Page 51 of The Enforcer's Possession
“Nice try.”I spun her around, her back against my chest now, both her wrists crossed and held in one of my hands.“But I’ve been trained to restrain people who actually know how to fight.And I don’t mean the little tricks your father taught you.I mean actual training.You’re going to have to do better than that.”
She slammed her head backward, trying to catch my face.I moved just enough that she hit my shoulder instead.Then she kicked backward with her foot, using enough force that we both stumbled.The side table caught my hip and tipped, sending books and a vase crashing to the floor.
“Fuck your training.”She was panting now, her body pressed against mine in a way that was doing things to my control I absolutely couldn’t afford.“Fuck your restraint.Fuck your years of stalking --”
I released her wrists and shoved her toward the wall, needing distance before my body betrayed what this struggle was doing to me.She caught herself against the plaster, spun to face me, and grabbed the decorative pillow from the chair.Tore it in half with a violence that seemed impossible for silk and feathers.The stuffing exploded around us like snow.
“That’s what I think of your control,” she spat, already reaching for another pillow.“Your plans.Your obsession --”
I crossed the space between us in two strides and caught her hands again, this time pressing her back against the wall with my body weight.The second pillow dropped, forgotten, as I pinned her there with my hips against hers, my hands securing both her wrists above her head.
“Are you done?”I asked quietly.
“No.”But her voice had changed.Less rage.More something else.Something I recognized because I was feeling it too -- the way violence and desire were bleeding together until they became indistinguishable.“I’m not done.I’ll never be done --”
She yanked one wrist free -- I’d let my grip loosen, a mistake -- and her nails raked down my face hard enough to draw blood.I felt the sting, felt something warm trickle down my cheek.Instead of anger, I felt satisfaction.She’d marked me.Claimed me the same way I’d been claiming her.
“Better.”I caught her hand again, but not before she’d gotten her other hand into my shirt, tearing fabric.Buttons scattered across the floor.“But still not good enough.”
She was breathing hard now, her chest rising and falling against mine.I could feel her heartbeat racing, matching my own elevated pulse.Her pupils were dilated, her lips parted, her skin flushed with exertion and, as much as she’d never admit it, a hint of desire.
“I hate you.”The words came out without conviction.
“I know.”I shifted my grip, securing both wrists in one hand again so I could use my free hand to cup her jaw.Blood from the scratches on my face dripped onto her neck.“But you want me anyway.I can feel it.Your body’s responding even while your mouth spits insults.”
“That’s not…” She tried to turn her face away, but I held her steady.
“It is.”My thumb traced her lower lip, felt it tremble.“You can lie to yourself if you want.But your body doesn’t lie.Your pulse is racing.Your breathing’s shallow.You’re wet -- I can smell your arousal even over the rage.”
She made a sound that was half denial, half something else.Her body arched against mine involuntarily, and I felt the movement all through my core.
“You’re insane,” she said again, but the words had lost their edge.
“We’ve established that.”I released her wrists and stepped back, needing to prove to both of us that I still had some control.“But you knew what I was when you agreed to marry me.Knew I wouldn’t be safe or easy or comfortable.You just didn’t know the full extent of it.”
She stared at me, her wrists red from where I’d held them, her dress torn at the shoulder from our struggle.Around us, the bedroom looked like a war zone.Broken mirror.Shattered lamp.Water stains.A torn pillow bleeding feathers.Scattered books and buttons and broken glass.
We’d destroyed it together.
“I want a divorce.”But she didn’t move toward the door.Didn’t try to leave.Just stood there against the wall, her chest heaving, her eyes on mine.
“No, you don’t.”I moved closer again, drawn by something I couldn’t name and couldn’t resist.“You want this to be simple.Want me to be the villain you can righteously hate.But it’s not that easy.Nothing about us is that easy.”
“Because you made it complicated.”Her hands came up to my chest, and I couldn’t tell if she was going to push me away or pull me closer.“You took something that could have been a clean business arrangement and turned it into this -- this obsession --”
“It was always an obsession.”My hands found her waist, pulling her against me.“From the first moment I saw you.I just hid it better than you’re giving me credit for.”
Her fingers curled into my torn shirt, and I saw the moment her anger transformed into something darker.Something that matched what I’d been feeling since the moment she’d thrown that lamp.
“I still hate you,” she whispered.
“I know.”I leaned down until my mouth was inches from hers.“Hate me while I fuck you.Hate me while you come.Hate me while you admit that you need this as much as I do.”
Her breath caught.For three heartbeats we stayed frozen, teetering on the edge of something that would change everything.
Then she yanked my head down and kissed me.
The kiss was far from tender.Her mouth crashed against mine with the same violence she’d used throwing the lamp, her teeth catching my lower lip hard enough to make me taste copper.I didn’t gentle it.Didn’t try to slow her down or make this something it wasn’t.I kissed her back with three years of waiting, three years of watching, three years of wanting compressed into the press of lips and tongue and teeth.
