Have Gun, Will Travel (The Bare Bones MC #5)(27)

My confusion added to my passivity when he pressed me against the wall inside the house. I gasped loudly when he angled his mammoth penis against my mons pubis. It was almost as though he was dry humping me like a high schooler up against a locker. His prick was stiff and thick, and he lunged it against me so expertly it was like he massaged my clit with it through several layers of clothing. I even found myself angling my pelvis up toward him, to give him a better slant on my button. The power of the chase had probably stimulated him, that was it—and the evidence of his arousal had him absolutely panting with testosterone.

Lord, he was handsome. His anger and lust combined to only heighten his craggy virility, and he mumbled at me, “You’ll learn to never disobey me again.”

We both panted with the stimulation of the chase. I bridled at being pinned so completely. I wondered what he’d do if I rebelled. So I squirmed, making sure to roll my hips from side to side. If he thought he was going to lord it over me, I could at least weaken him by turning him on. I could barely move in his steely grip, so I thrashed harder. “Let me go! You have no f*cking right to toss me around like this. You don’t even know what I was doing at the nail salon.”

He took both my wrists in one of his broad hands, pinioning them to the wall above my head. His penis pulsed against me, flexing itself, asserting its dominance. It was a thrilling new way of being handled, exciting me to my core. Now his entire torso was pressed against mine. I’d never felt such power, such pure brawn. It nearly overwhelmed me, and I wondered if my knees would give out.

“The nail salon has nothing to do with this,” he growled. “You were in incredible danger, and you put everyone else at risk. I know your type. You think it’s cute or rebellious to not listen to orders. There’s only one f*cking way you’re ever going to learn.”

And just like that, he was whipping me down some hallway.

I nearly got whiplash, he was shoving me so fast. The first room seemed to be Lytton’s home office. A possible invasion of privacy didn’t stop Sax from shoving me in there and slamming the door behind me. I started going around the back of Lytton’s desk for safety, because I was beginning to fear Sax. He was obviously completely capable of ruining me, physically. That was a given.

I’d only known one Dom in my life, and this wasn’t Roscoe’s style at all. By now, Roscoe would have been whacking my arms and thighs with his cane and screaming all kinds of obscenities at me. Instead, Sax was a smoldering fire of a man, pacing like a caged animal.

His thumbs were hooked inside his jeans pockets, enhancing the outline of his colossal prick. Its sheer size terrified me. Roscoe wasn’t so much about the f*cking, about the authority of the cock. He liked to don a latex harness, the hood, the whole shiny and zippered nine yards. He liked to strut with his gauntlets and his spiked boots like a neo-Nazi, displaying his authority over me. It was more of a mind-f*ck than an actual f*ck. He rarely ever took his johnson out.

Now, this man was all about the actual f*ck. I allowed my fear of him to keep me from running, transforming it into desire. In a way, my terror heightened my desire. I was on pins and needles, wondering what he’d command me to do. Above all, I was swept away by the idea that he wanted me. He truly wanted me. He craved me, he desired me. I turned him on. That meant I was desirable. I was wanted. That had never happened to me before.

“Take off your shorts,” he commanded. “Now. Leave on your shoes.”

I interpreted his command literally, stepping out of my practical little gardener’s shorts but leaving on my white cotton panties. He watched me voraciously, like a leopard watching from the dark shadows. Not knowing what else to do, I started hanging the shorts over the back of Lytton’s wooden swivel chair. But again, like the wildest sort of animal of all, Sax pounced.

Like lightning he flashed around to my side of the desk. Suddenly he was in the rolling chair, rolling backward, taking me with him. I was a jumble of limbs on his lap, and I was forced to hold onto the back of his hot neck to keep from falling off.

Grabbing a handful of my hair, he yanked my head back, not hard enough to hurt, but it disoriented me. Like a vulnerable prey animal, my throat was exposed to him, and he could have slayed me with one swoop.

But he didn’t. He had careful, total control over his actions and therefore mine.

“You’ve been a wicked girl,” he rasped. The fingers of his other hand deftly undid the buttons of my starchy, plaid shirt. “Do you know how much you worried everyone?”

I knew how to play the game—or so I thought. “I know, Sir. I’ve been horribly bad.”

He yanked apart both sides of my shirt. I cringed to realize that such a worldly, experienced man was viewing my childish bra, my small breasts. The bra wasn’t even underwire. I didn’t need that, with such small boobs. Roscoe often made fun of my flat-chested status. He yelled that it was a sign I wasn’t a true, real woman.

Sax didn’t yell anything like that. His hand hovered above one small boob. I could feel and hear the raggedy edge in his breathing, his words. It was almost as though…he didn’t mind my chest? He might even…like it? I sat directly upon his engorged cock like a worm on a hook, and the outer lips of my * acutely felt his enormous horse’s prick pulsing with bloodlust.

But he didn’t touch my breast. That might’ve enflamed me all the more.

“You’re been a terribly disobedient little girl. Father’s punishing you right now.”