Page 42 of 10 Days to Ruin

His gaze drops to my mouth.

This is the game, I remind myself.Let him think he’s winning.

I tilt my chin. “So what now, hm? You show me your bedroom? Your knife collection? Your taxidermied ex-girlfriends?”

“No.” His thumb brushes my lower lip. “Now, you stop talking.”

The kiss shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. It isn’t gentle. It’s a claim—hot, hungry, all teeth and tongue and barely leashed violence.

What also surprises me is that I let him take it.

I fist his shirt, futilely clinging to my rapidly dissolving anger as my body arches into his with a different motivation entirely. He groans, the sound vibrating through me, and suddenly, I’m being lifted, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the table.

His hands are everywhere. My dress rips at the shoulder, his mouth following the tear, scorching a path down my neck. I gasp, nails raking his scalp. “Sasha?—”

“Say it again,” he growls against my skin.

“Sasha.”

“Louder.”

“Sasha.”

He tears the other sleeve. Fabric slithers to the floor. His eyes lock on mine, black with want. “You’re mine tonight, Ariel. Every gasp. Every scream. Mine.”

I should push him away. I should knee him in the groin and run.

Instead, I kiss him again.

It’s a mistake. He takes it as surrender, his hands sliding under my thighs, dragging me closer. His belt buckle digs into my stomach, a brand.

No. Not like this.

I wrench my mouth free. “Stop.”

He stills, chest heaving. “What?”

“I said stop.”

His laugh is harsh. “Your body says otherwise.”

“My body’s a liar.” I shove against him, but he doesn’t budge. “Get. Off.”

For a moment, I think he’ll refuse. Then he stands abruptly, leaving me cold.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Ms. Ward,” he says, adjusting his cuffs with jerky movements.

I sit up, clutching my ruined dress. “You started it.”

“And you followed me here.”

“To your penthouse, not your bed.”

He stalks to the bar, pouring two fingers of vodka. “Then why come?”

“To prove a point.”

“Which is?”

---