to stop, and I refused. The need to prove to him that I could take him, all of him, even this, ran deep in my veins, and yet I didn’t know if I could take it like this forever. This wasn’t like him, not like the Owen I had grown to know. The aggression turned me on, but the way he said things, the way he made it feel like he hated me, was disturbing. I didn’t deserve this, this anger he was taking out on me, but I wanted to take it. I wanted to show him that I was better than he thought, stronger than he suspected. And when he came too, his growl echoed through the room, and I knew with that groan, he was pushing me further away.

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