by Lynn Cooper
Clearly, he expects me to obey, but what would be the fun in that? Taking advantage of the freedom he’s given me—as limited as it is—I charge at his chest, shoving him as hard as I can. My sudden assault catches him by surprise, causing him to stumble backward. Faking him out, I do a quick sidestep and sprint toward the master bathroom. Even off balance, he recovers quickly, and I come up short. I’m only a few inches from the bathroom door when he grabs a handful of my ripped blouse, bringing me to an abrupt halt.
Remembering a self-defense video I saw online, I go limp. Apparently, it’s harder for an attacker to manipulate dead weight. In this instance, my efforts are wasted. As soon as I crumple to the floor, he wraps his huge hand around my ankle, flips me over onto my stomach and drags me across the carpet to the bed. I’m desperate to keep him from picking me up and throwing me on the mattress, so I grab hold of the bottom poster with both hands and hang on for dear life.
He releases me, straightening his back, stretching out obviously-kinked muscles. Then he takes a deep breath and, just like that, my reprieve is over. Kneeling, he locks his strong fingers around mine and pries them off the post. As I lay limp and exhausted, he scoops me up and places me on the bed. Hastily, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of rope. He must have known I would fight and made plans to bind my limbs before fucking me. Pulling my weak, trembling arms above my head, he secures my wrists to the bed post. There’s absolutely no way for me to escape now. He has worn me down, and I am restrained.
He holds my gaze as he jerks my shorts off and casually lets them drop to the floor. My legs are spent, and I no longer have the energy to kick him. It’s over; I’m flat on my back and bound by rope. I’m the intruder’s captive, totally helpless and subject to whatever he has in mind.
“Where are your claws now, pussy cat?”
“Go to hell,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Right after I take you to heaven.”
Delicious expectation tinged with apprehension heightens my senses. My rape fantasy is about to come to fruition. Soft moonlight shines through the parted curtains and a warm breeze from the open window kisses my bare skin.
The intense look on his face makes me shiver. As his knee presses into the mattress, and he straddles me, I realize just how powerful, intimidating and formidable this man is. But it’s not until he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a switch blade do I realize he’s also dangerous.
Hysteria bubbles in my throat, and I’m on the verge of screaming for real. I think maybe it’s time to call this whole charade off. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. Why? Because with one flick of Torin’s thumb, followed by a soft clicking sound, the sharpest blade I’ve ever seen appears in his hand. The sight of deadly steel glinting in the moonlight has left me paralyzed with shock.
He doesn’t say a word as he gazes down at me, but his eyes hold a warmth and tenderness I’m not expecting. It’s almost as if he’s silently asking for my consent. Just like me, I think he knows a wickedly sharp weapon means taking our play to a whole new level.
Maintaining eye contact, I exhale slowly. My nod is almost imperceptible, but I know he sees it.
“Do not move a single muscle,” he commands, lowering the knife to my chest and pressing the tip against the fabric of my bra. I nervously bite my bottom lip but remain still as death, awaiting his next move.
With one sharp, skilled flick of his wrist, he slices through the lacy juncture between my breasts. I gasps as the cups of my bra fall away, leaving me fully exposed to his hungry, lustfully-lethal gaze.
His eyes seem to be glued to my tits as if they have him under some sort of hypnotic spell. My eyes are focused on the knife. I’m wondering when he’s going to put it away. When he gently drags the blunt side of the blade across one tight nipple then the other, I know he isn’t done with it yet.
I moan softly as he lightly skims the blunt edge all the way down my stomach and over my hips before slicing my panties to shreds. He picks up the strips of flimsy, white lace and lets them sift through his fingers. “This is the way a woman should always be undressed,” he says, flipping the knife closed and dropping it beside the bed.
When he reaches for his belt, unbuckles and unzips, my eyes bulge at the sight of his massive cock springing free. He growls, “Now the real fun begins.”
