Chapter Fourteen
Panic seizes my breath, and my heart sprints to 180 beats per minute. My hair might be bound up into a half-looped bun, my legs bare under the knee-length skirt, but the room is a million degrees.
Because my angry mate is sitting in the armchair beside my bed on the other side of this bland, banal hotel room.
Wickham Barrett is a force of nature in jeans and a fitted black tee. I’ve never seen him in anything other than a suit, or parts of it, and the surprise means I lose a second of reaction time.
He’s casually reclined, with his phone in his hand and his dark hair precisely combed to the side, as if he’s waiting for his coffee order and not to abduct me.
I scan the space for anything I can’t leave without, but I dropped my purse by the door and I don’t have shoes on. My brain whirs at the speed of my heart beating while I work out my escape.
If I can get to the lobby, I can scream for help.
“ Annie ,” he says, his voice full of reprimand. Dilated pupils and a tight jaw thoroughly establish his frustration.
Fuck the lobby. I’m aiming for the hallway and hoping someone is willing to intervene. I shift my weight onto my back foot, ready to pivot and spring away.
“ Don’t , Annie,” he adds.
But I don’t listen. I swing around and run for the exit. I ignore the shoes and purse and make it to the handle before his wide palm slaps onto the surface of the thick door.
I still twist the handle and yank on it, desperate to escape.
His breath is hot on my bare neck. Musky cologne and lemony whiskey invade my nostrils, bringing an unwelcome warmth in my belly.
“Don’t, Annie,” he hums in my ear, and I hate that I love that tone. That reproachful vibration that makes my hindbrain immediately dive into attraction when I should be fleeing.
I could blame the hormones or the mate connection, but it’s simply him . Wick is overbearing and self-important, but his certain focus on me is compelling and demands my attention.
He presses his strong body against my back, his hips grinding against my ass and making me tilt my head to instinctively offer skin to him.
He presses a lingering kiss at the crook of my neck and shivers rock my body.
I rest my forehead on the cool surface of the door and wait for him to bite me.
I’m expecting it.
He said he’d do it.
He never confirmed he’d wait until I’m ready.
In that moment, in that shining clarity of being pressed against him with my body so prepared to accept the bond, I recognize I do not want this yet and I won’t be giving it up easy.
His rough tongue licks a long line from my shoulder up to my neck and nips at me.
I use the distraction to swing around and shove the heel of my palm into his face. I angle sideways, and even though the strike rolls off his jaw, it still reroutes him to the side.
Pepper spray is hidden in the bedside table. There’s one in my purse too, but there’s too much junk in the bag for me to pick through it.
I spring for the bed, but only make it two steps before he hooks an arm around my waist and swings me to the wall.
“Stop, Annie,” he growls.
I twist and reach for the nightstand anyway.
He traps my wrists above my head and forces me to look at him. I wriggle and fight him off, but still he bests me.
He’s a dragon. I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to beat him. It was foolish, and in that moment, I hate everything.
I hate him for demanding my submission.
I hate myself for wanting it.
I hate this fucking room and this bed and my salvation only a few feet away.
I growl and fight harder, and somehow, I shove him off. He staggers to the area at the foot of the bed, ready to pounce again, but I press both hands to his chest to stop him.
“I hate you!” I scream.
“You hate me?” he hollers back. “I’ve done everything I can for you!”
“Except leave me alone!”
He bats my hands away.
“Annie, I will never leave you alone. You are mine. That’s fate. It cannot be undone. You fighting it is cute, but it’s useless.”
Cute?
CUTE?
My hands ball into tight fists like I’ll legitimately punch him.
“Oh, fuck you, Wickham Barrett! You don’t know the first thing about me. I’m nothing more than a trophy to you.”
“I know everything you’ve let me know,” he growls.
“You might know my bank account number and my breakfast order, but you do not know me . You never will.”
He lunges for me and seizes hold of my wrists. He spins me and traps me in his arms bound tightly around my waist.
This man, this impossible man, fully lifts me off my feet and takes a step toward the door. He thinks he can force me to leave with him.
“You can take me wherever you want, but I’ll never be yours.”
Without warning, he drops me to my feet and whirls me around.
“Enough,” he snarls. “You don’t hate me; you hate having to sacrifice. You hate risks and change. You hate having to trust anything to someone else.”
“That’s not true,” I insist and poke a finger into his stupidly firm chest.
“No? You’re always pricking at my jealousy, but you don’t acknowledge your own. How would you feel if I left and brought someone else to my basement?”
My muscles practically shake with fury.
“You wouldn’t dare,” I seethe.
“You hate me. You don’t want me. You run from me. You avoid me. You send these one-sided texts. It’s all about you. Maybe I don’t want a mate who’s utterly unavailable.”
Tears stream down my face.
“Don’t,” I whimper.
His face breaks for the barest moment. His head knocks back as he frowns, but then Frustrated Wick comes back.
“Don’t what, Annie? Don’t want you? Don’t rearrange my life to chase after you? Don’t sacrifice my business, my very existence, for you ? It’s too late for all that. I already need you—have needed you since the first time blue eyes and the scent of lemon and lavender hit me like a baseball bat to the skull.”
