Forsaken (The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #3)(27)

I grab her and pull her in front of me, stepping into her, my legs framing hers, my hands on her waist, fingers flexing into the soft flesh there. And when she looks up at me, I see none of the blame I feel toward myself. The understanding that I didn’t think she could have is there.

And she’s here.

Not offering words of sympathy that do me no good—offering herself. I see it in her eyes, her desire matching mine, and even if I believed she was still loyal to Sheridan, which I don’t, I’m not sure I would care.

Wrapping my hand around her neck, I pull her to me, flattening her body against mine, bringing her mouth a breath away from the next kiss I’ve denied myself too long. “I don’t care who’s going to hate who later. I just want to f*ck you.”

She curls her fingers around my shirt. “Then stop talking and do it.”

“You can’t handle this part of me.”

Her chin lifts defiantly. “Try me.”

“Be careful what you ask for. You might get it.”

“If you’re trying to scare me, it won’t work. In fact, it might make me want it more. Just like you want to escape your memories, I have a few of my own I’d like to forget right now.”

That’s all the encouragement I need. My mouth slants over hers, tongue pressing past her lips, and the heady taste of her, all sweet honey and temptation, fills my senses. I deepen the kiss, drinking her in like a drug I cannot get enough of. But she is more than a drug. She is now in my care, and I cannot, will not, let her die because later she might be looking for a rush or a high that I’m not around to give her. But I’m here now, and I have this oddly possessive, entirely selfish need to be the person who gives her that escape, who shows her what I sense she’s never known: complete, utter sexual overload that leaves no room for anything else. The very idea has me deepening the kiss, licking into her mouth and demanding more. And when that soft, sweet tongue of hers, so innocent in its response, tries to match my command, it drives me wild.

A low, raw growl escapes my throat and I turn her to face the wall, forcing her to hold herself up with her hands. For a moment I feel the pain of that nightmare, and I wonder why I never used Meg as an escape, why I always contained who, and what, I am . . . but this woman is different. Reaching for her dress, I yank it up her hips to find her backside bare but for a thong with a happy face on it. She glances over her shoulder, offering a breathless, embarrassed explanation. “I didn’t pick it.”

“Good. I don’t like it.” I rip it away, leaving her gasping as I pull the dress over her head and toss it aside to find her braless, before stepping toward her. My hands cover her breasts, fingers teasing her nipples. Leaning into her, my lips near her ear, I say, “I’m going to own you before this is over.”

“You can try,” she says, the rebellious reply defying the inexperience and innocence I sense in her, an innocence that I now realize I never truly sensed in Meg.

That she has this courage speaks of strength, of being a survivor, and it heats my blood and makes me want her all the more. It drives me to show her just how wrong she is, how easily I can own her. I tell myself it’s a lesson she needs to learn for her own good—but who am I fooling?

I want to f*ck her. Right here and now, I want to own her. I need the rush of it, the control, the high I’ve denied myself during the entire Meg fa?ade of reforming my ways.

Covering her hands with mine, I slide them upward, pressing them together over her head. Again, I lean in close to her, my lips grazing her neck, her ear. “I’ll do more than try,” I promise. “As long as we’re in this room, I’m in control. I’m your Master.” I tighten my grip on her hands. “I’m going to let go of you, but you will not move.”

“If I do?” she asks, and I know she’s pushing me, driving me to take her someplace that can be dangerous in other places, at other times, with someone else.

“There’s a price.”

“I don’t understand. What price?”

My hands travel down her arms, and curve around her body to cup her breasts again, my fingers tugging roughly on her nipples and then twisting. A sound of one part pain, one part pleasure, escapes her lips. “Now do you understand?”

“Yes,” she pants.

But she doesn’t, and I suddenly realize how very dangerous that is. My sister damn sure didn’t understand, or she never would have gone to work for a museum and put herself back on Sheridan’s map. Gia needs to learn about keeping her guard up, and she needs to learn now.

Tangling my fingers in her hair, rough by intention, I pull her head back, dragging her mouth to mine. “I keep telling you that you don’t understand, but you will.” I kiss her, hard, deep, fast, before punishing her with a nip of my teeth on her lip that makes her yelp. “That’s for trusting me when you shouldn’t,” I add vehemently. “If I were someone else—”

“But you aren’t.”

I grit my teeth, conflicted by how much I want her trust, how much I want to deserve it, and how much I fear that I’m setting her up to give it when she should not. “Don’t move your hands,” I order gruffly, deciding that actions speak louder than words. “Understood?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

Releasing her, I undress, my cock thick, hard, and throbbing with my need to be inside her, but she isn’t one of the many f*ck buddies that came before Meg, and my initial need to bury myself inside her is shifting rapidly to anger. I know I won’t hurt her, but she doesn’t. She can’t. I’m a stranger, and she needs to learn the price of trusting anyone, especially when Sheridan is involved. I grab the one condom I have on me out of my wallet, roll it over my shaft, and then put my pants back on, the zipper down.