Until the Sun Falls from the Sky (The Three #1)(95)

Controlling his fury by a very weak thread, he twisted. She landed on her back, him on top, his h*ps between her legs.

“You haven’t listened or paid any attention to a f**king thing I’ve said or done,” he grated.

“I haven’t missed one freaking thing!” she shouted in his face.

“You’ve missed everything. So I’ll say it so you can understand it. I’ve been waiting to have you since I knew you existed. But I’ve been waiting for someone like you for five f**king centuries.”

“I doubt the earth is going to crash into the sun anytime soon. You’ll get another chance.”

Good Christ she was stubborn.

He growled.

“Release me,” she demanded.

“No.”

“Release me!” she yelled.

“Never!” he shouted back.

His last word made her face change. It twisted, contorting in a look of pain so raw, so severe, it caught him off guard and translated into a kindred slash of pain through his gut that was so intense he felt instant nausea.

Which meant her fist connecting with his jaw came as a surprise.

His head wrenched to the side on contact and he stayed that way, looking unseeing across the room.

It didn’t hurt. She was a female mortal in a disadvantageous position on her back with him close.

But he was a vampire.

And concubines were meant to respect vampires.

He gave her her head in many things because he knew what he’d bought into when he’d selected her.

But she had just crossed the line.

Slowly, his head turned back to her. She was panting, her heart racing, rampant fear in her scent but obstinacy and rage was in her eyes.

“You struck me,” he said, his voice deceptively soft.

She ignored the danger in his tone, bucked and demanded, “Get off me!”

He did as she asked but only to sit at the side of the bed, pulling her roughly into his lap and locking her to his body with his arms.

She struggled. “Let me go!”

He shook her with enough force to get her attention. She stopped struggling, her eyes jerked to his and he heard her heart spike as her breath caught.

“Right now, Leah, you’re going to learn to respect me,” he whispered.

She opened her mouth to speak but he moved her so quickly whatever words she had died in her throat.

He twisted her so she was facedown on the bed, her h*ps in his lap, ass pointed to the ceiling.

She read his intent and reared up, screaming with terrified fury, “No!”

Silence, he commanded, her vocal denials stopped instantly but she kept fighting.

He thought it prudent to allow her struggles. She’d not thank him for this after and commanding her acquiescence through controlling her mind, he surmised, would be a tactical error. Silencing her cries was enough. He had enough of a battle on his hands, clearly not making any advances in the slightest, even after a head-to-head week followed by three of détente. He didn’t need her sincerely hating him instead of telling herself she did.

He positioned one thigh over both hers and held her down to the bed with his hand in her back. She pressed, pushed and bucked but he didn’t allow her to make any progress toward freeing herself.

Then his hand came down on her ass, sharply enough to make his point not enough to cause any real pain.

The instant the crack of his hand against her skin filled the room, she stilled completely.

He did this three more times. Each strike, her body jerked in response but she didn’t fight.

The next time his hand went to her ass, it was not to strike but to soothe.

“Do you get my point?” he asked quietly, his hand moving gently over her bottom, his gaze moving toward her head.

Her face was buried in the comforter, her hair splayed around her shoulders, arms stretched out before her, fingers curled into a pillow.

He watched her nod.

Now it was time to teach her another lesson.

His thigh lifted and as he suspected she’d do, she immediately sought escape. Moving her legs just enough to open them, his thigh descended, trapping her now-parted ones.

He watched her head jerk back and her fingers fist into the pillow.

He tugged down her panties, exposing her.

No, her mind called out to him.

Yes, sweetling, he replied.

As his hand moved between her legs, she tried struggling but he held her down. She kept struggling as he worked her and with a swiftness that gratified him but likely mortified her, she grew wet.

He continued working her until she dripped. Her movements turned from fighting to squirming, her h*ps lifting, her legs moving under his thigh, not for escape but to move further apart to give him more access.

He allowed this and carried on, her movements, the feel of her, wet and silken, and her scent making his c**k grow hard and start aching.

With better access and weeks between orgasms her movements quickly became urgent.

When he knew she was close, he lifted his thigh, pulled her out from beneath it and swept her panties from her legs. Then he tugged her up and settled her straddling his lap.

Her arms immediately circled his shoulders, one hand fisting in his hair, her forehead dropping to his shoulder. Her h*ps moved, seeking his c**k which he withheld. Considering she’d latched onto him it was unnecessary that he hold her captive with his arm around her waist but he did so. He also pressed a hand between her legs, stroking, teasing, circling, fueling the burn but not enough to relieve it.