Chapter 7
CINDY
The silence in the car on the way back to the compound feels different.
Tense, but in a way I don’t really understand.
The silk dress feels foreign against my skin, like I'm wearing someone else's life.
I stare out the window and think about my life. It’s divided into a before and after Luka. I can’t decide if it’s better or worse. If I’m being really honest with myself, being with Luka is better in a lot of ways.
But it’s so uncertain.
When does the “after Luka” start?
I've had enough of the mixed signals, the possessive bullshit followed by cold distance. If I'm going to be trapped here, I deserve answers.
Luka escorts me upstairs but doesn't follow me down the hall to where my room is. He starts to walk away, dismissing me like I'm some employee he's done with for the evening.
"Oh hell no," I mutter, kicking off the torture devices masquerading as heels. "We're not done."
I chase after him in bare feet, the silk dress hiked up so I can move. "Luka!"
He stops but doesn't turn around. His shoulders are rigid beneath the expensive suit jacket.
"What the hell was that back there?" I demand, circling to face him. "You drag me to that dinner, parade me around like your property, then get all psychotic when other men talk to me. What am I to you?"
His hazel eyes are unreadable in the moonlight. "You're here."
"That's not an answer." Frustration boils over. A lifetime of being dismissed and ignored has brought me to the point of a fucking volcanic eruption.
I’m done.
I’m done being a fucking pawn in everyone else’s life.
"Why keep me here if you don't trust me? Why get jealous when we're not even really together? One night in your garage doesn't mean you own me."
Something dangerous flickers across his face. "Doesn't it?"
"No! It doesn't!" I shove against his chest, but he doesn't budge. "I'm not your possession. I'm not your girlfriend. I'm not your anything except your fucking prisoner."
The words hang between us like a challenge. Then he moves faster than I can react, backing me against the wall. His hands brace on either side of my head, caging me in.
"Mine," he growls, his voice low and deadly. "Say it."
"Go fuck yourself."
His jaw clenches. The muscle in his cheek twitches. "Say it, Cindy."
"No."
The defiance feels good, even as my heart hammers against my ribs. I raise my hand to slap him—to do something, anything, to break through that infuriating control of his.
He catches my wrist before I can make contact, pulling me hard against his body. Then his mouth crashes down on mine.
Pure possession, rough and demanding. His tongue sweeps into my mouth like he's conquering territory.
I should fight him—should bite and scratch and remind him that I'm not some willing participant in whatever twisted game this is.
Instead, I melt.
The man is completely feral, and I fucking like it.
I must be twisted because I want him unhinged.
My free hand fists in his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. He releases my captured wrist to slide both hands down my body, bunching the silk dress up around my hips.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs against my throat, his teeth scraping sensitive skin.
I can't. The word won't come. Instead, I arch into his touch as his fingers find the edge of my panties.
"Luka," I gasp.
"That's not what I want to hear." His fingers slip beneath the lace, finding me already wet and ready. "Tell me to stop or tell me you're mine."
I bite my lip, refusing to give him what he wants. He slides one finger inside me, then two, his thumb circling my clit with maddening precision.
"Stubborn," he murmurs, but there's approval in his voice.
He pleasures me with his fingers, building the pressure until I'm trembling against the wall. My head falls back, a moan escaping despite my determination to stay quiet.
"Come for me," he commands, his voice rough with desire.
The words shoot straight to my core. My thighs tremble against his hips. My fingers dig crescents into his shoulders through the expensive fabric of his shirt. The pressure builds, coiling tighter and tighter until—
"Luka!" His name tears from my throat as everything detonates.
White-hot pleasure races down my spine, my inner walls clenching around his fingers.
I taste copper—I've bitten my lip to keep from screaming.
The hallway spins, or maybe that's just me, lost in the aftershocks that ripple through every nerve.
Before my breathing even steadies, he's lifting me. My legs wrap around his waist on instinct, my body still pulsing with want.
I can feel his hardness behind the zipper of his pants.
I’m so fucking insane with want. He’s given me an orgasm, but I want more.
I need it.
I rub my pussy against him.
“Get yourself off,” he grunts.
The command sends fire through my veins. I'm pressed against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist, and he wants me to use him for my own pleasure. The power in that reversal makes me dizzy with want.
I rock my hips against the hard ridge of his erection, the friction sending sparks through my core. The silk dress is bunched up around my waist. I can feel the expensive fabric of his suit pants through the thin lace of my panties.