Getting my second wind, I decide it’s time to fight back. My wrists are still bound to the poster but my legs are free. Before he can lower himself between them, I quickly bend my legs and plant my feet on his chest. Kicking them out straight and fast, I shove him backwards as hard as I can. He lands on his ass a little farther up the mattress, but he quickly recovers, bouncing right back up to his knees.
Cursing beneath his breath, he clamps his hands around my calves, trying to pry my thighs apart. I twist and kick, but it’s no use. I can see and feel that he’s full-on into the fantasy. He is no longer Torin but a savage stranger, the evil intruder who is hell bent on fucking my brains out. Through sheer brawn, he wedges his hips between my thighs, pinning me to the mattress.
Our breathing is labored as he lies on top of me. There’s no more time to resist or to even think. Before I can suck in a full breath, he raises up enough to position the head of his rock-hard cock against my entrance. In the next instant, he is buried to the hilt, and I’m screaming his name.
His dark, desire-filled eyes bore into my very soul as he thrusts into me like some sort of wild, untamed animal. As tears of joy stream down my face, his hips pump like pistons set on a primitive, relentless, forceful rhythm that doesn’t seem humanly possible.
This is my fantasy come to life and, just like he told me, I’m going to take it all without uttering a single word.
Chapter Sixteen
Torin Stoke
IT’S TAKING EVERY DAMN ounce of willpower I have left not to shoot my wad. With her eyelids fluttering closed, her legs wrapped around my waist and her mouth parted on a breathy sigh, Winter Primrose is everything I want in a woman and more. She’s sweet and feisty, hot as hell and cold as ice. Wild and wanton while still being shy and bashful. What a fucking fantastic combo. A priceless mixture that’s more precious than gold.
I’ve always held the fairer sex in high esteem. Have prided myself on being gentle and protective and respectful. But Winter brings out the primitive beast in me. One I never want to cage again. Her complete submission to my dominance, to the full-force of my passion and my violent possession is pure ecstasy.
As she continues to whimper and writhe beneath me, I thrust even harder, grinding my pubic bone against her clit. I’m determined to lock in right here, adding just the right amount of pressure and friction to send her flying over the edge into a full-bodied orgasm. One that will have her screaming my name for eternity.
The sound of her pants and moans are the only thing holding me together, keeping my hips pumping instead of spilling my seed. With a renewed determination, I grit my teeth and slam into her even harder. Three more times with my balls painfully slapping against her fine ass, and she spasms around my shaft like a fist squeezing a baseball bat.
A hoarse groan rips from my throat as her tight, little feminine inner muscles milk the last drop of man juice from my body. The searing flood of my release combined with the hot honey of her passion is tumultuous, explosive and more satisfying than anything I’ve ever experienced before.
Reaching above her head with one hand, I loosen the rope and free her wrists before I bury my face in her neck and collapse on top of her. I can feel the residual tremors and aftershocks of pleasure rippling through both our bodies.
Not wanting to crush her, I roll over onto the mattress and pull her with me. Tucking her under my arm and close to my side, I say, “Please tell me I didn’t hurt you.”
She lifts her pretty head, gazes at me with those gorgeous green eyes and says, “What you did to me hurt so good that I never wanted it to end.”
I smile, feeling happy and relieved. I was sure I h
ad given her plenty of pleasure. But our mating was so barbaric and rough, I had to make sure she was okay.
She inhales deeply several times, appearing to sniff the air.
I give her an inquisitive look. “Are you part bloodhound or something?” I ask, teasingly.
She giggles. “No. I was just relishing your scent.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah, it’s a delicious mixture of clean, masculine sweat and down-and-dirty sex.”
“Perhaps I should bottle it. I bet I could make millions off of horny hotties like you.”
“I’d buy it by the gallons. What would you call it?”
I rub my chin thoughtfully. “How about Cunt-Inspired Cologne du jour by Monsieur de Stoke?”
She laughs out loud. “You’re crazy!”
