7. Shaw #3
I tried to push against him, to dislodge his hold, but he responded by shoving me harder against the board.
“That’s it,” he growled, his arousal pressing against my ass. “Fight me. Make me work for it. It’ll feel so much better when you finally break.”
I wheeled around to face him. Before he could reassert control, I grabbed his tie, yanking him forward into a brutal kiss.
He made a sound of surprise that transformed into a growl of approval.
His hands fisted in my hair, pulling hard enough to bring tears to my eyes as he took control of the kiss, his tongue invading my mouth with punishing force.
He pressed me against the whiteboard again, the metal tray digging painfully into my lower back.
One of his hands left my hair to grip my shoulder.
When he broke the kiss, our chests heaved. “Look at you,” he panted, his eyes dark with triumph. “So desperate to prove you’re not submitting, you’ll attack first. But we both know what you really want.”
“And what’s that?” I demanded.
“To be conquered.” He stripped off my sweater. “To be forced past every boundary you’ve set for yourself. To feel the pleasure you think you shouldn’t want. Pleasure that scares you because of how dark it is.” He worked open my belt and jeans.
His accusations hit too close to the twisted desires I’d been fighting since our first encounter. I grabbed his wrists, halting his progress. “Stop talking like you know me.”
He wove a dangerous spell with his words. “I can taste the darkness in you every time we touch. Every time you fight me, only to surrender.” He wrenched his wrists free with ease, then seized both of mine, pinning them above my head with one hand. “It calls to the same darkness in me.”
His free hand slipped inside my open jeans, past the barrier of my underwear to grip my erection. The contact drew a strangled moan from my lips despite my determination to resist.
“See?” His strokes were deliberately rough, the edge of pain heightening the pleasure. “Your body knows what it wants, even if you’re too afraid to admit it.”
I bucked against his hold, not sure if I was trying to escape or get closer. “I’m not afraid.”
“Bullshit.” His grip tightened as he slowed to a maddening pace.
“You’re afraid of how much you like this.
Afraid of how badly you want me despite knowing what I am.
That you crave someone who belongs to the darkness you claim to despise.
Tell me you don’t want to fuck me until I forget every other man who’s ever touched me. Until only you remain.”
The crude words sent heat flooding through me, images of what he described filling my mind. I renewed my struggles, freeing one hand. Instead of pushing him away, I grabbed his hair, yanking his head back with enough force to make him hiss.
“Maybe I am afraid,” I admitted, my voice rough with desire and rage. “Afraid of what I’ll do to you if you keep pushing me.”
“Then do it,” he challenged, pressing harder against me. “Stop holding back. Stop pretending you don’t want to tear me apart.”
“You have no idea what I want to do to you,” I growled, tightening my grip on his hair. I didn’t understand why he was trying to push all my buttons to turn me into a monster.
He smirked. “Show me.”
I spun us around, slamming him against the whiteboard with enough force to daze him.
My hand found his throat, mimicking his earlier hold as I pressed my body against his.
“Is this what you want?” I demanded, squeezing enough to make him gasp.
“For me to lose control? To hurt you? To treat you like a whore?” The last word pained me.
“Yes,” he breathed, as my grip tightened. “Give in to what you really want.”
My free hand tore at his uniform jacket, ripping it off with the same violence he’d shown my sweater. “You think you know what I want?” I snarled, turning him around to face me again. “You think you can control me?”
“I already am,” he gasped, his hips rocking against me despite my aggression. “You’re finally showing your true self.”
The truth in his words only fueled my rage. “Is this what you wanted?” I demanded, grinding against him with deliberate cruelty. I felt dangerously close to the edge of breaking. “To make me as twisted as you are?”
His laugh was harsh and triumphant. “You were always twisted. I’m giving you permission to show it.” His body arched into mine, seeking more contact. “Now, stop talking and do something about it.”
I crashed my mouth against his, pouring all my rage into the kiss. As my tongue invaded his mouth, I tasted blood and victory. “Is this what you wanted?”
“Yes, this is exactly what I wanted. You, finally unleashed,” he admitted, no trace of mockery in his eyes now, only dark hunger. His tongue darted out to lick his bloodied lip. “The real question is, what are you going to do about it?”
I released one of his wrists to grip his jaw, forcing his head back against the whiteboard. “I’ll make you regret pushing me this far.”
His free hand didn’t push me away but grabbed my hip to pull me closer. “Promises, promises,” he taunted, though the rough quality of his voice betrayed his arousal. “Are you going to keep talking, or are you going to fuck me like you’ve been dying to since the moment you left me last night?”
The crude challenge broke something loose inside me, the final shred of restraint I’d been clinging to. I released his other wrist to tear at his belt, my movements rough with urgency and rage.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, his hands moving to help me. “Stop fighting it. Give in to what we both want.”
I should have resisted on principle, but Dante’s allure was too much to ignore as our hands tore off our clothes as fast as humanly possible.
“Now that we’ve established why you’re really here,” he said, his voice dropping to a seductive purr, “let’s see how much you want me.”