by Vonna Harper
They were predators, a pair of two-legged animals determined to mate. Guided by instinct and oblivious to the world, they would give and take, each of them fighting for dominance, risking injury and inflicting harm because they had no choice.
She’d snarl and scratch, bite and bellow. He’d play with her, treat her like a pet, discipline her, keep her off-balance and so hungry for him she’d risk her life. Then when he grew tired of the game, he’d pin her to the bed, spread her legs, and plow into her.
On the tail of a frustrated hiss, she forced her hands between their bodies. Bold in ways she hadn’t known she was capable of, she gripped his cock, settled it against her palm, tried to close her fingers around what she’d captured.
“Enough! It’s not happening that way.”
Why not, she wanted to demand, but he didn’t give her time. He picked her up, stalked over to the massive bed, and threw her onto it. Her world a red haze, she scrambled onto her hands and knees and stared up at him.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you.” He looked not confused so much as amused and a little wary. “I’m intrigued, but it isn’t what I want.”
“I don’t care.”
“You need to.”
He was right, damn him. She needed to heed the warning, but her nerves were fevered things, and she wasn’t thinking. Just feeling.
Being.
“On your back,” he commanded.
Not taking her attention off him, she did as he’d ordered and yes, it had been a command. She didn’t know what to do with her hands. They seemed to move of their own volition, stroking her too-sensitive breasts or massaging her belly.
“Legs spread.”
Although she didn’t like being so vulnerable, she again complied. Telling herself she wasn’t obeying, that she wanted this with every fiber of her being, she rubbed her thighs.
“Touch yourself.”
Of course she didn’t have to ask him where. Of course there was no need to tell him that the longer he put off sex the more desperate she’d become. Of course—
“Do it!”
The command brought her back to this time and place. By putting considerable thought into the act, she managed to widen her stance. That done, she slid a trembling hand over her mons. His expression intensified until he appeared feral. The man who wore expensive dress clothes no longer existed. The man he’d turned into needed to be naked, insulated from everything the Society expected of him.
“I want to see how wet you are.”
He might have said want but she heard the command behind the low words. His arms hung at his sides as he stood with his legs against the bed and his more-than-human body looming over hers. Feeling both trapped and free, she eased two fingers into herself. Flesh touched flesh. Bright lights flashed. Frozen by anticipation, she struggled to pull in enough oxygen. She was his pet all right, his possession, maybe his sex slave.
Her mouth flooded as did the place where two of her fingers rested. She smelled herself, felt her slick heat.
“What are you thinking?”
Answer. Don’t make him mad—unless you’re ready for him like that. “About our relationship. Who I am to you.”
Judging by his clenched teeth, she’d said the wrong thing, but hadn’t he wanted her honesty?
He jerked his head at her crotch. “Show me.”
Biting down on the impulse to admit she wasn’t done pleasuring herself, she pushed her fingers deeper into her pussy then withdrew them. Her juices coated both digits.
“Hold them up, damn it.”
Feeling as if she’d become part of him despite his curse, she obeyed. His attention focused on her glistening fingers.
“What’s behind your response?” he asked.
“I don’t understand the question.”
“There’s been no foreplay.”
With her hand still extended toward him, she closed her eyes. Her legs remained parted. Maybe, hopefully, if she stayed like this he’d stop with the damn word game.
“What do you call the things you did to me? The butt plug, the collar, making me think about the cage—”
“Those are turn-ons?”
She felt more vulnerable with her eyes closed so went back to looking at him. An aura of darkness surrounded him, sucked her in.
“Yes. Please don’t ask me to explain. It simply happened.”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “Why do you think I did it?”
Damn him.
Her unspoken curse faded in her mind, leaving her with the truth. She’d loved nearly every moment of what he’d subjected her to, if subjected was the right word. If she’d been certain they’d wind up like they were, she might have been tempted to push him further, compel him to punish her more.
“Do you do much of that?” Her arm ached from the position so she lowered it to the bed. “See how far you can push Other women under your control?”
“I’m not going to answer that damn question.”
If she’d ever been angrier at a man she couldn’t remember so why couldn’t she wait for him to mount her? Yes, mount pretty much described what she wanted to happen. Beyond patient, she turned onto her side. Before she could prop herself up on her elbow, he pushed her back and joined her on the bed. Close as he was to her head she could no longer see the room, not that it mattered.
“I don’t...”
He planted his hands on either side of her. “You don’t what?”
“Understand.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Maybe it didn’t, at least not now. The marks she’d made on his chest had faded. He’d barely given her any space to move. On his knees with his upper body inches from her breasts, he was even more impressive than he’d been moments ago. His self-control was a remarkable thing, much greater than hers. And yet she sensed tension coiled through him. If she pushed him, if he didn’t get his way, that tension might explode.
