Page 16 of Absolution
“You don’t like it,” he surmises when I don’t say anything in response. “I’ll get you a different one. Whatever you want, name it, and it’s yours.”
I close the box and set it aside so that I can take both of his broad hands in mine.
“I love it,” I assure him. “Thank you.”
“You never need to thank me for anything,” he says with the weight of a decree. “And don’t mistake the gift for a sweet gesture. You should know by now how selfish I am. I want to see you wearing it.”
I smile and kiss his lips, which are set in a warning slash.
“How do you always manage to make gifts sound like a threat?” I tease. “You can relax, Dane. I accept. I’ll gladly wear something so beautiful, especially if it makes you happy to see me wearing it. That’s what I really care about: I want you to be happy. The rest is just stuff. I only need you.”
Abruptly, he picks up the slim jewelry box and tucks it into his pocket. Then he stands and strides across the bedroom, putting several feet of space between us.
“Show me.” It’s a dark command.
I’m reeling from his sudden distance after our intense conversation. “What?”
“Show me how much you need me.” He points at the carpeted floor between his designer shoes. “Get on your knees and crawl to me.”
My stomach flips, and I edge away from him. Lust fizzes through my system in a giddy rush—the fear-tinged desire only he can elicit.
“Dane…”
His lush lips tilt in a challenging smirk. “I do love when you say my name in that breathy little whisper, but that’s not how you address me when we’re alone, is it? Crawl over here and beg your master for your pretty new collar.”
I tip my chin back, meeting his cruelly amused energy with defiance. “You want me to debase myself for a few diamonds? My pride is worth more than that.”
His savage grin is sharp enough to cut. “Everything about you is priceless, my precious pet. But you will yield. One way or another, you will end up on your knees with this collar around your throat.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I agreed to marry you, not obey you. That won’t be part of our vows.”
His low laugh is pure seduction, and I suppress the urge to shiver as it wraps around me like a palpable caress. I won’t lose this battle of wills so easily. Because as much as I crave to do as he commands, I want him to earn my submission. He will have to force me to comply with his wicked demands.
“By the time I’m finished with you, you will sweetly crawl down the aisle and let me fuck you over the altar while you vow to obey me for the rest of our lives.”
My core pulses, but I keep my words acerbic. “You’re delusional.”
He clicks his tongue at me. “Psychopathic,” he corrects me. “I’m obsessive and ruthless, and I always get what I want. If I want you on a leash, worshipping at my feet, then you will oblige me. You chose me, Abigail. This is who I am. This is what I expect from you. What I will take from you.”
“So many threats,” I counter coolly, despite the maddening pulse in my clit. “But we both know that you can’t make me do anything. You’remine, Dane.”
His smile is pure, evil delight, and his dark green eyes dance. “Poor pet,” he mocks. “You want to come to me so badly. I can see it in your pretty blush and the way you’re pressing your thighs together. Only your pride is stopping you from getting what you really desire. You said it’s worth more than a few diamonds, but I’m not trying to buy it. I plan to take it. I will shatter you.”
I stand, shoulders squared so that I’m at my full height. I will not crawl.
Instead, I hold my head high and walk right past him—keeping a few feet of careful distance so that I’m not within easy reach. His low laugh follows me out into the open plan living room, and now that I’m out of sight, I allow myself a small shiver of giddy anticipation.
He doesn’t come after me right away. I know he must be planning something, drawing out my anxious anticipation. With every passing second, my body coils tighter, and my sex throbs in time with my thudding heartbeat.
I busy myself in the kitchen, putting on the kettle for a cup of tea that I don’t want to drink. My hands tremble slightly as I go about the menial task, just trying to give myself something mundane to occupy me.
I could flee the penthouse altogether, but I don’t really want to evade him. And I’m not at all certain that would stop him from dragging me back here kicking and screaming, no matter how much of a scene that would cause.
He strolls into the kitchen, and I pointedly keep my attention on the kettle. It’s taking ages to boil, and my fingers tap the marble countertop in a nervous, staccato rhythm.
“You don’t like tea,” he remarks.
I shrug. “Maybe it’s not for me. Maybe I plan to toss it in your smug face.”
