Chapter One Hundred and Seven
Georgia
I turned and ran.
And made it exactly three paces, but only because he was messing with me.
Grabbing me around the waist, he tossed me up and spun me before catching me under my arms and throwing me over his shoulder.
I shrieked, and the rush hit me.
Not fear. Not danger. Not that consuming need to be stripped of all control. Just pure, body-tingling, soul-changing desire.
Blade was right.
I had been traumatized. I still was. I was attached to him at the hip. But in the bedroom? The way he touched me, the way he gave me a safe place to still have my desires without them being actually dangerous—it was everything.
He was everything.
And I couldn’t think about him not returning home to me one day.
I couldn’t even imagine a world without him.
But I’d also meant what I’d said. I wouldn’t strip him of who he was.
He hadn’t done that to me.
He’d taken all the parts of who I was, and he’d made them work for him and for us. This playtime, the limits he’d bluntly outlined for us—he gave me the freedom to be me.
I loved him for it.
I loved him for who he was.
Unapologetic, rough, and beyond all else, a Valhalla warrior.
Gripping the back waistband of his sweats, I kicked out. Because I could with him. “Put me down!”
The hard slap hit my ass in less than a second. “Kick me again, woman.” He yanked my leggings down over my ass. “See what happens.”
Heat rushed to my core, cool air coated my backside, and my body sang. “I’m wearing boots for a reason!”
First, my left Ugg was yanked off, then my right. “What fucking boots?” My leggings followed.
I yanked his hair.
The second slap struck the back of my thighs, and it stung .
Momentarily stunned because he’d said he wouldn’t slap me more than once, I still couldn’t stop the moan as I breathed in the pain. “Is that all you got?” My pussy pulsed on emptiness.
“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, woman?”
I didn’t notice he’d strode past the bed and across our bedroom until he yanked open the slider door to the deck, and freezing cold struck my naked ass and legs. “Blade!”
He flipped open half the hot tub cover with one hand, then dumped me in, sweatshirt and all.
The hot water like a slap against my ice-cold skin, I sank to my chin and groaned. “ Oh my God .”
He stepped in behind me, sweatpants and all.
I giggled. “You’re still dressed.”
“So are you,” he deadpanned.
“That’s not how this works.” I reached for his giant cock.
He grabbed my wrist. “Do I look easy?”
I laughed. “You definitely don’t look easy.”
He held my wrist tight.
My smile fell. “Hi.”
“I wasn’t punishing you, woman.”
Oh. The second slap. “I know.”
“Do you?”
He was checking in. This is what he’d said he would do. He was fine with being rough. He was even fine with giving me some leeway on some very, very light roleplaying, like trying to run from him. What he wasn’t okay with was me thinking any of it was a form of real punishment.
Color, not from the heat of the water, flushed my cheeks. “I liked it.”
“I heard.”
I glanced at his grip on my wrist. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” He didn’t let go, and his locked gaze didn’t waver.
“I don’t understand.” It definitely felt like something was wrong.
“I put you in a compromising position. You reacted. My fault.”
Oh. Oh, oh, oh . “My hands….”
“Don’t fucking pull my hair, woman.”
“I’m sorry.” How could I have forgotten?
His penetrating stare took me in, and this was one of those moments between us. One where I felt young and ignorant and inexperienced—and frankly, embarrassed. But I also knew he wasn’t scolding me. Blade wasn’t mean. Not to me. On the battlefield, I was positive he was ruthless.
But here, with me?
He was simply telling me that he didn’t like what I’d done. If he had more to say about it, he would.
So I waited.
Which wasn’t something I was ever good at. No, it was something I’d been trained to not be good at by a manipulative sociopath.
Now I was learning, or trying to learn.
Three more heartbeats, and my SEAL tipped his chin. “Good.” Then he pulled me onto his lap and lowered his voice. “I gave you words today.”
Oh, sweet Jesus, this man was going to ruin me so thoroughly. He already had. An impenetrable warrior telling me he loved me had almost stopped my heart. I didn’t deserve him. But I was never letting him go.
I borrowed his response. “I heard.”
“You need marriage?”
I couldn’t help it. I bristled. “It sounds like you don’t.” I’d told myself I was never getting married again, so I didn’t know why I was suddenly upset, but I was.
“We’re not talking about me. From your body language, that’s a yes.”
I inhaled the steam and the cold air, and then I choked down the instant assault of defensiveness that shot up my throat. Two more inhales, and I looked down at the swirling water as I tried to explain. “I told myself I was never getting married again.”
A knuckle landed under my chin, and my face was tilted up. “I’m going to say this once, then we’re never going to talk about that piece of shit again. Understood?”
I nodded.
“ Understood? ” he demanded more aggressively.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“You were not married, woman. That wasn’t a fucking marriage. It was prison. You hear me?”
Two tears slid down my cheeks. “I hear you.”
“Good,” he stated gruffly. “Asking again. Do you need marriage?”
I swallowed around his second-to-last word. Need . Did I? What if I said yes, and that wasn’t what he wanted?
I hadn’t realized I’d looked away from him until he palmed my throat and nudged my jaw with his thumb. “Talk to me.”
“You said need. And that’s different from want. And I don’t want to want what you don’t want.”
“Woman.”
“I know. You don’t have to appease me on this, or say some Blade-ism that will condense everything down to one or two words that will somehow magically all make sense. I get it. You’re asking what I want. But I’m telling you that I only want what you want.”
“Seven,” he stated.
Sucking in a breath, I looked at him. “What?”
“How many times you said want .”
“Oh.”
“Not asking for bullshit. You either need that security or you don’t.”
“I need it,” I blurted.
“Done.”
Every part of me deflated. “That’s not very romantic.”
“Did I fucking ask you to marry me?”
I blinked.
“Simple question.”
My heart stuttered, then perished. “No.”
“Then we understand each other.”
“Mm-hmm. Right. Got it.” I stood, soaking wet sweatshirt hanging over my ass and all. “I’m, um, going inside.”
“Wait.” He dunked under the surface, scrubbed his hands over his head, then popped back up with his eyes open, unblinking, and trained on me.
It was unnerving. “You’re unnerving.”
“You’re pissed off.”
“I am not.” I was hurt. “I’m cold.”
He pulled me toward him. “Arms up.”
“No.” I uselessly pushed at his chest. “I’m going in.”
“Not with your wet sweatshirt on.”
Oh my God. “I’ll freeze without it.”
“You’ll freeze worse with it.” He grabbed the hem and yanked.
My sweatshirt came off, then he stripped off his sweats and tossed both onto a nearby lounge chair that was half buried under snow and picked me up.
Seconds later, my teeth were chattering, and his wet hair was in frozen clumps, but he’d already stepped out of the hot tub, flipped back the cover, and was walking inside with me cradled in his arms.
Then he pulled back the comforter on the huge bed, laid me down, and wordlessly tucked me in before walking naked to the fireplace.
The embers from last night’s fire were still glowing as he placed some kindling, a few new logs, and grabbed the poker.
I watched his huge, muscled body that was both perfectly still as he squatted on one leg, and moving as effortlessly as water as he single-handedly prodded the logs until flames were crackling.
When he stood, he scanned the room and slider doors so quickly that I wasn’t sure if it was even a conscious thought for him or just ingrained into his DNA at this point. But when his cool, light blue eyes landed on me and heated with intent, I knew that was purposeful.
And predatorily animalistic.
I shivered under the thick comforter, and he walked into the bathroom.
The faucet briefly turned on, then a moment later, he was striding toward the bed with towel-dried hair and intent.