Page 9 of Ruthless Commander
But all I could see was my father pressing himself against the redhead a mere three steps from my mother’s back and my brother’s hand disappearing up the skirt of his date once more. I wished he’d get a goddamn room and a fucking life, and stop trying to control mine.
I turned away, glancing along the paintings that covered the walls up here. Whose fucking place was this, anyway? I moved closer, drawn by the dark, messy shades of charcoal on white and stared at the naked form of a woman’s body. It was actually…stunning.
There were more of them around the corner. I followed one after another, until the charcoal turned into some ghastly bright yellow mess that looked like vomit. I winced and kept on walking, not wanting to turn around and go back to the party which was more like a fuckfest.
I found myself wandering, taking in the hallways of the massive place. It was expensive, that was evident. Cabinets filled with medieval weapons that looked like they belonged in a museum drew my gaze. I made my way over to them before catching sight of a door cracked open, darkness waiting inside…
Curiosity had captured me now. I needed to know whose place this was, what kind of man liked both the naked charcoal form of a woman’s body and the bloody violence of blades honed by hand a century ago? I slipped inside and closed the door quietly behind me.
A delicious masculine scent hit me. I breathed deep, taking in the faint, seductive scent of cigar and sweat and…Fuck, what was that?Some kind of heady cologne. Heat moved through me as I drew it deeper inside me and glanced around the room, stopping on a wide wooden desk in the middle of the room.
I made my way to the desk and trailed my fingers along the surface, then dropped my palm, bent over, and laid my body along the top. My midnight blue dress sparkled, glinting like stars as I rose and moved to the cabinet against the wall. I liked invading, liked taking the tumbler from the cabinet and pouring what had to be top-shelf Scotch into the glass before taking a sip…
Until I stiffened, sensing a shift in the air of the room.
“You shouldn’t be back here,” a man murmured.
I jerked my gaze toward the low growl, stopping on the floor-length black curtains against the window. My heart stuttered, and the tumbler lowered. “I’m sorry…”
“No you’re not.”
Anger flared for a second as I narrowed in on that voice, but I didn’t retreat, didn’t go scurrying out of the room like a naughty little girl. “No, I’m not.”
I took a step toward him, lifting the glass to my lips once more, then from the edge of the open curtain I caught the outline of him, tall…fucking gorgeous.The soft spill of moonlight caught one side of his face as he watched me with midnight eyes.
He was riveted by the movement as I took another mouthful of what had to be his very expensive alcohol and swallowed. That predatory gaze was fixed on the motion, but it wasn’t the Scotch he cared about. It was my throat.
Electricity hummed in my veins as I moved closer, the hairs on my arms rising as I stepped. A voice inside me was screaming, howling at me to turn and run from the room, to run far away from this man…this man who, without me even knowing who he was, reeked of danger.
“Maybe I’m not sorry at all,” I murmured, slipping around the edge of the curtain to stop in front of him. I took another swallow of the Scotch, feeling that heady burn move through my stomach, then licked my lips.
He reached out and grasped my jaw with a cruel grip. Then without saying a word, he gently caressed my lips with his thumb. My breaths deepened as my focus fixed on the sight of him as he took a slow step forward and leaned down.
His lips weren’t soft. There was nothing soft about this man.
Not his touch. Not his kiss, but still, I heard myself moan.
He took the tumbler from my hand and pushed himself against me, forcing me against the edge of the window, then he bent down, placing it on the windowsill before straightening. Under the glow of the moonlight, he looked down, taking in every inch of me. I didn’t know this man…didn’t know his name, nor did I give him mine.
If he knew me, he’d stop.
If he knew me, he’d run.
They always did.
I said nothing as he reached out, spreading the thigh-high slit in my dress. My breath caught as he moved closer, sliding his hand along the inside of my thigh, slowly rubbing his finger along the crease of my pussy.
Jesus Christ…
I fought the need to close my eyes as I unleashed a low moan. This was the hottest fucking thing I’d ever had happen to me. So hot…lower and lower his hand went, pushing my thighs wider apart to run his finger along the edge of my G-string. I was transfixed by the sight of him, by the icy control in his eyes.
He never showed me even a flicker of desire. For all he cared, he could have been touchinganything.
He didn’t even care, and for some reason that made this even hotter.
He didn’t care…and neither did I. I lifted my foot from the floor and he moved closer, capturing the back of my knee. Those dark, bottomless eyes gave nothing away as his finger rose along that fucking edge, sliding under for a second before it moved out.
I dropped my head backwards and moaned, “If you don’t touch me, I’ll goddamn do it myself.”
