Chapter 3 Destiny
Destiny
I should be free by now. This is bullshit. The metal of the handcuff grates against my wrist, a dull ache against bone. But the deeper throb is elsewhere, a traitorous pulse keeping time between my legs, answering the pressure of his fingers against my thighs.
This is a power play, nothing more. A test of who breaks first. The key glints in the corner of my eye, a cruel, arms-length mockery of my freedom. If only I’d been able to reach a little further…
My breath hitches as his fingers dig deeper into my thigh, his thumb sneaking beneath the frayed cuff. The borrowed shorts are already obscenely short, offering him no resistance, no real barrier. He wouldn’t get anything from me without a fight.
I roll my hips, a defiant motion meant to destroy this cool front of his. It earns a low, rough grunt from him, a sound that vibrates straight through my core. He’s playing the statue, pretending indifference, but the hard, unyielding line of him beneath me doesn’t lie.
The friction is a double-edged sword; What was meant as a challenge sends a wave of tension through my own nerves, causing them to hum with a treacherous tremor. I was trying to unbalance him, but the scales are tipping dangerously, and I’m the one feeling dizzy.
When I look at him like this, his face shadowed and his body a tense fortress beneath mine, it does strange, melting things to my insides.
Such a strong man, all coiled power and grim intent, could easily throw me off, could snap me in two.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he lets my weight rest on him, his touch a brand on my skin, playing along like this is a game only he knows the rules to.
“What if I told you I wasn’t interested in sex?” He cocks a brow, his gaze calm, a direct contrast to the heat he’s stirring in my blood.
“Then I’d have to change your mind.” The retort is meant to be a weapon, but it comes out breathy, weak, and crumbles into a gasp as his palm moves to cup me fully in an explorative touch.
The heat of it is searing, even through the fabric, a shocking, intimate claim. He’s too forward, hardly giving me any warning, and my body betrays me entirely, arching into the contact for a devastating, pulse-hammering second before my mind can scream in protest.
Much to my dismay, I don’t think I’d be telling him to stop. I can already see the green light behind my eyelids as I pinch them shut.
“What’s so good about this, anyway?” His thumb begins a slow, teasing stroke along my seam, and the cotton might as well be air. My throat closes. “I’ve had women throw themselves at me. It’s never been that great.”
There’s no lust in his face, only a detached curiosity as his thumb traces down, applying a perfect, subtle pressure right where our bodies meet. He’s studying me. Does he even know what damage he’s doing?
I should tell him to stop. Reclaim the upper hand. But I can’t. Not when his touch is the first thing that hasn’t been pain or fear in days. A sound escapes me, sharp and unbidden—a whimper I try to trap behind my teeth.
“Doesn’t take much for you, though, does it?” His brows furrow, but the words lack mockery. They’re an observation, which is infinitely worse.
“I’ve never let a man touch me, dick.” The attempted barb ends in a sigh as my hips lift of their own volition, begging for more of his hand.
The key, Destiny. Think of the key.
My lips part, my breathing shallow and fast. “I need…”
Hammer shifts subtly, and I feel every hard inch of him. “More?” he murmurs, his voice low. “The shorts are in the way.”
Then I feel his fingers hooking into the waistband. But he doesn’t tear or yank like a monster should. He’s slow, tracing the drawstring knot with infuriating patience. He’s waiting. He’s going to make me ask for it, to complete the humiliation of my plan backfiring.
I could go back to grinding against him, but that would mean admitting how slick and ready I am for my captor.
“I’m not giving myself to you,” I insist, my cheeks burning. “I offered my virginity for that key. The key comes first.”
He stares, unblinking. “I never said I wanted your virginity.”
“You’re turned on,” I accuse, a last, desperate grasp for any leverage.
The audacity of a smile touches his lips as his gaze drops between us. “As are you. The difference is, you’re the one who’s surprised by it.”
Gripping his shoulder, he groans low as I put pressure on his injury. Leaning against him, I have to bite my lip hard to contain the start of a groan at the realization that I’m feeling something that isn’t rage. This is the last man who should be able to bring me to this state.
This isn’t good. No, this is bad.
Yet, the pulse between my thighs only grows more impossible to ignore as he nudges the knot keeping my shorts secure. At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if this man is a master at getting into people’s heads.
I need to stay in control. I refuse to be under someone’s thumb again.
The knot of the drawstring is a hard little lump under my fingers as I push his away. My heart is frantic against my ribs, so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
Hammer’s eyes are unreadable, but they haven’t left mine. That’s the only thing that matters. He’s waiting. He could take; he has the strength for it, but he’s waiting for me.
Control. It’s a brittle, fragile thing, but it’s all I have to feel strong.
“If you touch me,” I continue, “you do it because I’m allowing it. Because I’m the only one getting anything out of this. You’re getting nothing. You hear me? Nothing.”
My fingers feel clumsy as I keep my eyes on his. One brave pull, and the cord gives way, causing the fabric of my shorts to go slack.
His expression doesn’t so much as flicker. No smirk, no scowl. Just that intense, terrifying focus.
