Page 34 of Wilt

Fuck.

I grab her wrist, tight, and squeeze, right up until she winces, then I adjust the pressure so she’s uncomfortable, but not hurting.

Yet.

I’m not interested in punishing her this way.

“Be very careful,” I say. “Be careful how far you think you can push me because once you cross that line, Rosalind, you won’t be happy.”

She’s breathing hard, erratic. Her breasts rise and fall with each heave, and she’s flushed, all that pale honey skin taking on a reddish hue. Those blue eyes are wide, scared, wild, and the air sings with thick tension that pulls taut in the air.

I could crush her bones.

“Happy?”

Laughing softly at her innocent question, I pull her into me. “No, Rose. Once you cross the point of no return with me, there’ll be no happy or sad. No breathing. You’ll just cease to be.”

She swallows and the pulse in her wrist beats fast against my fingers. “You… you wouldn’t.”

“Want to put that to the test?”

Rosalind isn’t stupid. Impetuous, but not stupid. Though some might argue that’s one of the meanings of stupid; not thinking, rash action.

She licks her lips. “You wouldn’t.”

“I very fucking much would, Rosalind. Do you know how long it’s been since someone has slapped me? Do you know what happened to the last person who dared lift a hand to me when he thought he could take from me? Humiliate me?”

She lets out a pathetic whimper. “Please.”

“Do you?”

“Please, Nikolai—Mr. Wilder—you’re hurting me.” She tugs at her hand then looks up at my face. The blush fades and she takes on a pale hue.

I tug her up against me, searching her face. There’s only fear there, and I highly doubt she’s that good an actress. Taking a breath, I get myself under control.

I’m searching, trying to find a fucking reason to not want her with the unreasonable need eating at me. She’s the enemy’s daughter; there’s nothing, no reason for me to think what I just did.

Of course, she has no idea who I am. Me wanting her is something beyond the need to own Finnegan’s daughter. Making her mine? That’s the goal. Lust is the lube that keeps on fucking giving here. I know her history—the important things—better than she does. I don’t give a fuck about growing up on the run, or under Steph’s guidance. I couldn’t care less that she was on the run under a new name, how her life might have been. What I care about is that she’s mine.

That’s it. Mine because of who she is by birth. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just a bit of lust. When the time comes, when my plan plays out and bears the fruit, she’s gone. I’m not getting attached. It’s probably because I haven’t been able to sample the wares, to burn out that unholy need she sets off inside me. I will, when the time comes, but first, she needs to be taught a lesson.

One she’s going to remember.

Rosalind’s eyes go wide as I sit, pulling her down across my lap in one swift, rough move.

Fuck, does she have a gorgeous ass.

She gasps. “What—? Please, I’ll be good, I’ll—”

“Too late, Rose. You crossed a line and you need to learn there are consequences. Pay them.” I should have removed my belt. Then again, my hand is more fun, more intimate.

I raise it and bring it down, hard, on that fine ass.

She squeals.

“Keep that mouth shut or I’ll give you something to keep it quiet.” I slam my hand down again, and then again. Again. Every thwack sounds heavy in the air and she gives a little wiggle each time.

I try to ignore the jolt of excitement inside me with each reaction.

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