Kiss the Sky (Calloway Sisters #1)(87)

When he returns, he carries a towel, and I stay quiet even though my stomach overturns with anticipation and nerves. He approaches me again and lifts my waist, spreading the towel underneath my bottom. And then he sheds his shirt off his shoulders, revealing defined, rigid muscles across his abs.

He turns his back to me before I can stare too long, and he disappears below the bedframe, rummaging in his suitcase again. I only have a view of his wavy brown hair.

“I have something for you,” he tells me, standing with a slender black box. I’ve seen enough jewelry boxes to know it’s a necklace.

Hopefully diamonds.

They’re my favorite.

My eyes sparkle and my anxiety dissipates as he climbs onto the mattress, sitting near my waist. I jerk my wrist, wanting to not only touch the box but his body, from his shoulders to his waist, to the hem of his pants. The restraints fix me to this one spot, but I cross my ankles, waiting for him.

He lingers, his palm rubbing the soft black velvety box, teasing me. How much I’d give for that hand to be caressing me.

“Is this where I’m supposed to beg?” I ask, not able to soften my eyes that narrow in a glare.

His lips lift, and his eyes flood with arousal. “That’s a wonderful idea,” he says. “Beg for this box.”

I glare harder. “I was joking.”

“I’m not.”

Like hell. I’m not about to beg for a box. I stare harder at the case and imagine the jewelry. It’s taunting me. I bet the necklace is gorgeous, something I would love. My resolve begins to weaken. It’s not like I’m pleading for his cock…although, I think…I think I’m almost there too. The object of my desire is jewelry…diamonds. I would beg for diamonds.

But begging sounds weak. Internally, I can plead for his cock. Outwardly, how the fuck am I going to grovel?

“Please, can I have that box?” I ask, softening my usual coarse words. I didn’t do so awful, right?

He doesn’t move. “Didn’t you say something about graduating with honors?” he asks in amusement. Yes, I often remind him of this fact in arguments. It’s not really a winning point considering he graduated with the same accolades.

“Highest honors,” I refute anyway, my eyes swimming with challenge. I like arguing with him far too much. I have a feeling it’s going to get me into trouble tonight.

“Highest honors.” His lips twitch. “Well then, if you’re so smart you should know how to beg properly.”

“I said please.”

“Say it like you mean it.” He sets the black box on my bare chest, the velvet smooth on my skin. With my hands tied to the headboard, there’s no way to open it myself.

“Do you want me to call you sir, is that it?” I have no idea how far we’re taking this.

His eyes darken. “I have my own way of doing things, my own rules.” He skims my leg with his fingers, which tightens the aching, pissed-off spot that dearly, dearly wants him. “Sir is impersonal. You can call me Connor, or if you’re really good, I’ll even let you call me Richard.”

His words relax my shoulders. My eyes drift back to the box on my breasts, and impatience strikes me cold. “Just open it, Connor,” I say angrily.

He squeezes my kneecap in a firm clutch, and that hand descends to the top of my thigh, his fingers gripping my flesh. “No.”

How can one word carry so much force? I clamp my thighs tighter, my bony ankles hurting as they dig into each other. I am so naked. So aroused. And I have to beg to get what I want. I can feel how wet I’m becoming, and he raises his eyebrows knowingly.

The spot between my legs clenches.

Jesus Christ.

The longer the anticipation, the more torture. So I suck up my pride and take a deep breath.

“Please, please, please open the box,” I plead in a whispered tone. “I want it badly.”

To my surprise, he snaps the velvet case, flipping the lid. My heart careens as I absorb all the diamonds, strung together in long rows. The entire necklace is made of them. It shines and glitters in the dimmed light, the jewelry turning me on almost as much as his words.

And then I finally see past the linked gemstones to realize what type of necklace this is. Not just a choker. No. These diamonds are embedded into a leather band with a silver buckle at the back.

It’s a collar.

Anger boils in me like nothing before. “I’m not your pet.”

“You are my pet.” He climbs further onto the bed. “You’re also my girl. My lover. As I am your man. The only difference…” He pauses, drawing out the tension between us. “I’ll always be on top.” With both of his hands, he has hold of my legs and in one motion, he spreads them apart. I try to writhe against him and return my thighs to the “locked-you-can’t-have-me” position, but he glares. And a Connor Cobalt glare is very, very hard to come by. His new dark expression causes my body to go utterly still.

And then the corners of his lips curve upward. Like a fucking prick.

“Gloat all you want. I’m not wearing it,” I snap.

His smile spreads from his mouth to his eyes. “Stop me then,” he challenges. But he has pinned me down with his body. His pelvis in line with mine, his erection hard against a spot that hates and loves him.

I can’t stop Connor.