Chapter Eight #3
I hold a hand up and yank her toward me.
Then I spin her around, so her back is pressed against my chest. Her breath hitches in her throat as one arm stays on her waist, and the other moves to the buttons of her blouse.
She shivers when the shirt falls to the floor, and I splay my fingers over her stomach.
London mumbles something unintelligible when my other hand moves to her jeans, and I slide them off her hips.
When she’s in her bra and panties, I spin her around, and my eyes move over her. “I don’t like being kept in the dark, London.”
“I know, and I will tell you everything when I can.”
My eyes move back up to her face, and I hook my thumbs through her panties, so she falls against me. “I can think of other ways to get the truth.”
London exhales when I press my lips to her neck and lightly run my teeth there. “Mason, I…”
I trail a path from her neck to her ears and stop.
Then I thread my fingers through her hair and claim her mouth with mine.
A soft sigh falls from her lips as her arms come up to my shoulders to grip them.
I growl when one of her hands moves to trace my back and stops at my behind.
I bite on London’s bottom lip, hard enough to taste blood.
She gasps, and I plunge my tongue into her mouth, sweeping and sucking until I can feel her impatience.
I want her to feel how frustrating it is, and how it feels to tumble wildly out of control.
London’s hands drift down, but I draw back and look at her.
Through hooded eyes, London watches as I throw her over my shoulders and carry her to bed.
After setting her down, I pull out a pair of handcuffs and secure her arms on either side of her.
She tugs on her restraints, and her chest heaves as beads of sweat roll down her forehead and the sides of her face.
I climb onto the bed and settle in between her legs. “You need to stay away from him.”
London nods.
“I want to hear you say it,” I growl. “Noah’s father might seem harmless, but he won’t hesitate to use you against me.”
“He doesn’t have any interest in me—”
“He knows you’re mine, London,” I interrupt. “Everyone knows now. That means that they won’t hesitate to go after you just to spite me.”
London gasps when I rub my mouth against her wet center.
“Nobody else can touch you.”
London arches her back and moans. “Mason.”
My tongue darts between her wet folds, and I lick a languid path until she’s panting louder and chanting my name. I dig my nails into her skin and dig my tongue in deeper. London’s moans and whimpers reverberate inside my head, erasing every last thought until nothing else matters.
London will submit to me, one way or another, and if it means I have to fuck some sense into her, I’ll spend the next few days doing just that. Her body shakes and writhes as she rides out her high. I release my grip, lift my gaze, and look at her. She licks her lips and huffs out a breath.
Without warning, I throw her legs over my shoulders and thrust into her, causing us both to cry out. London bucks against me, and I press my forehead against hers. Over and over, I ease out and slam back into her, until we’re moving at a frantic pace.
As soon as I undo her cuffs, London rakes her nails down my back, sending waves of pain and pleasure through me.
I thrust harder, so she’s pressed between me and the headboard.
London places her head in the crook of my neck and inhales sharply.
When another orgasm washes over her, I feel her eyes on me. Slowly, I ease out of her, and she stares at me with lust-filled eyes. Then, she sits up and shifts closer. I stretch out on the bed and smirk when she throws one leg on either side of me and lowers herself.
I grip her hips and drive myself up and into her.
She throws her head back and grinds against me. “Fuck me.”
“As many times as it takes,” I say into her neck. I sink my teeth there, and she hisses, but starts moving faster. “We’ve got nowhere better to be, Kitten.”
By the time we pull apart, we’re both covered in sweat, and the pale light of the moon is glistening outside.
London collapses onto the bed, curls onto her side, and falls asleep.
I retrieve a bottle of whiskey and a glass from the cupboard under the bathroom sink and pour myself a drink.
As I stand in the doorway watching her sleeping form, I wonder if there’s anything I could’ve done differently.
I can’t dictate London’s every move without having her hate me.
And I know she’s trying to help in her own way.
You should take the win. Things with the Harrisons are going well. A mayor wants to strike up an alliance, and your performance at the warehouse tonight probably caused some damage. You can’t win them all, Payne.
I know I should consider the day a success, but as I climb into bed with London a short while later, I also feel like I’ve dug myself out of one hole and into a pit of quicksand.
How am I supposed to know which hands will pull me out and which will shove me in deeper?