I Belong to You (Inside Out #5)(18)

In that moment he owns me as he’s promised, and Lord help me, as I look into the steely hardness of those gray eyes and find a predatory gleam, part of me wants to be owned by this man. I’m wet with the idea, my nipples aching, and my knees weak. He knows it, too. I see it in the glint of satisfaction in his eyes, and the freedom he feels to lower his gaze for an inspection that goes from my toes to my head, lingering in the more erotic regions. I swallow hard, feeling every second like a stroke of his hand, the lick of his tongue. I’m in big trouble, which he confirms when he grabs my hand and pulls me hard against his hard body.

“We need to talk,” he announces.

My hand flattens on the wall of his truly impressive chest. “Yes, we do,” I say, sounding remarkably firm, despite all the places he’s making warm and tingly.

He stares down at me, his expression unreadable. But the thundering of his heart beneath my palm tells me he’s powerfully affected by me, too.

“No time like the present,” he finally murmurs, taking my hand in his bigger one and pulling me inside.

“Not now,” I say. “Not here.”

“Now,” he insists, and the intimate way he laces his fingers with mine stirs odd feelings in my chest.

“Your mother—”

He pulls me forward and in a few steps we’re inside the elegant library, where walls of books are illuminated by droplights from a high ceiling. I turn to face him, not sure what to expect next with his changing moods.

He shuts the door, and before I can blink, he’s advanced on me and I’m against the wall. His hands are pressed to the wall above my head, but he doesn’t touch me. And I want him to. Too much. So damn much.

“Topic number one,” he says tightly. “You aren’t using your own security people. You’re my responsibility.”

My irritation is instant. “I am not your responsibility.”

“Don’t push me on this, Ms. Smith.”

“You know what? It is Ms. Smith to you. And don’t order me around like I’m your submissive. I didn’t sign your damn contract.”

“I think we’re both clear on that fact.”

“And you were right: We definitely need boundaries.”

“I won’t have my security process compromised by outsiders who aren’t fully accountable to me. You’re using my security team. Subject closed.”

“Spare me the dictator routine. I already told Jacob I’d use your people.”

“When?”

“On the way over here.”

“Why?”

“Because you and my father would be like the Clash of the Titans. You and I clash enough on our own. We don’t need to add more to the mix.”

His eyes sharpen. “Is that what you call what we do?” he asks, his voice a rough, low tone that creates a tingling in my nipples. “Clashing?”

I swallow hard, trying to control the heaviness of my breathing that I fear he’s already noticed. “You have a better name for it?”

“Many words come to mind. Should I start listing them?”

“No,” I say, certain I won’t approve of his choices. He glances at my mouth, and I suddenly remember the spicy, delicious way he tastes. Instinctively, my hands flatten on the hard wall of his chest. “Don’t kiss me,” I warn. The heat darting up my arms tells me how bad an idea touching him was.

“But you want me to,” he says, his hands sliding to my wrists, and somehow he makes it darkly erotic. This isn’t one of our spontaneous moments that we dismiss the next day. This is different, uncharted territory.

He leans closer and I splay my fingers on his chest, applying pressure. “I said don’t.”

“Because you don’t want me to, or because you’re afraid of where it will lead?”

“Because I said it. That’s the only reason you need.”

“Yet you didn’t deny that you want me to.”

“Eve really wanted the apple, and look where it got her.”

“If anyone’s being tempted by a poison apple”—his head lowers, lips close to mine, breath warm and tempting on my cheek—“it’s me.”

My fingers flex against hard muscle. “Mark—”

“I think it’s because you’re afraid of where it might lead, of the power you think it might give me over you.”

I try to tug my wrists away but he holds me easily, a gleam in his eyes. “I never fell into bed with you,” I say. “I was captive to the emotions you were feeling, feeding off those. You don’t have the power over me.”

“No. You have the power. That’s what you don’t understand. You have the power—or I wouldn’t be lying in bed at night remembering how you taste.” He pauses for effect. “And I do remember how you taste. All of you. Every last inch. Your mouth. Your neck. Your nipples. Your—”

“Stop it,” I hiss, knowing exactly what he was going to say next. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

He inches backward, releasing my wrists, and taking the promise of a kiss with him, those gray eyes resting keenly on my face. “What am I trying to do?”

“This is a game. It’s manipulation.”

“I want to f*ck you. Many times. Many ways. How is that manipulation?”