Page 32 of Panic-Button
His eyes rolled as a disgruntled snort huffed from his chest. “Put that thing down before you hurt yourself.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about hurting myself.” I was going to crack this lamp off his head and then stab him in the neck with the pieces.
“This will go one of two ways,” he said while casually strolling in my direction. “You can get on the bed, do what I say, and maybe you’ll have some fun.”
It was my turn to snort.
“Or,” he drawled out while locking his glare directly on mine. “I can have some fun.”
His brow arched in a silent challenge when I firmed my stance, refusing to back down.
“Okay.” That was all the warning I got before Preston charged.
Let me just say he was a lot faster than I was. Preston cleared that space faster than I could blink. I was surprised my reflexes kicked in, allowing me to swing the lamp in time. My aim, however, wasn’t great.
Instead of smacking the base off his head, he twisted to the side and took it in the shoulder. The only indication I hit him was the grunt he let out and the sound of breaking ceramic. Everything else happened too fast.
One minute my feet were on the ground. The next, I sailed through the air and slammed down on the bed. All the oxygen in my body was forced out in one violent huff. I felt my lungs deflate when my back hit the mattress. They burned in my chest, dulling the ache crawling across my tailbone.
“Fuck me, that was fun.”
If I could see beyond the blackness seeping into my vision or breathe without coughing, I might’ve slapped him. This was the worst feeling in the world. Even when I rolled onto my side, I couldn’t get rid of the tightness in my chest.
“You can do it.” Something patted my back.
If this was what it felt like to get tackled, then I had a new respect for football players. Parker Whitley deserved props for not only surviving his siblings but going on that field every day. How the hell did he do it?
“Come on, Little Bird.”
The first gasp down my throat was gargled and harsh. Thankfully the second flowed considerably smoother.
“That’s it. Breathe.”
Preston’s hand was the thing patting my back. Not only that, but he was behind me, whispering in a soothing tone. And my lungs were giving into the rhythm of his hand.
I was wrong. This was the worst feeling in the world.
“Get away from me,” I hissed, throwing my elbow back into his ribs.
That action probably hurt me more than it did him. I was pretty sure I heard him snicker when I tried to crawl away—triedbeing the operative word. I managed to pull my head and shoulders off the side before a large palm clamped down around my ankle. One thing caught my attention as I was pulled back—the rope.
It was still lying on the floor.
My arm slapped down, and my foot kicked out, jarring the hold Preston had on me long enough to grab the coil. The next thing I knew, my belly was rubbing against the sheet as I was pulled back. If there was any chance of this working, I had to catch him off guard. So, I did everything I could to act defeated.
When Preston’s palm smacked off my ass, I gritted my teeth against the sting and stayed still. I tried not to shiver when his lips swept over the small of my back on my skin and then again when he laved a hot trail up my spine.
“I’m going to eat you up, Little Bird.”
I didn’t respond to the deep sound that vibrated through his chest or wince when his fingers twisted in my hair.
“You don’t really think I’ll fall for this docile kitten routine, do you?” He growled in my ear.
I could smell the minty scent of his breath, but still, I waited because this wouldn’t be good enough for him. Preston didn’t just want to overpower me. He wanted to look me in the eyes while he did it.
“If that’s how you want to play it, all right,” he tsked while tracing his finger over my shoulder blade. “Why don’t you tell me who put these marks on your back.”
That made me twitch as the crack of leather rang out in the back of my mind.
