CHAPTER 4 #3
"I feel you shaking, Margarita," I muttered darkly against her mouth, feeling the sudden, hitching catch in her breath that sounded a hell of a lot more like a whimper than a sob. "Your body knows who's in charge."
I deepened the kiss mercilessly, my tongue invading her mouth with heavy, possessive strokes.
I shifted my stance slightly, aggressively grinding my hips forward against hers, pinning her pelvis to the wall.
I made damn sure she felt the hard, thick reality of my arousal straining against the wool of my trousers.
I wanted to crush her ego. I wanted her to realize exactly what kind of monster she was trapped in a cage with, and exactly what that monster could do to her if he decided to take the leash off.
The heavy, cold metal of my leather belt buckle dug sharply into her prominent hip bone, a hard pressure contrasting with the suffocating heat blooming between our pressed bodies.
Her frantic moans were changing pitch, turning into something completely wrecked and confused.
"You like this, don't you?" I demanded, my voice a dark, vibrating rasp against her bruised lips. My heart was hammering against her chest like a fucking war drum. "Admit it. You want the monster."
I broke the kiss as abruptly and violently as I had started it.
I ripped my mouth away, pulling my head back just far enough to look down into her face.
The sudden withdrawal of physical connection left her reeling.
Margarita was gasping for air, her chest heaving violently against my chest. Her lips were completely ruined—swollen, bruised, and smeared with a messy mixture of her own blood and our spit.
Her eyes were blown wide, completely glassy, swimming with a chaotic, horrifying mixture of shock, hatred, and a terrifying, entirely unwanted arousal.
A single, thin thread of saliva stretched between our parted lips for a second before snapping, a stark visual of the feral entanglement I’d just forced on her.
"Breathe, Doctor," I mocked her, my voice low and completely in control again as the cold air of the cell hit her wet face. "Look what you did to yourself."
I leaned in one last time, my lips hovering mere millimeters from her ear. I could hear the ragged, sobbing catches of her breath. I delivered a low, gravelly promise that I knew would haunt her the entire night.
"You belong to me now, Margarita Brooks," I whispered, cementing the psychological prison walls right around her brain. "Don't ever spit at me again. Unless you want me to do that again."
I finally released her wrists. The sudden absence of my grip made her arms drop weakly to her sides.
I took a deliberate step back, severing the physical contact entirely.
I casually reached up and smoothed the lapels of my tailored suit jacket, my hands perfectly steady.
I wiped the smeared blood from my own lip with the back of my hand, looking down at her slumped form with a cold, dead-eyed, triumphant smile.
She was totally shattered. Her legs were barely holding her up, her back sliding a few inches down the concrete.
I had re-established exactly who ran this world.
"I’ll have someone bring you dinner. Eat it. I need you strong," I instructed, my voice completely devoid of the feral heat from seconds ago. I turned my back on her. "I'll be back for the bandages soon."
I walked toward the heavy steel door, my heavy boots thudding against the floor.
I didn't look back. I stepped out into the damp, ozone-smelling corridor and grabbed the handle.
I pulled the door shut behind me. The heavy metal slammed into the frame with a sound like a point-blank gunshot. I grabbed the bolt and slid it home.
"Lock it. Double bolt," I told the guard standing at the end of the hall, my voice rough.
I paused, leaning my forehead against the cold, unyielding steel of the door for exactly two seconds.
My blood was roaring in my ears. The adrenaline was a toxic high in my veins.
"Christ," I muttered to myself. I needed to get the fuck out of this hallway before I lost what little control I had left, walked back in there, and finished exactly what we just started on that concrete floor.
I pushed off the door and started walking down the corridor, pulling my phone back out of my pocket.
I brought the security feed back up on the screen.
The grainy black-and-white video showed Margarita alone in the dark.
I watched her legs finally give out. She slid all the way down the rough wall until she hit the floor, pulling her knees tightly to her chest in the center of the cramped cell.
She raised a trembling hand, her fingers lightly touching her ruined, swollen lips.
Even without audio, I could tell she was completely wrecked.
Good. She needed to learn the reality of her situation.
I locked the screen of my phone and shoved it back into my pocket, the dull ache in my liver reminding me I needed to change my bandages. And I needed a goddamn drink.