Chapter 11 #2
His tone is casual, but it feels like a whip wrapped in silken threads curling around my body and pulling tighter. My insides quiver. There’s a threat in his voice which warns me to shut up. Shut up. Zip it, you idiot.
But what if I push him all the way? A frisson of thrill pinches my nerve-endings.
I want to see him unfettered. I want to goad him and watch him unravel.
I want to find out what he does once he sheds that iron control he wears like chains.
What will he do when he loses that iron grip on his emotions?
What will he do to me? And why do I know that I'll like it?
"Not how I’d put it, but if you want to see it that way, sure.” I raise a shoulder.
For a few seconds, his features turn into a mask of stone. Those blue eyes of his glitter with an emotion I later place as resolve.
And I know I’ve pushed him beyond the ability to think straight, for the next moment, the world tilts.
I yelp, for he’s bent his knees, wrapped his arm around my thighs and thrown me over his shoulder.
My hair flows down, blocking out my line of sight, and when he begins to stalk forward, my breasts bump into the hard expanse of his back.
My skirt rides up and cool air assails my upper thigh.
Ohmigod. Ohmigod. He’s carrying me over his shoulder in front of everyone.
Like he’s some neanderthal and I’m the woman he’s dragging to his cave.
My cheeks feel like they're on fire. And it’s not only from the blood which has rushed to my face. My scalp tingles. My skin feels too tight for my body. This is so embarrassing. So mortifying. But it’s also primal and exhilarating and…
No, no, no, how can I think of it like that? I seriously can’t be turned on, though my soaked panties say otherwise. This is the antithesis of every feminist principle I’ve ever believed in.
"What are you doing?" I cry.
He doesn’t answer. Just keeps moving.
My cross-body bag with my phone is caught between my stomach and his upper chest. I bury my fists into the unforgiving muscles between his shoulder blades, then hiss.
Pain shivers up my arm. Incredible. It’s like I’m beating my fists against a brick wall.
Or the side of a mountain. The man’s super-built.
And the way his muscles flex under his skin, every dip and roll of which I feel against my own, it’s as if we’re already melded into one organism.
And the fact that I’m so intimately close to him, and that my blood feels like it’s turned into a crimson tide of desire, and every cell in my body seems to have opened up and is absorbing his nearness, makes me so pissed off with myself.
I lock my fingers together, raise my joined-up fists and bring them down on the slope of his back.
He must feel something, for he tenses. Then, his big palm connects with my butt. A sharp pain squeals up my spine.
What the—! "Did you spank me?" I yell.
In reply, he smacks my other arse-cheek, and the first and the next. With each slap, my backside quivers, and the pain zooms straight to my cunt. Moisture drips out from between my legs, and I have to squeeze my thighs together. Then, he places a possessive palm over my butt and gently squeezes.
Instantly, the hollow sensation between my thighs curls in on itself.
A groan spills from my throat. I bite down on my lower lip to avoid making any further noise. How can I be so aroused? I should be worried I’ve lost every shred of pride I had, but I can’t bring myself to care for that. All of my attention is focused on the throbbing heavy flesh between my legs.
My silence must satisfy him, for he keeps moving forward.
I assume the crowd dispersed, for he carries me toward the exit without stopping. The warmth of his big palm over my butt reminds me he hasn’t removed it yet. It’s a declaration of his possession to the world.
I sense him walking up the short incline which leads onto the sidewalk. When he comes to a stop, I open my eyes, just as he wrenches open the front door of his car. He throws me down in the passenger seat.
The man carried me nearly a hundred yards over his shoulder and he’s not out of breath. And I’m not slim, by any means.
The blood rushes away from my face, and my head spins. It's a good thing I'm sitting. Or maybe it’s because his scent of woodsmoke and pine is in my nostrils. I feel like I’m surrounded by his presence in this car.
Without looking at me, he pulls my seatbelt across my chest, and when his knuckles brush against my pointed nipple, I shiver. He fastens my seatbelt and straightens, then shuts my door.