She wanted it.
“This is your one chance to have a voice in this,” he said as his knees pushed against her hips. “Do you want to fuck?”
Not have sex and certainly not make love. “Yes.”
A nearly imperceptible nod followed in the wake of his furrowed brows. She thought he might ask if she was certain but he’d already given her her only chance. His world seemed to be painted in black and white, right and wrong with no shading.
She shuddered and snaked her arms around his neck. He went still when she touched the rough flesh. His message was clear. He wasn’t going to explain.
Fine. After all it wasn’t as if she’d tell him about her childhood.
The predator glare she’d recognized in him deepened. Stretched out. Then, like the big cat she likened him to, he grabbed her lower legs. She lost her hold on his neck, tried to dig into his shoulders. The effort distracted her from what he was doing to her. By the time everything fell into place, he’d spread her legs and settled himself into the space he’d created.
She bent her knees and started to lift her hips off the bed. His mouth a hard line, he slid his hands under her and drew her against him.
No, not against. In. Taking him deeper and deeper with him doing the work and her letting him. She belonged to him. Wore his collar. Needed him with every bit of strength and breath she possessed.
His cock consumed her, slid over tissues that had been created for this moment.
Mr. Dalton had been right. This was fucking, the two of them going at each other as if they wanted to inflict injury. Growling and digging her nails into his arms wasn’t what civilized human beings did but it didn’t matter because he was just as fierce. It was as if his intention was to bury himself so deep she’d never be free of him. He was so damn strong, so damn hard, all sweat and grunts.
When he called her a bitch, she declared him a bastard. When she reared up and raked her teeth over his collarbone, his growl served as a warning. After that she tempered her response. Her hands, arms, and legs, even her feet needed to be on him. Touc
hing him in ways she hadn’t imagined. Throwing herself into space.
Forgetting her name, hearing herself sob.
She came, maybe, a quick harsh spark she’d never felt. An instant later he pulled out of her.
“What—”
The question died unfinished as he flipped her onto her belly. Understanding in ways that went back to her beginning as a human being, she positioned herself so her butt was up. He plowed into her, another of his off-key grunts accompanying the sudden invasion. When she started to slide forward, he grabbed the collar and held her in place. Half choked, she stopped being. Felt. Only felt.
Mr. Dalton had claimed not just her pussy but all of her. She surrendered it to him in every way, crying a little, laughing a lot.
And coming. Oh, shit, coming!
Hard. Loud.
Chapter Ten
When Darek woke enough to know who he was, it was the middle of the night and Callie was nestled against him. They’d fucked what, three times? Hell, he hadn’t done that since he was a teenager. Even then he’d needed longer to recover than it had taken tonight. Maybe when a man reached full sexual maturity and the hormones no longer raged, his staying power improved? If that was true, why hadn’t he noticed before?
Not interested in psychoanalyzing his performance or much of anything else, he studied the moonlight coming in the window. He could just make out the shadow of the collar against her throat. He could have taken it off when he’d removed the butt plug, but he hadn’t. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted her to be without it.
Full of half asked and understood questions, he pushed her away, got off the bed, and went into the bathroom. She was sitting at the side of the bed when he returned.
“I need to go too,” she said as she stood. Her naked body struck him as a mix of innocence and wisdom, woman and pet. “What time is it?”
Instead of looking to see if he could read the clock on his side of the bed, he turned on the bathroom light and checked the wall clock there. “Going on four. I’m going to try to get a little more sleep.”
“Me too. Ah, if you’re ready to turn the bathroom over to me...”
“It’s all yours.”
He’d just pulled back the covers when she gasped. Cursing himself, he froze. Damn it, not tonight and not her asking the questions he had no doubt would come.
“What happened?” Her voice was low and tight.
“I lost a fight.”
“My god, yes, you did. The scars are what I felt when we were—”
“Don’t you have to pee?”
On the tail end of a slight nod, she closed the bathroom door behind her. Instead of making good on his comment about trying to get more sleep, he stalked to the window. The night was nearly full, the world beneath it quiet and calm.
He didn’t want to talk about his scars, not tonight and not with her. But Callie had awakened the past. She wouldn’t be satisfied by anything except the truth. Granted, he could refuse to say anything but she’d seen what played a huge role in what he was doing with his life. As long as they had anything to do with each other, the story behind the scars would play a role in their relationship.
Damn it, what he told her would be easier to decide if they hadn’t spent the night doing what they had. He was done in not just physically but mentally, maybe emotionally. His body wasn’t the only part of him that felt naked tonight.
She’d done it to him.
