Page 15 of Fitch

He grunted. “When you are mine, no one else would dare touch you.”

Mmm. I liked that.

“I don’t do pain. If pain kink is your thing, like torture and dehumanisation, if that’s your thing, tell me right now and we go our separate ways, no harm, no foul.”

His brow furrowed. “I wouldn’t ever hurt you.”

“I mean, if I’ve been especially bratty and you need to drive your cock into me without lube, then you know, that’s okay. That type of pain is?—”

He pushed his body against the wall then, his strength and size totally dominating. I had to look up at his face to see that his eyes were closed, haunted. “I won’t ever cause you pain. Even if you have been, as you called it, especially bratty.”

I chuckled, body thrumming. This was fucking hot.

“Oh, I’m going to be bratty.”

He growled, and gripping my jaw, he almost crushed his mouth to mine... but he stopped just short, our breaths panting.

“Tell me, is that a yes?” he whispered. “Yes or no?”

“You wanna pay me three hundred bucks so you can rail me once a week like you did the other night? Hell fucking yes, it’s a yes,” I said.

He grunted before his mouth met mine in a bruising kiss. Open lips, his tongue tangling with mine, as he pinned me to the wall, hard in all the right places.

He was so demanding, so . . . daddy.

It was so fucking hot.

But then he pulled back, a feral look on his face before he managed to school it all away. He tried to be calm, in control, but his heavy breaths told me it was an act.

“Should we discuss the finer details,” he murmured. “Back at my place?”

“Only if you promise to give me a trial run,” I replied, pouting and batting my eyelashes. “I mean, what we did the other night was great and all, but I think you shouldreallyshow me what I can expect.”

He put his finger to my chin and lifted my face. His eyes were dark. And damn, if his whole body wasn’t in commander mode.

“Hmm,” he growled. “You’re being bold again.”

I pushed in closer, leaning against him, looking up and batting my eyelids again. “But daddy...”

His nostrils flared and, with more self-control than I gave him credit for, he took a step back. “This is a conversation best had in the privacy of my home.”

“Do you wanna do bad things to me?”

Now his jaw clenched and his eyes hardened. “Come with me,” he said, taking my wrist and leading me across and down the street. He was walking in huge, determined strides and I had to hustle to keep up, but he never let go of my wrist. It wasn’t painful but he certainly wasn’t gentle. I was about to ask him where the hell we were going when he stopped at a dark, sleek car, produced a set of car keys, and unlocked it.

His car, apparently.

Of course it was, because what else would a ridiculously rich man drive.

He opened the passenger door for me and waited for me to get in. I gave him a grin and he pretended to be out of patience, but I got the feeling me being bratty to him was all part of the foreplay.

It was for me, anyway.

He slid in behind the wheel. “Put your seatbelt on,” he ordered as he buckled his own.

I considered needing his help to do that but thought that might have been a stretch too far. So I did as he asked. “Nice car,” I said.

The engine purred quietly, and he handled it like a pro. He drove the same way he walked, the same way he held himself and the same way he spoke.

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