This Heart of Mine (Chicago Stars #5)(87)

She reminded herself of Kevin's shortcomings as a lover and vowed she wouldn't say a word to him about them either during or afterward. He wasn't a naturally selfish person. How was he supposed to know about foreplay when he'd had all those women servicing him? And a little slam, bam, thank you, ma'am would be a good thing. Those feverish nighttime images that had been robbing her of sleep would finally fade in the harsh glare of reality.

"Inside." He jerked open the cottage door and gave her a push.

She had no choice in the matter. No choice at all. He was bigger, stronger, apt to turn violent at any moment.

Even for an imaginative person that was a stretch.

She wished he hadn't let her go, but she liked the way he'd braced his hands on his hips. And his glare definitely looked threatening.

"You're not going to start giving me crap about this, are you?"

This posed a dilemma. If she said yes, he'd back off. If she said no, she'd be giving him permission to do something she knew she should resist.

Luckily, he wasn't done being angry. "Because I'm sick of it! We're not kids. We're two healthy adults, and we want each other."

Why didn't he stop talking and just drag her to the bedroom? If not by the hair, then at least by the arm.

"I'm packing all the birth control we're going to need…"

If only he'd said he was packing a gun and he'd turn it on her if she didn't lie there and let him do what he wanted. Except she wanted to do a lot more than just lie there.

"Now, I suggest you march your little butt right to the bedroom!"

The words were perfect, and she loved the way he jabbed his finger toward the door, but the expression in his eyes was beginning to look less like anger and more like caution. He was getting ready to back off.

She hurried to the bedroom. She couldn't make too much of this, couldn't let it be too important. She was a beautiful slave girl forced to give herself to the ruthless (but gorgeous) man who owned her. A slave girl who needed to get her clothes off before he beat her!

She pulled off her top so that she was standing before him in her bra and shorts, which weren't really shorts but gauzy harem pants. Harem pants he was going to rip from her body if she didn't take them off first.

She bent her head and kicked away her sandals. Then she pulled her shorts—harem pants—over her legs and cast them aside. When she looked up, she saw her owner standing in the bedroom door, a slightly befuddled expression on his face, as if he couldn't believe it was going to be this easy. Ha! Easy for him! He wasn't staring death in the face!

She was wearing only her bra and panties. Lifting her chin, she gazed at him defiantly. He might possess her body, but she'd never let him have her soul!

He moved toward her, his confidence restored. Of course he was confident. She'd be confident, too, if she had an army of guards stationed right outside the door, ready to drag a disobedient slave girl to her death if she didn't submit.

He stopped in front of her and gazed down, his green eyes raking her body. If she'd left her top on, he would have torn it off with his dagger… no, his teeth!

He burned up her skin with those imperious eyes. What if she didn't please him? Such a merciless master demanded more from her than simple submission. He demanded cooperation! And (she'd just remembered) he'd vowed to have her dearest friend, the gentle slave girl Melissa, tortured to death if he was displeased. No matter how it destroyed her pride, she must satisfy him!

To save Melissa.

She lifted her arms and cradled his magnificent jaw between her hands, desperately trying to gentle this barbarian. She leaned forward and pressed her innocent lips to his cruel ones—cruelly, cruelly… sweet.

She sighed and teased him with the tip of her tongue. When he opened his mouth, she invaded. How could she do anything else when she had poor, gentle Melissa's life to protect?

His hands splayed over her bare back, moved up to the clasp of her bra. Her skin quivered. The clasp fell open.

He gripped her shoulders and took over the kiss. Then he tugged off her bra and cast it aside.

His mouth left hers. His jaw scraped her cheek. "Molly…"

She didn't want to be Molly. If she were Molly, she'd have to grab her clothes and put them right back on, because Molly wasn't self-destructive.

She was only a slave girl, and she bowed her head submissively as he drew back and gazed down at her naked breasts, now exposed to his predatory emerald eyes. She shivered and waited. Cotton rustled as he drew his T-shirt—his silken robe—over his head and tossed it aside. She squeezed her eyes shut when he pulled her against him, his conqueror's chest pressed to her naked, defenseless breasts.

Tremors swept over the sensitive skin as he began to nibble kisses, like a golden slave's collar, around her throat, then down to the breasts that no longer belonged to her. They were his. Every part of her body belonged to him! Her knees grew weak and sagged. She wanted this so much, but she needed desperately to hold on to her fantasy.

Master… Slave girl… His to do with as he wished. Mustn't anger him… Let him—oh, yes—extend the trail of kisses over her ribs to her navel, her stomach, gliding over her hipbones as his thumbs caught the elastic on her panties.

Concentrate! Envision those cruel lips! Those cutting eyes! The dreadful penalty the slave girl would pay if she didn't ease her legs open so he could slip his hand between them. Her merciless master… Her savage owner… Her—