Chapter Ten #2
His burning anger curled in upon itself and became a different kind of burn altogether. His cock rose, throbbed in tandem with his thrumming pulse.
He smacked her bottom again, several times in succession, then swept his palm over the flesh. She murmured something he couldn’t make out and rubbed against him—ostensibly an attempt to escape but Ewan knew better.
He’d had her many times now. He’d brought her to bliss more than once. He knew, he could tell, she was aroused. He didn’t need her to turn just then and glance up at him with that simmering expression.
He clenched his teeth and smacked her once more, this time following it with a swipe between her legs. And ah, yes. She was dripping wet.
“You like this.” An accusation. A jubilant crow.
“No.”
“Admit it.” He toyed with her pearl, that hard, slick little button bathed in cream.
“No. No!”
“Violet,” he tsked. “A man can tell. Admit it.” He eased his palm over the glowing globes of her ass, teasing her with occasional forays between them.
Her dampness swelled. She squirmed on his lap as he teased, bucking and sighing each time he brushed her clitoris.
“You want this,” he hissed. “You want more. Say it.”
She growled as he came close then danced away. It was a petulant growl.
“Say it. Admit it.”
“Yes.” A whisper, spat out like poison.
He circled her nub. “What? I couldna make that out.”
“Yes!”
Elation slashed through him in harsh, hot shards. His pulse kicked up a notch. His cock lurched. A prickle rose at the nape of his neck. Hunger howled in his soul. Unable to resist, unable to think, really, he jammed his fingers into her waiting cavern.
She stiffened, bellowed, came around him.
Ach. Aye. Complete and utter satisfaction whipped through him. She was so wet, so tight, so incredibly hot, he nearly came himself. But he didn’t. He fought back the urge.
It was difficult.
He did not let her orgasm trickle away. Oh no. He reached deeper, stroked her harder, worked away inside of her, keeping her there in the taut grip of bliss—coming again and again and again—until she was a panting, sobbing, limp mass dangling over his thighs.
Then, like the beast she claimed he was, he laid her on the bed, on her belly. He undid the ties of his braes and hunched behind her, lifting her boneless body into position, covered her...and he drove home.
She engulfed him with a warm, wet heat. The sweetest embrace. Her tender folds fluttered around him. The intimate caress made him mindless. She was exquisite.
He plunged into her body again and again from every conceivable angle, reveling in her low moans, the way she braced herself and pressed back, taking him deeper, urging him on.
She thought him an animal? He would show her how an animal fucked his mate.
Wildly. With no restraint.
He took command of her body. Complete domination. Violet was his and he would prove his claim like this.
Semen burned at the base of his cock, clamoring for release.
He hissed a breath between his teeth as she came again, squeezing his cock in an agonizing grip.
Passion possessed him. His thrusts went from long, hard plunges to short, deep, desperate lunges.
Because the beast howled, because need clawed, because he burned to underscore who held dominion here, he smacked her bottom once more.
And because, with that smack, she seized around him in a way that sent knives of pleasure into his belly, he did it again and again.
And then he could do nothing. Nothing but sink his fingers into the flesh of her hips and hold her in place as his body, his mind, exploded with sensation. He flooded her as jet after scorching jet flowed from his body into hers.
When it was all over, he didn’t withdraw. He stayed seated within her. A reminder to her. A declaration.
She belonged to him.
At long last, he eased out and flipped her over and covered her again, possessed her again, this time with his mouth, dominating her with his lips and tongue.
That her response matched his soothed his soul. At least a bit.
He raised his head and stared into her eyes. “You are mine,” he growled. “Mine.” He shook her. “Say it.”
“Y-yours.” Her voice trembled on the word.
Her expression was sated, soft. He loved the way she looked in the afterglow of passion.
She stole his sanity. Words escaped him.
He pressed a kiss on her forehead, tasting the sheen of her sweat.
Then another on her cheeks, her lashes, the tip of her nose.
“Never run from me again,” he said, although this time it was not a snarl. More of a plea. And then, bereft of all vigor, drained absolutely dry, he collapsed at her side.
The desire to sleep teased at the ragged edges of his consciousness but he didn’t succumb. He wasn’t stupid.
Before he drifted off, he went to the box where he kept his hunting supplies and found a coil of rope.
And he tied her to the bed.
Violet was annoyed with herself. More than annoyed.
She shot a glance at Ewan from beneath her lashes as he led her down the track in the woods...at the end of the rope.
She’d done it again. She’d succumbed to his charms. Granted, she hadn’t had much of a choice. Not with him teasing her and tormenting her until her passion would not be denied.
The feel of his palm on her bare bottom had shocked her. Her reaction had shocked her more.
She’d been caned more than once as a girl. Her father had been a proponent of a heavy hand and she had been rather defiant. But she’d never enjoyed a whipping. Never felt that curl of anticipation and delight and heat as she did when Ewan draped her over his lap and paddled her behind.
What kind of woman liked that?
She wasn’t sure. Also, she wasn’t sure what kind of woman a craving like this made her. It had been all she could do to press her lips closed and not beg, plead for more.
And the ecstasy that followed had been unlike anything she’d ever experienced. The thrill of having Ewan take her from behind, control her movements, force wave after wave of pleasure upon her, had been stupefying.
An apt word, she snorted to herself.
Stupefying indeed.
She was an idiot. A love-sodden idiot.
Any woman with an ounce of self-respect would at least have pretended to hate it. Would have protested a little more than she had.
But now he knew. He’d even said the words. She was his. Completely. She would do anything and everything he asked. She was helpless to resist.
And he knew it.
They rounded a curve and the shoreline of the river hove into view. Violet’s heart hitched.
Well, so much for her attempt at escape.
He would never give her so much as the hint of an opportunity again.
She wriggled her wrists, chafing against the harsh threads of the rope. Did he really need to tie her up and lead her like a donkey? Apparently he felt he did. She glared at him. He didn’t notice.
He hailed the men lounging on the shore, calling them to ready the boat. As they approached, the men took in the sight of her bondage and broad grins cracked their usually surly faces. Had she been free, she would have scratched their eyes out.
She didn’t protest when Ewan lifted her into the boat. There was no point. And they were halfway to the island before she realized she was helpless, tied in a boat on a river, and there was not a flicker of panic in her soul.
There was no room for old fears.
New fears had replaced them completely.
Because she was, without question, completely and utterly in love with a brigand.