He yanks my arms and traps me in an embrace as his mouth falls on mine. The kiss is needy and insistent, like he’s desperate to have me finally agree.
Wickham Barrett chases my lips as he demands I prove my indifference.
Because he knows I can’t.
Being so close to him after so many weeks apart makes my heart both sing and sorrowful. A few minutes at that club wasn’t enough.
I want to go with him because I’m an idiot.
“Prove you hate me, Annie,” he breathes and nips at my bottom lip.
I snake an arm up to grip his hair and tug his head away. He grips the side clasp on my skirt and lets it fall to the ground.
“I hate you,” I snarl with complete eye contact.
He smirks, but he quickly hides it. “I don’t think you do.”
Wick grabs my ass and grinds our hips together. My heart thuds in my chest as if it wants to break free, and my lungs heave like I’m suffocating.
Because I am. I’m drowning in my mate—in my neediness and his demands.
Being with Wick is like being willingly swept to sea. I have no choice, but I freely float in the viciously enjoyable currents.
“Kneel for me,” he demands, more growl than words. My body reacts instinctively, as if the idea was my own, and I sink to the floor.
My fingers shake as I scrabble for the shirt tucked into his waistband.
The fabric finally comes loose, but he straightens to yank it overhead. While he does, I attack his belt buckle and the button of his pants.
Bare skin welcomes me to touch. He’s completely naked underneath. Fuck, his hard shaft is the most perfect pink and weeping at the head.
His low murmurs are angry and unintelligible, but I wrestle the fabric off his hips while he tears my shirt from my body.
Shivers wrack me as I peer up at him from the floor, at the gentle roll of his chest and dusting of hair, then to the man himself, smirking like he’s annoyed he won.
He cups the nape of my neck and tempts my head upward.
“Open those gorgeous lips, mate, or I’m going to fuck you before you’re ready.”
I do as he commands and suck his cock into my mouth so hard that it hits the back of my throat. He backs off when I gag and proceeds to use both hands cradling my head and neck to push my mouth onto him.
Spittle rolls down my jaw and neck while he uses me, and fucking hell , is it the hottest thing any man has ever done.
“Finger yourself,” he grunts. “Open up that tight pussy for me to claim.”
I snake my hand between my legs and waste no time in doing as he asks. My digits slide easily through my soaked core, and I work on keeping my lips closed and suction tight while focusing on getting myself off.
I know I won’t. He’ll never let me get there unless he’s inside me. He’d said as much weeks ago and he’s delivered on that promise.
I roll my tongue around his shaft, and he pushes deeper into my throat again. When he feels me tense, though, he withdraws entirely.
“On the bed. Now,” he demands as he snatches a condom from his pants pocket on the floor.
I shouldn’t listen.
I know I shouldn’t, but I want to.
I want it so badly, he could ask for far worse.
As I’m crawling onto the mattress, thick fingers wrap around my ankle and haul me back.
“You’ll present for me first,” he says.
Before I can utter an “I’ll do what?” he positions my knees at the edge of the bed with my ass in the air.
My panties are jerked to my knees until one side tears.
Wick presses my chest into the stiff white linens with a hand between my shoulder blades. Fingers slip and twist through my soaked center.
“My mate wants to be fucked. Look how wet you are for me.”
He thrusts a finger inside me, and I struggle against the other hand holding me down.
“Shhh, it’s okay, Annie. I’ll be in you soon enough.”
I groan as his one thick finger, and then a second, thrust in. It’s tight, but the initial pinch adds to the fervor burning in my belly.
By the time he positions his hips behind mine, I’m rocking onto his hand in time with his movements.
Wick pushes the head of his cock into me, then teases me like that for several moments. The hand between my shoulders moves to my lower back.
He holds me down with tightly restrained insistence. It’s there in how his fingertips grip my skin. It’s in his quick shallow breaths.
My mate is barely holding on. It reminds me of our first night together when he thought he’d break me.
Fuck that. If I’m going to have hate sex, it’s going to mean hair pulling, scratches, claw marks, and next-day bruises.
I shift my hips to plunge him fully into me with one hard impalement. The fingers on my back grip harder while I swing my hips and attempt to take what’s mine.
But those same hands, so much stronger than me and in a better position, trap me with him seated deep inside my pussy.
He slaps my ass hard enough that the sound echoes in my ear and the sting reverberates in my core.
“My fucking mate,” he murmurs darkly before he takes me in earnest.
Wick tilts my hips up to present my exposed center. He wastes no time sinking his dick into me, thrusting hard again and again.
He grips my ass, exactly like he promised the night we met, and fucks me like he owns me.
Because he does.
In this moment, in this position, I’m helpless beneath him and simply riding out the hurricane that is Wickham Barrett.
Firm hands relentlessly pull me onto his cock while he thrusts into me.
The grueling pace and depth make it hard to think about anything else. He plants a foot beside my knees and lets loose.
Our hips collide, the sound of our breaths and the strike of our bodies loud enough to be embarrassing.