For an everlasting moment, nothing happens. The air is so thick that it’s almost impossible to breathe. I can feel the heat of his body, smell the faint scent of leather and fresh grass on his skin.
Then, ever so slowly, his hand moves.
He doesn’t look away from me. Not once. His knuckles brush the bare skin of my stomach, a rough, calloused scrape that makes my breath hitch. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, the sharp pain welcoming. His fingers slide past the waistband of my shorts, down, through the coarse curls, and then…
A single, rough finger slides through my slick folds, and a sound tries to claw its way out of my throat—a choked, startled thing. I trap it behind my teeth, my jaw clamping shut so hard it aches.
My eyes are wide, locked on his, and I see the faintest, most infinitesimal darkening in his gaze, a crack in the granite. He feels it. He feels how ready I am, how my body is betraying every one of my defiant words.
Going from sounding so confident only minutes ago to whimpering against this man’s touch is both a wave of humiliation and pleasure.
Half of me wants to pull away, while the other half demands I give in. I’m already nudging closer so he can have more room to explore.
One rough finger becomes two, touching and exploring like he’s never touched a pussy before.
He makes it seem as though women have flocked to him, but has his disinterest kept him from exploring?
A sudden shiver rolls along my spine as he grazes a particularly sensitive part.
“Right there?” His voice is gravelly, thick, and curious. His fingers nudge my clit, and my hips jerk. He makes this low sound as I feel his fingertips parting my lips, continuing his exploration. “It’s soaked and warm here.”
I don’t need the commentary, but my body burns as I feel his finger prod.
His other hand moves to my thigh, steadying me when I jerk again. All it takes is a slight pressure against my clit, and the pleasure is immediate.
Compared to what I’ve been feeling, this sensation is hard not to grasp, to grow addicted to.
My breathing is ragged now, little puffs of air I can’t control. Each exhale is a surrender. My grip on his shoulder tightens, not to hurt him anymore, but to hold on, to keep myself from asking for more.
I want so much more.
His face is still a mask. But his eyes… his eyes are taking it all. Not breathing a word, or at all, really, he doesn’t stop. A sound leaves him, a sound of anguish as his fingers prod somewhere new. We both choke on our next breath as he slides a finger inside.
“Tight…” At a loss of words, he curls the one digit.
Concentrating on the stretch, my hips roll to get a little friction. “You sound surprised. At this rate, you’re going to make me feel bad for the women you have been with.”
What’s supposed to be a snarky comment gets met with the push of a second finger. Fuck.
How can something feel so good come from a man who is wicked? Not big enough to cause pain, but big enough for the friction to send waves through me, makes something like this worth craving.
I think I’m starting to understand this appeal to sex, myself.
“Hold still.” The words leave me, my walls fluttering around his intrusion. Moving my hand to the middle of his chest, my eyes pinch shut, and my hips begin moving.
Hammer does as I tell him, acting surprisingly obedient as I move against his fingers. I’m slow, enjoying the pull and drag. Tempted to ask him for a third finger, I settle deep, marveling at how deeply he can reach.
Fingers that are calloused and scarred over from hurting people are now slick with my juices, easily being used to my will. Makes me wonder what a cock would feel like instead.
I won’t lose my virginity to this man just because. I refuse.
“Hammer.” Moaning his name on accident instead of telling him to add a little pressure, my walls start fluttering. I can feel my stomach clenching, my limit coming close.
Biting my lip harder, I taste blood. My thighs burn as I roll my hips, feeling his thick fingers reach even deeper.
This feels good. Like a reward after everything I’ve been put through. My body demands I enjoy it, and it’s why I can’t stop all of the pleasured sounds from leaving my lips.
Hammer’s grip on my thigh grows firmer, and I’m willing to bet I’m going to have little dots left over. His chest is swelling with each breath, his eyes glued to the motion of my hips.
I notice it, the light flush on his cheeks. For a man who’s not interested in sex, he seems pretty focused.
Wanting to say something clever, something mocking, I’m gasping when his thumb presses against my clit. Making a decision on his own, he fuels the sounds, encouraging me not to speak. The pressure has my walls clenching around his fingers.
“I’m going to—” My breath catches in the back of my throat as he curls his fingers, pressing right where he needs to make my vision go blurry.
My orgasm hits hard, and I can’t stop the sound that leaves me. I’m horrified when it’s his name that falls off my tongue, like a personal thanks for being the one to get me off.
He doesn’t work me through the waves; instead, he pulls his hand out of my shorts. I feel the wet trail the entire way.
Panting, I’m left dizzy. Without much of a warning, he’s shoving me off his body, leaving me ragdolling next to him. “What the hell?”
He moves to sit up. Grabbing the key, to my horror, he tosses it out of both of our reach. “You’re dangerous.”
When he stands, I scowl, ignoring the low throb left between my thighs. “You’re an asshole.”
Making this low growling sound that makes my toes curl and my heart flutter, I see it in his eyes. The anger. The hunger. He’s jerking his head away, giving me his response as the thump of the door of the room as he leaves, abandoning me altogether.
What a dick.