Chapter 10 — Breaking Point #2
Between her legs, the black lace panties were getting damp.
Heat pulsed there, a dull, demanding ache that had nothing to do with the rational hatred screaming through her mind.
It was a Pavlovian response to his authority, to his strength, to the way he looked at her as if he wanted to devour her whole.
“Stop,” she whispered, but her hands, instead of pushing him away, grabbed his forearms. She was holding onto him to keep from falling.
“You want me to stop?” Ethan asked. He released her hair slightly, only to slide his hand forward and wrap it around her throat.
He didn’t squeeze to suffocate. He just held. His thumb rested against her throat, feeling her swallow. It was complete control over her breathing, over her life.
Maya opened her eyes. Ethan’s face was inches from hers. He was staring at her mouth with a hunger that was terrifying in its intensity.
“Tell me, Maya. Tell me to stop and I’ll stop. I’ll go back to the living room, finish my wine, and you’ll sleep alone in that cold room.”
Maya tried to form the word. Stop. It was simple.
One syllable. But her tongue felt heavy.
Her body was screaming the opposite. She wanted to know what would happen if he didn’t stop.
She wanted to feel his weight against her.
She wanted him to erase the memory of Kyle, the memory of the debt, the memory of who she was, and replace it with just this. With this violent electricity.
She said nothing. She just gasped, her lips parted, her eyes glazed with confused desire and shame.
Ethan saw. He saw her pupils dilate. He saw the flush on her neck. He felt the heat in her breath.
“You’re such a beautiful liar,” he whispered.
He lowered his mouth.
Maya tilted her head forward, meeting him halfway. She was ready. She wanted the kiss. She wanted the bite. She wanted to be consumed.
His lips brushed hers. It was a phantom touch, light as a feather, a cruel contrast to the brute force of his hand on her neck.
“I could fuck you right now,” he said, the words vibrating against her lips. “I could lift this silk dress. Tear off that ridiculous lace you’re wearing. I could pin you against this wall until you forget your own name. Until you only know how to scream mine.”
The image exploded in Maya’s mind, vivid and pornographic. She let out a low, involuntary moan. Her hips moved forward, seeking contact, seeking friction.
Ethan pressed his body against hers. She felt his hardness, rigid and relentless, against her belly through the thin fabric of their clothes. He wanted her. He was as affected as she was. The realization gave her a dizzying sense of power. He wasn’t a machine. He was flesh and blood and desire.
“Do it,” she whispered. It wasn’t a thought. It was a command from her subconscious.
Ethan froze.
For a second, Maya thought he was going to obey. She felt his muscles contract, as if he were about to lose control, to break the last barrier.
But then, his hand left her neck.
His other hand left the wall.
He took a step back.
The loss of contact was physical, as if he’d ripped a bandage off an open wound. The cold air of the hallway rushed into the space between them, chilling the sweat on Maya’s skin, making her tremble violently.
Maya opened her eyes, blinking, confused. She was still leaning against the wall, her lips swollen and damp, her body screaming for a resolution that had been denied.
Ethan stood a few feet away. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, the black shirt stretched over his tense shoulders. He ran his hand through his hair, disheveling it, a rare gesture of frustration.
But his face… his face was closed again. The mask of control had descended, though there were visible cracks in it.
“Ethan?” she called, her voice trembling with rejection.
He looked at her. There was darkness in his eyes, but now it was a cold darkness.
“Go to bed, Maya,” he said. His voice was hoarse, as if he’d swallowed glass.
“What?” She pushed off the wall, her legs wobbly. “You can’t… you can’t do this. You can’t take me to the edge and leave me hanging.”
“I can,” he retorted, brutal. “And I will.”
He adjusted his shirt cuffs, a nervous gesture to regain composure.
“The contract says I have access,” he said, the words coming out clipped, precise. “It doesn’t say I have to give you what you want. Especially when you don’t know what you want.”
“I know what I feel!” she shouted, sexual frustration transforming into rage again.
“No, you don’t.” He pointed a finger at her. “You’re drunk. You’re traumatized. You’ve got Stockholm syndrome knocking at the door. And you hate me. Remember?”
He let out a short, humorless laugh.
“If I touch you now, tomorrow you’ll wake up feeling violated. You’ll say I took advantage of the situation. That I used the alcohol and your fear to get what I wanted.”
He turned his back to her.
“I don’t need to take advantage of anything, Maya. When we do this… and we will… you’ll be sober. You’ll be begging. And you’ll know exactly who I am and what I’m doing.”
“You’re cruel,” she whispered, tears of humiliation burning her eyes. She felt dirty. Exposed. Rejected.
Ethan stopped at the end of the hallway without looking back.
“I’m a man of my word. I said I would wait.”
He started back toward the dining room.
“Lock the bedroom door, Maya,” he called over his shoulder. “Because if I have to hear you breathing like that for one more minute, I’m going to forget the damn contract and destroy us both.”
He disappeared around the corner, leaving Maya alone in the dark hallway—panting, trembling, and furious—with the silver dress clinging to her damp skin and desire throbbing in her veins like a poison with no antidote.