Warmth rushes through my skin, pricking every nerve on the way. Somehow, the pain turns to something else—something with a bite I don’t recognize. But I need. This makes no sense. I stiffen, fighting us both. A flash of fire burns right to my clit, making me throb. Wetness dampens my thighs and it takes every ounce of my self-control to keep from rubbing against him. My nipples sharpen so fast and hard they hurt in a way I’ve never experienced, and every inch of my skin feels electrified. And needy.
His hand moves from my lower back to tangle in my hair and he wrenches my head back, forcing me to meet his gaze. Those silver streaks are back, giving him a primitive look. A dominant, firm, unyielding look that I’ll remember to my grave. “Submit.” He says the word slowly, fully enunciating each syllable of the harsh order. His other palm flattens over my punished butt, pressing in the heat.
I moan. “I already did. I begged for the guard’s life.”
“No. You and me. Right here and right now. You submit.” His eyes flare and for a second, I see the primal being at his core. His face is sharp angles and rough hollows, with his scar darkening as his nostrils flare.
I swallow, tears sliding down my face. “No.”
He blinks. Just once. Then I’m facedown again and he’s fully unleashed, spanking me with absolutely no mercy. The heated feelings inside me intensify, sparking my blood and nerves alive. The pain turns to pleasure then to need, raw and devastating. My muscles give, and I relax against him, my body taking over from my mind.
When I soften, he pauses, once again palming my butt. I moan again and move restlessly against his hand. “Good girl,” he murmurs, pressing down.
I arch, trying to get my clit anywhere near his hard thigh.
“No, sweetheart. Submission is more than physical. Now you count out ten.”
Tears leak from my eyes, the words far away. What did he say? My head is filled with cotton and my body is a strung electrical wire.
He smacks me hard, dead center. “Count.”
“One,” I hiss, wanting to issue a death threat but not having the guts. Not right now, anyway. I count them out, and he doesn’t go any easier. Finally, we reach ten, and I sob the word. Finally, he stops. My breath is panting out, and tears are still sliding down my face, but my mind has gone blank.
His hand curves over my butt to my very wet pussy, and he pinches me.
I shriek and buck against him, nerves short-circuiting throughout me.
“We’re not done.” He slides one finger inside me and then presses on my clit with his thumb.
It’s too much. I gyrate against him, desperate for relief. Even his chuckle is sexy.
“Admit you like this,” he orders darkly.
“No,” I protest instantly, my mind overriding my body.
He flicks me and then circles my clit, his other hand pressing down on my abused butt.
“Thorn,” I whisper shakily, trying to ride his hand. I don’t care about humility or even breathing right now. The need is too great.
He tugs on my clit and I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood. Then he rubs my sex, lightly, teasing me. “Say it.”
“I like this.” My body takes over for my mouth and shoots my brain to hell.
“You like me spanking you.”
I blink and a tear falls to the garnet-encrusted floor. “Yes.”
He smacks my ass. Hard. “Say it.”
“I like you spanking me.” I hate him. Really hate him.
“I know.” He plunges two fingers inside me, slaps my butt again, and scrapes my clit.
I explode from within, blowing out into shards of ecstasy. Maybe agony. Both. The climax rips through me as he fucks me with his fingers, my body riding him as the sharp-edged pleasure rips through me. Finally, sobbing, I come down, my ears ringing.
He turns me over and plants me on his lap. I wince as my bruised butt hits his thighs. Gently, his callused thumbs wipe off my cheeks. “You did a good job, beautiful.”
The praise is confusing. Part of me wants to snuggle into his chest and let him hold me. The other wants to find a gun. “I hate you,” I say on a choked sob.
“Hate and love are but two sides of the same coin, forged in the same mixing of metals. Like pain and pleasure.” One of his dark eyebrows rises as he runs his thumb across my jaw.
I shiver—and not from fear. I try to push away and he pulls me closer, tucking my head into the masculine hollow between his neck and shoulder, holding me. A sense of being protected washes over me and I crumble. His arms are solid, his chest wide, and for the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel safe.
And fucking confused.
So I curl into him and let the tears fall. Snuggling closer, I calm and listen to the steady beat of his heart against my ear. I don’t know how long we sit there in the quiet library with the rain splattering against the windows, but finally, I come back to reality. He’s warm around me and definitely aroused. Swallowing, I shift my weight.
Is that a groan?
I look up at his implacable face. The need there steals my breath. “Oh.”
“Did you eat dinner?”
The question catches me by surprise. It’s far past dinnertime. “Um, yes?”
“Good.” He stands, easily holding me against his chest.
I clutch his dress shirt. “What are you doing?”