Wick rears back, his body as taut as a tightrope while he grunts and growls and takes from me.
His hand circles around the nape of my neck, and he folds himself over me to thrust as deep as he can.
“Mine,” he growls under his breath. I don’t think he realizes I hear him, but it’s become a driving beat he repeats again and again.
Having him let loose is the highlight of the last several weeks. Like when I was on the run, Wick seems like he’s everywhere at once.
His hot breath lifts goosebumps on my back.
Claws extend on his fingers and dig into the mattress around my neck, but they don’t so much as prick my skin.
His cock takes full ownership of me, as if he can mark me with sex like he wants to do with his bite.
My pussy clenches around him, my body prepared to strangle him through an orgasm.
“Mine, mine . . . mine . . . ”
But then, the moment breaks.
He slows, his shoulders shaking to loosen them.
I mutter and shift my hips against him, but he holds me steady.
“ Come on , Wick!” I demand. “Finish me already.”
This impossible man climbs onto the bed and drags me with him.
The 180 stuns me so much, I do as he asks without consciously being aware of it.
I wanted a good hard fuck. Clearly, so did he. So why stop?
He settles himself on the bed, his height that much more than mine, yet he leans to the side to kiss me all the same.
He grabs my knee and hooks it over his hip, lining his cock up at my entrance.
Bold green eyes fixate on mine, the golden flecks forming into a slitted oval that both scares and entices me.
When he pushes inside, the stretch immediately brings the most immense relief.
I’m sore, and it’s been weeks since he had me last, but none of that matters.
Because my stupid heart is happy to have him here, in bed, with me.
He’s gentle again, his thickness amplifying his care instead of taking away from it. I’m so wet, he easily slides in and out.
I shift my hips against him to encourage him to fuck me harder.
“Yeah, you really hate me,” he grumbles.
“I will if you don’t hurry the fuck up and get me off.”
Wick smirks, the mischief obvious. I know he’s planning something, even if he can’t address it right this second.
But he still gives me what I want. His hips shift and swing forward as he sinks harshly into me.
The pace picks up as Wick impales me on his hard cock. My body heats eagerly at the sensation.
“Wick,” I whisper.
“Fucking mine, Annie. Entirely mine.”
Wick leans in for a kiss, but it isn’t angry in the least. It’s slow and painful. His lips part and his tongue swipes at mine in this sensual play I’ve yet to experience from him.
“Yours,” I whisper back. I don’t think he hears me. I barely say it, but he senses the shift. He pivots on top of me, his arms holding him up even while he pins me to the mattress. He stops moving entirely to peer down at me.
When he resumes his pace, it’s slow and deep.
Wick combs fly-aways off my forehead as he sinks into me with the roll of his hips.
Those hypervigilant eyes are practically slits. Wick takes me in a deep rhythm that never relents. It’s like he realized he didn’t like where we were going and wants to try again, because irate Wick is gone.
This Wick is soulful and earnest and repentant.
He strokes a long thumb over my cheek and watches my lips part for him.
“Mine,” he whispers. “And yours, Annie. Always yours.”
That thought finally sinks in. Yes, we have our problems. He still wants to lock me in the basement.
But I can’t ignore the threads tying us together.
I’m his, but he’s also mine.
I can’t escape.
And I don’t want to.
His pace picks up, his steady rhythm never faltering and patiently pushing me to the precipice.
His earthy, rich scent warms my chest. Slick sweat makes our skin glide over each other, like our bodies are tired of the constant friction between us.
Without thinking, I hook my legs high around his waist so he grazes my clit. He seems to realize why I’ve done it, because he begins to shift in a way that makes him grind against me.
“Show me you’re mine, gorgeous,” he murmurs. “Come for me. Squeeze my cock and fulfill every fantasy I’ve had for weeks.”
I grip his ribs, and he rolls his hips, and the climax erupts within me. It isn’t some streaming explosion of pleasure, but a bubbling over of the heat and electricity that his patient insistence has wrought. It’s worn my body down to the point it no longer wants to resist.
When he comes, his mouth strains in a smile. Sharp teeth peek out, and I worry he’ll bite me, but he doesn’t even try.
We lay together, both exhausted, until his breathing finally slows.
Wick finds his feet and wanders into the bathroom to toss the condom.
The door shuts, and I realize this is my opportunity.
My clothes are rumpled but usable.
I don’t bother to dress.
The emergency exit is only thirty feet from my door. I would know; I’ve started planning escapes. I’ll disappear into the stairwell, dress quickly, fly down the stairs, and walk out the door like nothing is wrong.
I swipe my purse.
I can’t believe I’m about to wander naked through the halls after hate sex with Wick. Who even am I anymore?
Wick feels more and more inevitable, and I can admit that the idea calls to me more than it ever has.
...but the prospect of losing all my freedom and being locked away in some isolated country estate crashes a strike of panic through me.
I just need some space. A few clear moments outside of the fog of Wick’s possessiveness to decide for myself.
I reach for the door.
I want it to be my decision and not just his.
But when my hand hits the handle, there’s a pinch on my neck.
And everything fades to black.