Page 62 of Contention

All the blood in Kara’s face fades away in a wash and it feels like her heart has stopped beating. Her vision wavers in that strange, dream-like fashion before everything begins melting into shades of red and black. The rage, the defect in her person, takes the wheel with a hard jerk. “We arenothingalike!”

She’s around the desk before she even knows that she’s moving.

Seconds flash by and she’s got her claws going for his throat, his large hands already on her wrists, dwarfing her. When Kara blinks again, he’s laughing, holding her off of him. Instead of being horrified by her attempt to tear his throat out with her bare hands, he seems charmed. She snarls in frustration, lip curled. “There’s the tiger,” he chuckles lowly, an aroused sound. Calais yanks her forward, has her standing between his thighs. His face is all sharp lines, stone cut as he says, “You play a good game; an innocent flower wilting under the claws of the big bad wolf. But, underneath it all, your roots thrive on blood.”

Kara growls under her breath, furious, hindered. He’s made her lose her control, all with a few choice words. Because he’s right. He’sright.

His teeth are so white, that cruel smile burned into her mind. “Tell me how you hated it. How you hated my fingers in you, how you hated being pinned down. How threatened I made you feel. How scared you were of wanting me to turn you inside out. Go ahead. Deny it all. You know thatthrillsme.”

The sound of her teeth grinding together finally makes a noise loud enough that Kara realizes that she needs to relax her jaw before she hurts herself. Her hands flex inside of his strong grip as she hisses softly, “I want to tear out your throat with my teeth and fist your fucking voice box.”

“Your creativity is always a treat. I’m still waiting to hear your denials.” There’s light brown stubble on his jawline, as if he didn’t have time to shave this morning. It gives him a dangerous edge, rather than an unkept one.

The feeling inside of her is like a maelstrom of anger, a storm painted in shades of violent crimson and deep midnight. Loathing. At herself. The mirror in front of her is an ugly thing to look into. “I’m still waiting for your eyeballs to fall out so I can stuff your empty sockets with my fingers,” Kara hisses, making a push for his eyes.

His hands tighten so painfully that Kara actually winces, hearing bones shift in her wrists. His lip curls in distaste. “Deny. It. You little liar.”

“Then I won’t deny it,” Kara says tightly, feeling her knees starting to buckle under the pain. “There are a few fucked up things about me, I’m the first to admit it. And maybe one of those fucked up pieces got some small, sick enjoyment from what you did, but that’sall.”

There’s triumph in his gaze now, gleeful and victorious. His eyes alone speak a thousand words and Kara is hating all of them. Where most men would have been made uneasy by her sudden flight into rage and her graphic, razorblade words, Calais is intrigued instead of repulsed.

“Then, why not let it happen?” He asks, eyes like a hurricane. “Just give in to the curiosity and try me on for size. It doesn’t mean anything. It never has to beanything. Just a way to scratch an itch that no one else will dare to scratch.”

Kara goes still, stops fighting against his grasp. “You’re insane. We can’t- I donotget off on you being an absolute asshole!”

He looks like the cat that’s caught the canary as he drives his advantage. He doesn’t believe her. “You chose to come to me again. You came here instead of Derrick or his lackey, Bubble-”

Kara snarls at him, the arrogant bastard, assuming she’s here because she wants to see him. “His name isBobandBobisn’t here because he’d probably follow through with shitting on your fancy desk!”

Calais gives her a shocked look before smiling slightly in amusement. The reaction softens his normally serious features. “My briefcase, you mean? Regardless. You. Are. Here.” His grip becomes gentle. “I’m going to let you go now. Play nice, vixen.”

When his hands fall from her wrists, Kara stumbles backwards, her rear hitting his desk. Calais moves closer, his chair rolling up to her precariously close. So close, in fact, that Kara has nowhere to go to avoid him. Anxiously, she tries to sidestep away, but he grabs her about the waist and hoists her upwards, resting her rear on the edge of his desk.

Kara hisses, preparing to kick him, “Stop.”

“I don’t want to,” he replies hoarsely, eyes telling Kara that he’s pleased with her refusal.

Her refusal is turning him on. She suddenly finds it impossible to swallow.

His fingers, warm and sure, run up her thighs, rucking up her skirt slightly. Kara’s skin crawls, but she’s not sure it’s with disgust. Calais stands up so he can lean over her, imposing his strength upon her. Those dangerous lips touch her ear and a shiver runs down her spine. “You’re ashamed of what you want,” he says huskily. “I get it. But I’m the same and I’m not going to tell. If it’s your guilty pleasure to sink your claws in me with the intent to hurt while I stretch you open on the bed…why not just enjoy it? One vicious monster to another?”

The words are enticing and Kara feels her vision slowly becoming calm again, the red and black fading away. This is utter madness. “Even if this made any sense at all, I can’t trust you. What if your idea of violence goes well beyond what I would consider a good time?”

Those soft caresses on her thighs become firmer, covetous as he lifts her skirt higher and higher. Kara’s breathing goes shallow and she should stop him. She should, but she doesn’t. He’s staring at the apex of her thighs, eyes fixated on her baby blue panties and the way they are currently riding up between her nether lips. “I never said I wanted to beat you. When did I say that? I’d just like us to play the roles we enjoy. Me as the aggressor and you starring as the unwilling princess with more fury than a firestorm.”

His thumb brushes against her front and Kara tries to not react, but fails. With that small action, she can feel her clit pounding with blood, her heartbeat thrumming there. She turns her face away from him, horrified that someone might walk in at any moment. Her fingers curl around the edges of the desk.

“You’re sick,” Kara utters, barely able to get the words out. “You’re looking for a hate fuck and nothing else. I feel nothing for you, aside from the burning urge to pull your intestines out of your ass.”

He pinches her clit rather rudely, so suddenly that Kara cries out in pain. This time she kicks him in the side, eyes flashing, “You’re hurting me.”

Calais gives her a look with darkness in his eyes. “I’m not afraid to say that the fight in you turns me on. It’s what draws me to you, you know. Does that make it any easier for you? To know you have an effect on me as well?”

It does, but Kara isn’t going to admit it out loud. “What are you proposing? You throw me in the back of your limo and we engage in some rough sex? How mundane.”

This gets her a little smile. His arms slide around her waist and his lips return to her ear, whispering. “Oh, nothing as pedestrian as all that. How about this; there’s an upscale restaurant in my neighborhood, close to my place. You’ll go there, wear something slinky and sit at the bar, drink a few drinks-”

“I’ll have one.”

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