Page 51 of The Sadist and the Brat

It was awkward, because she had to turn her head almost sideways, and there wasn’t much to grab. He was pretty lean, and what there was to grab onto was muscle. But still, she managed to find flesh under the suit jacket, vest, and shirt, and he let out a very satisfying yelp.

“Dammit,” he snapped, and his hand landed on her butt again, much harder than before. Undaunted, and spurred on by the short burst of pain and the spreading heat that followed, she bit him again.

“I’m going to fuck you up,” he promised in a deep, rolling growl that couldn’t quite hide the laugh lurking underneath.

She grinned into his suit jacket. “Promises, promises,” she taunted, then the world was spinning again.

She found herself dropped to her feet and jerked around. She stumbled, disoriented, and was caught and steadied by hard hands. She tossed her head to get her hair out of her face, eager to start snarking at him, but one of the hands gripping her shoulders moved to her head, gathered her hair in a fist, and pushed her down and forward.

She didn’t see the mattress until she landed on it with a grunt, the pillowtop enveloping her in a cloud of softness from pelvis to chest. She blinked her eyes open, found herself looking at the headboard through the curtain of her hair, and realized she was bent over the footboard. Hard hands jerked at her wrists, loosening the tie around them, and as soon as they were free, she planted them on the mattress and pushed up.

A hard hand on her back shoved her down again.

By the time she’d spat out the mouthful of mattress and hair, he’d dragged her left wrist behind her. She jerked her head around to look, taking in the soft leather cuff now wrapped around her wrist—the same ones, if she wasn’t mistaken, that he’d used for the demo last week. There was a short chain attached to the D-ring, a small carabiner on the end, and before she could blink, he had it clipped to an eyebolt in the bedpost.

She yanked her arm, making the chain rattle. “What the hell is this?”

“This?” He grabbed her right hand, holding it firm while securing the second cuff. “This is called ‘the consequences of your actions’.”

“Fuck you,” she snarled, and tried to yank her arm free.

He just yanked it back, holding the chain firmly despite her continued attempts to gain her freedom. “You know, most people in your position would be friendlier,” he commented and, with a click, locked carabiner to post.

“I’m not most people,” she countered, and tried to kick him.

She missed, but she didn’t think it was by much, and his low chuckle gave her a better idea of his location so when she kicked out a second time, she connected solidly with his shin.

“You’re just begging for it, aren’t you?” he ground out, his voice tight with pain.

She shook her hair out of her face and craned her neck to try to see him. She couldn’t, not quite, but she could see the corner of the room now, and the wing-back chair where James sat. For a second she was confused—why was he there?—then she remembered she’d asked for a DM, something that seemed a little silly now.

He gave her a subtle nod but said nothing, and she knew he wouldn’t interfere with the scene unless he had to. Forcing herself back into character, she cleared her throat. “I’ll make a deal with you, pretty boy.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jack stepped into her line of sight, and she had to bite her lip to keep from drooling.

His hair was tangled, his dark eyes flashing. He’d stripped off the suit jacket and vest and was unbuttoning the cuffs of his black dress shirt. Moving quickly, with a brisk efficiency that didn’t make it any less hot, he rolled up first one sleeve, then the other before folding his arms across his chest. “What’s that?”

She couldn’t take her eyes off his arms, the swirls of ink over the flexing muscles. “Huh?”

There was a snicker from the corner, and heat flooded her face. Her gaze darted up to Jack’s, and the knowing gleam in his eyes made her blush harder.Pull yourself together,she admonished herself. They’re just forearms.

“Let me go,” she said, forcing arrogance and confidence into her tone, “and I won’t hurt you.”

He eyed her with amusement, one dark eyebrow cocked. “You see the position you’re in, right?”

“Oh, I see it,” she told him, and rattled her chains for emphasis. “And I’m pretty sure this counts as kidnaping. Or at the very least, unlawful restraint.”

“You weren’t worried about the law when you broke into my house,” he pointed out.

“I’m warning you,” she began, and he threw back his head and laughed.

She’d seen him amused before, but it had always been a subtle thing. Even during the demo, when he’d so clearly been enjoying himself, he hadn’t done more than chuckle in a quiet, contained way. This was a belly laugh, full and uninhibited, and it transformed him. Resting Dick Face Jack was hot—all that brooding and smoldering intensity just worked—but Laughing Jack waswhoa.

“You’re warning me,” he repeated, still laughing, his grin so wide she could practically count his teeth, even with the beard. “That’s rich.”

“Asshole,” she spat out and, turned on and frustrated, yanked at her chains again.

“Oh, sweetheart.” The laughter faded from his face and he leaned down, putting his face mere inches from hers. He wore an expression of such menace that she flinched, and his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “I haven’t begun to show you how big an asshole I can be.”

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