Page 86 of Untamed

His lips graze my neck, his teeth scraping just enough to send sparks shooting through me. “You’ve got two choices, Ember. First, you can fight me—because I know you want to, even though I’ll win. Or second, you let me show how I deal with nerves.”

Uhhhhhm.

Let me…show you…

But I’m not the girl who rolls over and splays her belly. Nuh-uh. Iwantto be overpowered. Iwantto push back.

I want him to handle me.

My hands are already against his chest, pushing, testing, even though he’s as immovable as the damn wall on the rooftop where we first met.

“Ahh,” he says with a smirk and that familiar greedy gleam in his eyes. “You want a fight.”

When his hands tighten against my hips, pulling me flush against him, the pressure is maddening. The hot, sturdy feel of him between my legs sends my need into overdrive.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says in a gravelly whisper.

“You started it,” I bite back, lifting my chin in defiance.

His mouth at my ear, he nips at my earlobe. “And I’m going to finish it,” he promises as he slides me off the railing. “Turn around and put your hands on the railing. If you move them, you’ll force me to remind you what happens to naughty little queens who disobey their kings.”

Gah.

What is he going todo?

I’m hyperaware of the sounds he makes as he deftly unzips the bag with my camera. What is he—oh god.

His movements are unhurried, measured, and maddening. He knows I’m watching, already on edge, trapped between floors, conscious of every subtle shift of his body, every quiet click of the camera’s clasp.

With deliberate precision, he unfastens the leather strap around the camera and folds the ends in his palm so it makes a supple loop.

Is he?—

“Jeans off, Ember,” he commands, his voice like gravel.

I don’t move. I can’t.

He steps closer, his height and breadth overwhelming me. His knuckles brush my hip as he grips the waistband of my jeans, unbuttoning them with a single, deft motion. The sound of the zipper lowering echoes in the small space.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

I’m trembling as I push them down my thighs. Cool air licks at my bare skin, and I hear him hitch in a breath as I step out of them. My pulse is deafening in my ears.

The leather strap brushes over the curve of my thigh as he drags it slowly upward, teasing. A shiver runs through me.

“You think it’s cute to challenge me?” His words are a low growl in my ear, sending a jolt straight through me.

“I—”

“Why don’t we see if this will help.”

Then, without warning, his palm presses on the small of my back. The strap cracks against my ass, and I cry out, my voicebreaking between pain and a rush of molten heat. He snaps it across my ass again. I come up on my toes and gasp, even as the sting melds to warm, sultry arousal.

“No more talking back, little queen.” The strap comes down again, harder this time. I’m gasping for breath. “No more second guessing or waffling. I told you what to expect, and I told you to trust me. No more running that pretty mouth of yours when you already know who’s in control.”

The strap lands again, crossing the line of heat already throbbing. I whimper, and it feels so much more like surrender than protest. My fingers dig into the bar in front of me, bracing against his command. I nod, even while I know I’m welcoming another lash of the strap.

The leather cracks down harder, and my knees buckle, my fingers clutching the bar like a lifeline. My breath is shallow, each sting searing through me, blurring the lines between pain and pleasure.

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