Page 23 of Bloody Vows
I swallow hard, defiance flaring throughout every inch of me. “And if it does?” I manage, looking up at him.
“Then you’ll be punished.” He slides the ring onto my finger, down to the very base, his grip smooth and firm. He doesn’t let go of my hand as he takes another step forward, moving fully into my space, and I feel my pulse thud in the hollow of my throat.
“Is that what you want, Simone?” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower. “For me to punish you?”
“I don’t want you to ever lay a finger on me,” I spit back at him. “For any reason.”
He chuckles, a low, dark sound deep in his throat. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. It’s taken a great deal of restraint to keep from touching you for the last eight days, Simone. To stay away from you. Once we’re married, my patience will have run out entirely.”
I swallow hard. “You’re touching me right now.”
“Not the way I want to be.” His gaze meets mine, hot and dark and promising things that I don’t want to begin to imagine, and it takes everything in me not to shrink back, not to try to flee.
He reaches up with his free hand and traces one finger along the line of my collarbone, just above the edge of my blouse. "You're aroused," he murmurs, his gaze sliding over the flush on my neck, my cheeks, and I want to slap him. The word hangs in the air between us like a challenge, and I feel my face flame with embarrassment and anger.
"You're delusional," I spit out.
"Am I?" His finger continues its path along my collarbone, and I have to bite my lip to keep from making a sound. "Your pulse is racing. Your skin is flushed. You're breathing faster."
The words send a bolt of anger through me, and I finally manage to jerk away from his touch. "Get out."
"Not until we settle this." He gestures to the ring on my finger. "You're going to wear this, Simone. Every day from now until our wedding, and every day after that. It's not a request."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I'll have to find ways to remind you that you're mine." He smiles, slow and amused, and I know he’ll do it. That he likes the idea of that almost as much as he likes the idea of his ring on my finger.
The possessive words should repulse me. They should make me want to slap him, to scream at him about my autonomy and my right to make my own choices. Instead, they send another wave of unwanted heat through my body.
“You won’t touch me before our wedding night,” I hiss. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He smirks, finally letting go of my hand and taking a step back. “You’re right,” he admits. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Simone. Because in six days, all’s fair in love and war.”
His gaze drops to my left hand again. “Don’t take off the ring,” he warns, and then he strides past me, out of my room, leaving me standing there, flushed and breathing hard, his ring once more on my finger where he says it belongs.
Except I will never, ever belong to him.
No matter what he says.
—
That night,in bed, I’m restless and hot, even though my room is an arctic temperature from the air conditioning, just the way I like it. I know why I feel that way, but I don’t want to admit it.
I’ve felt like this ever since Tristan walked away from me this afternoon, leaving me with his diamond on my finger again and the burning imprint of his touch on my collarbone.
I don’t want to touch myself while I can still feel his on me.
But before I can think better of it, I slide my hand down my body, over the silk of my nightgown to where I'm already wet and aching. There’s no pretending that it isn’t his hands that my body wants instead, that some perverse part of me doesn’t want exactly what he promised—for him to take what he wants.
I nudge my panties aside, the way he did in the dream, just before I woke up. I’m slick and hot, and I bite my lip when I dip my finger between my folds, finding my swollen clit.
I haven’t done this often. I’ve never been someone who’s aroused easily, who seeks out physical pleasure. It hasn’t interested me. But I feel feverish, aching, like Ineedthe release that my fingers promise, and the moment I touch my clit, I have to bite back a moan at the sensation that slides through me.
I can imagine his hands on my thighs, pinning me down. His hands, forcing pleasure from me whether I want to give it to him or not. His mouth on mine, swallowing my moans as he slides into me…
It doesn’t take long for me to come. My hips arch up into my hand, my mouth dropping open on a cry as I turn my face into my pillow, my muscles tightening as release washes over me. I’m inexperienced, unused to this feeling, and it takes almost nothing to push me over the edge.
Will it be that easy for him to make me come for him?