“Crazy about you.”
She rolls her eyes. “There goes those post-coitus endorphins again.”
I cup her cheek and look deep into her eyes, willing her to see the truth of my words reflected in my soul. “I mean it, Winter. I’m fucking crazy about you.”
“I—I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll stay.”
“Until the weekend is over, sure. I signed the auction contract to that effect, and I never go back on my word.”
I dip my head and gently kiss her lips. “I want more than that. One weekend with you isn’t near enough, Miss Primrose.”
She blushes. “Are you saying you want us to date? To be a couple?”
“I’m saying I want you to move in with me.”
Those moss-green eyes grow wide as saucers, and I feel her pulling away. I can’t let her go until she understands my intentions, so I hold her tighter to my chest.
She doesn’t fight me, but she looks like she wants to run again. “Torin, we just met. I mean, I had never even heard of you before last night.”
I furrow my brow. “Really? You’ve never seen me at Marketing Madness? Never heard my name or seen it written on any documents?”
“No. Why would I?” she asks, sounding confused and a little skeptical.
I brush a stray strand of long, curly, auburn hair off her lovely ivory cheek. The dampness of perspiration has revealed her beautiful locks as being naturally wavy. She or someone else must have straightened it for the auction.
“I sit on the board at the marketing firm where you work, Miss Primrose. I’m the one who suggested the charity auction when your boss—Chad Hellerman—screwed up for the umpteenth time. For the love of God, Winter, my damn portrait hangs in the lobby.”
She shrugs. “Oops. I’m sorry, Torin. I have tunnel vision when it comes to that place. Seriously, I hit the door running, keep my head down and make a beeline for my office.”
“You must,” I say, shaking my head.
“I do! In between creating advertising campaigns for new accounts, trying to hold onto existing customers and dodging Mr. Hellerman’s unwanted sexual advances, my mind doesn’t have the ability to absorb much else. I’m sorry I was so unobservant. You probably think I’m awful.”
“On the contrary. I think you’re amazing. Beautiful. Talented. Funny. I’ve never met any woman like you before.”
She playfully slaps my chest. “How you do go on, Mr. Stoke.”
Capturing her hand and pressing it tenderly over my heart, I say, “I could go on forever and never do all of your attributes justice. Listen, Winter, I know it’s way too soon for a marriage proposal. Hell, you’d likely think I’d lost my mind if I asked.”
She nods. “I probably would unless you had a big diamond ring in your hand and was on bended knee,” she says, giving me wink.
“I know you’re teasing, but that day will come sooner than you think, Miss Primrose. In the meantime, I meant what I said about you moving in.”
She opens her mouth to protest. I can see the resistance etched on her face, but I hold up a hand, stopping her.
“Hear me out, okay?”
“Okay.”
“You may not have noticed me at Marketing Madness, but I’ve noticed you. I should have told you sooner. But after you accused me of being in cahoots with Chad, I didn’t think it was a good time to mention it,” I say, taking a deep breath.
This time she interrupts me. “And what did you notice, Mr. Stoke?”
“What happened to calling me Torin?”
“Nothing. This just sounds more and more like a business-type conversation.”
“So it does. What I noticed, Miss Primrose, is that you work too damn hard to be driving a 1994 Toyota Camry in the year 2017. That you live in a tiny house that’s in desperate need of major repairs. With your talent and work ethic, you should be financially better off than you are.”
She bolts out of my arms before I can stop her, and marches toward the bathroom.
Even utterly spent, fully satiated and bone-weary tired, I’m quick enough to jump off the bed and reach her before she can slam the bathroom door in my face.
Grabbing her by the arm, I whirl her around to face me. “You shouldn’t get up and leave when we’re in the middle of such a serious discussion.”
She glares daggers at me, and I know she’s pissed. Her claws are out, and she’s definitely spoiling for a fight.