Panties that are soaked with my own desire.
"That's it," he growls against my throat. "Take what you need."
I move faster, chasing the building pressure. My hands grip his shoulders for leverage as I grind against him. The wall is cool against my back, but his body is furnace-hot against my front.
"I hate you," I pant, even as I use his body to chase another climax.
"I know." His hands grip my thighs, helping me move against him. "Hate me all you want. You're still mine."
The words should infuriate me. Instead, they push me over the edge again. I bite down on his shoulder to muffle my cry, my body shuddering with the force of the orgasm.
He holds me there, my legs still wrapped around his waist, my back pressed against the wall while the aftershocks ripple through me. Slowly, so slowly, he loosens his grip on my thighs, letting me slide down his body until my feet touch the floor.
My legs are shaky, trembling like a newborn colt's. I keep one hand braced against the wall, the other clutching his shoulder for balance. The hallway light casts shadows across his face, but I can see the hunger still burning in his eyes.
"Now tell me you're mine," he says, his voice rough. His palms rest against the wall on either side of my head, caging me in but not touching, giving me space to breathe, to choose.
I look up at him, this dangerous man who's turned my world upside down. His hair is messed from my fingers; his suit wrinkled from our encounter. But his eyes are still that cold hazel, still unreadable.
"This doesn't change anything," I whisper, but even I can hear how hollow the words sound.
"It changes everything." His thumb traces my swollen lower lip, and I fight the urge to suck it into my mouth. "You came on my fingers, screaming my name. You think you can go back to hating me after that?"
The truth sits heavy between us. I can still feel him inside me, my body clenching around the memory. My underwear is destroyed somewhere on the floor. His cum is sliding down my thigh.
"I still hate you," I say, but my arms are around his neck, my fingers threading through his hair.
"Good," he murmurs against my throat. "Hate me all you want. Your body knows who it belongs to."
Maybe he's right. Maybe I am his.
The thought should terrify me more than it does.
"Again," he says.
He spins me around, pressing my chest against the wall as he rips off my panties.
I’m glad he’s buying my clothes because I’m guessing he has a propensity for destroying panties. He positions himself at my entrance through his open pants.
He pushes into me slowly, filling me completely. The stretch is intense, overwhelming. I cry out, my fingers curling against the wall.
"Look at me," he orders and grabs my chin.
I twist my head and look into his intense gaze as he begins to move. Each thrust drives me higher, building toward another peak I didn't think was possible.
"Mine," he says again, punctuating the word with a particularly deep thrust.
This time, I don't argue. I can't. I'm lost in sensation. The feeling of him moving inside me while he's watching me like I'm the only thing that exists in his world drives me wild.
I whimper and moan. Pleasure spreads over me. My toes curl. My body vibrates with ecstasy.
His mouth covers mine. It’s angry and demanding.
The third orgasm hits me like lightning, arcing through every nerve ending. I bite down on his lip to muffle my scream. His groan of pleasure rocks through me.
He follows me over the edge with a low growl. His body shudders against mine as he empties himself inside me.
He slides out of me and turns me to face him. I slump against the wall. My legs feel like jelly.
Then he's pulling me into his arms, cradling me against his chest. His breathing is still ragged, his heart pounding beneath my cheek.
"Next time you disobey," he murmurs into my hair, his voice carrying that familiar edge of danger, "I won't be so gentle."
I want to tell him there won't be a next time. Want to remind him that this changes nothing between us. But the words stick in my throat, because some traitorous part of me is already wondering what "not gentle" would feel like.
Instead, I close my eyes and let myself be held, just for this moment, by the man who stole me and might be stealing my heart in the process.
He steps back and does up his pants.
I realize I have never seen his body naked. Only his cock.
I push my dress down and pick up the torn panties. I hang them off my finger. “Is this your kink?” I tease.
He looks bored as he stares at the panties. “They get in the way.”
I smirk and am about to retort when I hear a male clear his throat.
I gasp and close my hand around the panties.
“Sir, we’ve got a problem,” a man says from down the hall.
“How long has he been there?” I whisper.
Luka doesn’t answer.
“Tell me,” Luka says as he walks toward him.
He stops halfway between the guard and me. “My bed,” he orders.
“Me?”
He raises that one eyebrow.
Duh.
Who else?