Knox walks over and talks to him. I hear the low murmur of their voices, before Quentin walks around. He shrugs on his T-shirt, then opens the door and slides into the driver’s seat.
I should get out of the car. I should leave, call Zoey, who I'm sure would be happy to come back and get me or call my sister.
I should do anything but go home with a man who just carried me like a sack of potatoes.
But as much as I'm furious, I don't want to leave.
I want to fight him because it will keep me in his blue gaze.
I turn on him. “How dare you carry me out of there like that?”
He places those thick fingers of his on the steering wheel and stares at me.
“Nothing to say for yourself? Do you realize how humiliating that was?” I burst out.
He inclines his head. “If I touched you between your legs, would I find you wet?”
I gape at him. “How?… What?… Why?… Why would you say that?” I sputter.
“Answer the question, Raven.”
I open my mouth, then shut it. I could lie and say I’m not. But somehow, I can’t bring myself to lie. So instead, I point at my head. “I’m blonde.”
He arches an eyebrow.
“You called me Raven. But I don’t have dark hair.”
“But there’s a darkness in you that yearns to be let out.
I begin to speak, but he holds up his hand. “Don’t bother denying it, when we both know it’s true.”
I swallow past the knot of emotion in my throat. How is it possible that this almost-stranger sees me when everyone else in my life sees what I portray for the outside world?
I hear a sound of distress emerge from my throat. He does, too.
He cups my cheek and somehow, his touch is soothing.
“It’s okay. It’s okay to let go. You’re safe with me.
I’ll never judge you, I promise. I want you to be true to yourself.
To your emotions. To what you feel inside.
To what you want to be. To explore what you feel.
Your feelings. Your desires. Your deepest darkest needs. They all matter to me.”
A bead of sweat runs down his temple. It’s cold in the car but I feel like a million flames are trying to burst out of my skin. “I... I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you do. You liked it when I carried you out of there.”
I shake my head.
“You loved it when I spanked you.”
“No, no, no.” I squeeze my eyes shut.
“You craved more of my touch when I massaged your arse. And knowing everyone was watching us only turned you on further. Your feelings of humiliation pushed you further in the direction of an orgasm.
“Oh, my god!” I slap my hands over my ears. “Stop, please.”
When he does, I’m surprised enough to open my eyes and look at him and instantly realize, it’s a mistake. There’s empathy in his gaze, and understanding, and below it all, a thick, heavy lust coats his features. A need which touches a hidden part of me.
He sits straight, his military bearing hard, uncompromising. Precise, like the edge of a scalpel knife. He could cut me and hurt me, and damn him, but I’d enjoy the pain.
He reaches for me slowly, like I’m an animal who could bolt at any time, and when I don’t flinch away, he cups my cheek. “You can trust me. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I whisper. To be honest, I don’t understand where these words are coming from, or what exactly I mean by them.
But he does, for he nods. “I promise, I’ll never do anything you don’t want. You have the power in this relationship.”
“Doesn’t seem that way from where I’m sitting.”
“You think I have the power because I have the money that you need, but you forget that you have something I need, too.”
“Sure, you need to get married, so your father confirms you as the CEO of the company and you secure your inheritance.”
“Not only.” His lips curve, and his smile is a little sad. “I need you because you remind me of possibilities. You give me hope that there’s more to life than what I’ve lived so far. You make me believe in everything that is good and beautiful; you're an antidote to what I've seen as a Marine.”
I laugh self-consciously. “You’re making me out to be something I'm not.”
“I have no doubt that you’re submissive.”
I swallow. It’s one thing for me to realize that for myself. But hearing it from him makes me feel exposed. Like I have nowhere to hide. I’ve never been this seen as with this man.
His gaze intensifies. “You give me a reason to focus my attention, something I am grateful for. And if you choose me to bring out your submissiveness, then it’s an honor I will never take lightly.
You hold the power...to say no. I have the prerogative to test your limits, so you learn more about yourself, but the final say in whether you want me to dominate you or not is up to you. ”
I clear my throat. “Am… I... Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?”
“Do you expect me to believe that you don’t?”