“My car and house and finances are none of your damn business. Plus, you taking note of those things is kind of creepy. Maybe everything that happened here tonight wasn’t purely role playing.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means maybe you really have been following me. Maybe you really are a predator.”
“I have not been following you. Every employee at Marketing Madness has a parking space labeled with their name. Is that not true?”
She nods her head but says nothing.
“In regards to your finances, as head of the board of trustees, it’s my responsibility to go over the company’s financial statements. I’m in charge of the employee budget. That’s how I know you earn a nice salary and, on top of that, I approved your last raise.”
“Thank you for that,” she murmurs, looking a little less defensive. I see the subtle change in her demeanor as my cue to keep going.
“Furthermore, your mailing address is on your payroll documents. I just happened to be in your neighborhood a week or so back, checking on a possible real estate investment. I recalled your address when I saw the street name and the number on your mailbox—an oversized, black one that’s crushed in on the side like it’s been vandalized. Am I to assume you can’t afford a new mailbox either, Miss Primrose? Are you bad at managing your money, or do you have a pricey drug habit or some sort of gambling addiction?”
Her eyes flash fire, and she balls her fists by her sides. I have obviously hit a nerve. I just don’t know which one.
“My father, Stanley Primrose, has the addictions. Five years ago, about the time I started working for Chad, my father borrowed a bunch of money from a loan shark. When he couldn’t pay the money back, the shark sent a few of his goons to retrieve the funds. Long story short, Stanley ended up in the critical care unit of Inville Memorial hospital, and I had to take out a second mortgage on my house. Most of my paycheck each month goes toward bank loans and medical bills. Not that any of this is your business, you heartless, nosy bastard!”
I gently place my hands on her shoulders. “That’s not fair, Winter. I am not nosy, I’m simply concerned. And you know damn good and well I’m not heartless.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter what you are or aren’t. I don’t want or need your pity.”
“Good,” I say, “Because that’s not what I’m offering you.”
“That’s exactly what you’re doing. If you hadn’t seen my car or my house or my fucking mailbox, then you wouldn’t be asking me to move in with you. In fact, you wouldn’t have bid on me either. Oh, God! Was the sex sympathy-driven, too? Was what happened between us tonight a pity fuck?”
I release her shoulders and knife my fingers through my hair in frustration. “You
are so goddamn maddening, woman. I bid on you because I had to have you. Did the way I made love to you feel like pity? Be honest. You’re so damn keen on the truth. How about telling it to me for once.”
“Fine. There was no pity in our intimacies. Are you happy now?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you walked away from me, and you shouldn’t have been able to. Apparently, I didn’t fuck you nearly hard enough. Now get back on the bed.”
Chapter Seventeen
Winter Primrose
I SLOWLY MAKE MY way across the room with Torin right on my heels. Each step I take accentuates the tenderness and bruising between my thighs. It’s a wonderfully-intense feeling, a hot reminder of his animalistic and downright uncivilized thrusts.
I’m confident he’s going to pound me clear into next week as I crawl back up onto the mattress and lay on my side facing him, but he doesn’t. He quickly strips off his clothes, and I finally get to see every gorgeous part of him. Both times he has taken me, he has remained fully dressed, and I have been naked. As my eyes travel over every angle, line and contour of his virile body, I feel myself getting wet all over again. His looks are unmatched by any movie star or model. I could stare at his carved physique all day and never get tired of looking.
He gives me a sweet smile before positioning himself behind me. My eyes mist over at this act of gentleness. I snuggle into his embrace, pressing my butt against his cock. Given the hour and all we have done, I expect his sex to be soft and flaccid, but it’s far from it. The man is pure granite.
I sigh as he pushes his hips forward, slowly grinding his erection against the crack of my ass. I feel his warm, sensual breath in my hair as he whispers, “Someday soon, I’m going to take your ass, too, Miss Primrose. I want you in every way possible and then some.”
I yawn and say, “I think I want that, too, Mr. Stoke.”
