Wiggling again, my movements caused Kruz to inhale. The sick part about all of this was that I had no doubt he was inhaling my desire. Wasn’t that the most twisted thing in the world? I was aching somewhere besides my ass.
The bastard had made me wet and hot all over.
All of it was too much. His entrance. His kindness. His passion. His intensity. His determination. His generosity. His… insanity and need to kill people. Just. Too. Much.
So I tried to shut down. I’d been good at that my entire life. When my mother had been berating me for not being good enough like my fabulous Barbie doll sister, I’d managed to shut her down. When my father had attempted more than once to auction me off like property to the son of one of his cronies, I’d been on another planet, pretending I was a superhero in saving the earth.
I should be able to manage doing that now with no difficulties. Easy-peasy. Right?
Only more than a tiny part of me was hurt.
Or angry.
Okay, both.
An inner smile formed when I envisioned myself in a gladiator arena. Maybe I was stretching my imagination, but I felt like fighting. To. The. Death.
He ripped out the gag and I took gasping breaths, hating the taste of my desire on my tongue.
“Be quiet and I won’t need to gag you again, Christine.”
“I hate you.” My whisper was barely audible and I had no idea why I’d repeated it other than to convince myself.
The moment the rough pads of his fingers rolled down my spine ever so slowly, I was yanked from my pleasant images. And why? Because his touch was even more enticing. Now I was the one who sucked in her breath especially when he rolled the tips down the crack of my ass. But he didn’t stop there.
With labored breathing as a backdrop, he slipped his fingers into my wetness. Yes, I was completely and utterly aroused by the act of discipline.
When he thrust his fingers deep inside, I couldn’t stop the ugly moan from escaping. Or the fact I lifted my pelvis off his lap, the action driving his fingers in even deeper.
“My sweet girl is wet. You enjoy a firm hand.”
Who said that to a woman? “Go fuck yourself.” Maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words to retort, but he had it coming.
His laugh was loud and boisterous. “We shall see. I think you’ve had enough. For now. But you need to follow my orders.”
A fat chance in hell, but at this point, I wasn’t going to explain that to him.
When he eased me off his lap, I crossed my arms over my chest and backed away from the couch. My glare was vicious enough I was shocked the upholstery wasn’t set on fire. Meanwhile, the twinkle in his eyes allowed me to learn more about him.
Sadistic asshole.
The moment I turned to head into my bedroom, he made another tsking sound.
“Where are you going?”
“Where can I go when you have the building surrounded by big, burly men with assault rifles? To get a robe. If that’s alright with you.”
He chuckled. “Yes. Then we need to talk.”
“Can I call Chloe, just to make certain she and Troy are okay?”
Talk. He truly thought I had any interest talking to him. What was I going to say that would matter? I had no idea if my best friend was alive. From what he’d said, a woman had died. Tonya? Did I care? What about the disgusting man who’d spawned my child? Everything was muddled, my inability to focus as terrifying as the experience.
My breath caught in my lungs before I said anything that would get me into more trouble. He rose to his feet just as I was glancing toward my purse, wondering who I could call to help me escape.
Why not just call the police? That’s what a normal person would do. Why hadn’t I faked needing to go to the bathroom at the party and asked a guest to contact the police?
Because I’d enjoyed myself. I’d felt like a queen.