Page 50 of The Sadist and the Brat

She squeaked and put on a burst of speed, but he was already on her, slamming into her back. Momentum carried them forward into the wall, the air leaving her lungs in a whoosh when he pushed her into it. She went still, the wind knocked out of her, and he grabbed her wrists, pinning them to the wall on either side of her head. “Gotcha.”

She had her breath back, and it was coming fast and ragged. She jerked her arms. “Get the fuck off me.”

He tutted into her ear and carefully tightened his grip. He didn’t want to bruise her wrists if he could help it, though with the way she was squirming, it might be inevitable. “Temper, temper.”

“Fuck you,” she replied, and kicked out.

He sidestepped, barely avoiding a heel to the shin, then stepped into her. He’d held back when he grabbed her, not wanting to slam her into the wall, but now all bets were off. He pressed her into it, using his weight to quell her struggles, and waited. After a few moments of bucking and twisting and increasingly inventive curses, she went slack.

“That’s more like it,” he said, softly mocking, and grinned when she bucked again. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?”

“And you’re an ass,” she countered, breathless, and tried to head butt him.

He avoided it easily—with the way she was pressed into the wall, she hadn’t been able to put much on it—and made a mental note to ask her if she’d had any martial arts training. “So feisty,” he mocked, and she twisted her head to look at him.

Her eyes snapped at him through the curtain of her hair, hanging wild and tangled in her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her breath coming in sharp pants—though that could be due as much to the way he was pushing her torso into the wall as exertion—and her lips were curled in a sneer.

“Fine, go ahead and call the cops,” she said, and gave a defiant toss of her head. “Won’t be the first time.”

“Oh, no, sweetheart,” he said, chuckling when her eyes narrowed at the mocking endearment. “You had your chance for the cops. Now we do this my way.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You’re going to bore me to death?”

“You won’t die,” he promised with a low laugh. “Probably.”

“I’m shaking,” she began, then, “Hey!”

He yanked her right arm down, pinning her wrist to the small of her back, then did the same with the left. Using one hand to hold them in place—and leaning into her for extra emphasis—he yanked his tie loose with his free hand.

“What are you doing?” she demanded when he slipped the silk over her hand.

“Securing the prisoner,” he replied, pulling it snug before wrapping it around her other wrist. He had them secured in moments, tied loose enough so as not to cut off her circulation, but tight enough that she couldn’t easily wriggle free.

He hoped, anyway.

“There,” he declared, satisfied, and spun her around to face him. He took a moment to appreciate the view—the tumble of silky hair, flushed cheeks. Her eyes were bright, sparkling with defiance, her mouth lush. She’d bitten the lower one at some point—he could just make out the teeth marks—making it swell and flush with color, and he had to fight the urge to bite it himself.

She sucked in a breath, drawing his attention to her chest. She’d arched her back to take the pressure off her bound hands, shoving her tits forward so the inner curves were pressed against the edge of the zipper. Her skin was damp with sweat, tits lifting with every ragged breath. They were a wiggle away from spilling out of the catsuit, and he almost reached down to help them along.

Then she said, “What the fuck are you looking at, rich boy?” and he remembered the plan.

“The spoils of war,” he said, and bent to put his shoulder into her belly. He hoisted her up, one arm clamped firmly around the backs of her knees, and started for the bedroom.

Damn, Sadie thought, hanging upside down, her hair bouncing at the edges of her vision as Jack walked across the room.He really does have a nice ass.

And hard shoulders, she added, and drew a careful breath. She still could, which was a relief, but her breathing was definitely compromised by the hard shoulder in her belly, so she wiggled a little, trying to find a spot where it didn’t dig in so much.

A hard hand landed on her ass. “Be still, or I’ll take my piece out of your ass and still call the cops,” Jack said, and she remembered she was supposed to be playing a part.

It wasn’t usually so difficult for her to remember her role, but normally she wasn’t this horny.

It would’ve been embarrassing, how wet she was under this catsuit—seriously, she was half afraid that when he finally got her out of it there would be a waterfall—if he wasn’t just as aroused as she was. Thirty seconds ago, when he’d had her pinned to the wall, his dick had been so hard against her butt she’d actually thought he might have a weapon in his pocket.

A big one.

She made a mental note to tell Olivia she’d been right, then tuned back in to the moment at hand. What was she supposed to be doing?Oh, right. Resisting, with attitude.

“How ’bout fuck you, Richie Rich?” she said and sank her teeth into his back.

---