“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” she said as she turned off the bedroom light, and the shadows returned. “Maybe—I’m not sure I want you to.”
Surprised by her reaction, he held out his hand, indicating he wanted her to join him. He placed his arm around her shoulder and drew her close. Their sides touched, and his cock took note. She’d gotten to him when he hadn’t expected or been ready for it. If he had the brains he’d been born with, he’d put her in the cage, put distance between them.
“Why don’t you want to?” he asked.
“I’m not sure.” She fixed her attention on what lay beyond the window. “Something...”
Irritated by her lack of an explanation, he tightened his hold. She’d been a vital part of the most amazing sexual experience of his life, but she was an Other. He paid her salary and gave her a roof over her head. She owed him.
“Not good enough. You aren’t the first woman to see the scars. They know better than to ask for an explanation. Most times I don’t say anything.”
“But sometimes?”
“Nope.” Now that he’d thought about it, she might be about to hear something only his family had heard.
“Is it easier for you if I don’t say anything? I mean, tonight was—maybe we should leave it like that.”
“Maybe.”
“Unless you need to. I’m not good at being part of deeply personal conversations. I, ah, haven’t had much experience. Most of the time...”
“Most of the time what?”
She resolutely stared out. “The people I lived with kept their emotions to themselves. I know how to do that.”
He wasn’t used to considering Others’ feelings. A large part of him simply wanted to go to sleep, but what she’d just said was burrowing inside him. So he wasn’t the only one with a past.
“The people you lived with? Not your parents?”
Tension ran through her and transferred to him. “Mr. Dalton, my childhood isn’t important.”
She didn’t want to talk about it. Hell, maybe she was in worse shape than he was. “That’s for me to decide.”
“My past doesn’t matter.”
“The hell it doesn’t. Were you taken from your parents? They broke the law?”
“No. Not that.”
He spun her toward him. “What are you trying to keep from me?”
“Nothing,” she whispered, followed by taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. But isn’t everyone entitled to things they want to keep to themselves?”
“It depends on what those things are. Besides, I call the shots in our relationship.”
“Yes, you do.”
When she looked up at him, the moon highlighted shadows in her eyes he hadn’t seen before. What secrets lay behind those shadows and did he want to insist she expose them?
“I hope you do, pet.” He emphasized the word pet. “I made it clear I expect honesty in all things from my employees. I’ll ask one more time. What was your childhood like?”
She muttered something
“I couldn’t hear you.”
“There was a lot of moving around,” she whispered. “Changes. The telling would take a long time and—Master, about your scars. From the looks of it, I can’t help but think claws were responsible.”
“Do they repulse you?”
He waited for her denial. When it didn’t come, he closed his hands around her slim arms. He didn’t want to cause her unnecessary pain, but it might become necessary if she continued to evade and try to change the subject.
“Do they?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I wish you’d tell me about them. I can’t insist you tell me but...”
Moments ago they’d been talking, if talking covered it, about her childhood. Somehow she’d flipped things so it was about his scars.
A subject he’d never take lightly or fully free himself from.
Fang-caused scars covered the base of his neck. Others compliments of a predator’s claws ran down both sides of his spine. They no longer hurt the way they had after the attack, but he remained aware of their presence. Of course he wished his back wasn’t marred, but in a way they were badges of honor, the price of survival. The moments that defined the man he’d become.
“What would you do with the information if I told you?” he asked. “It sounds as if you aren’t close to many people.”
“I’m not,” she whispered. “If you want me to keep anything you tell me to myself I will. I just—can you blame me for c
aring?”
Caring. “No.”
All his life his family had impressed on him how vital it was to control the situation because that’s where power came from. However, she’d taken the conversation away from her and onto him. He could call her bluff and thus avoid a complicated explanation, but the two of them weren’t business rivals. Their relationship was something different. Maybe.
“Have you wondered why I’m doing what I am with my life?”
“Of course I have.”
“It has a lot to do with the scars.” Almost everything in fact.
She nodded and yawned, prompting him to do the same. Every muscle in his body called out for rest, but he wasn’t ready to go to bed. A plan of sorts was taking form, and he needed to remain alert if he was going to pull it off.
What did he mean, if?
He released her and chose the overstuffed chair furthest from the window. He wondered if she was aware that the moon highlighted her features as she curled up in the other chair. She looked small and vulnerable, his collar the only distraction from her nudity.
Callie was complicated when he wanted her to be simple and open, complying one hundred percent with his demands. But it wasn’t that simple.
“My uncle and I went camping all through my teen years and into my twenties,” he began. “It was our time together. He had two children and a wife, none of them interested in getting away from civilization.”
Although she yawned again, her body language said he had her complete attention. As long as he remained focused on his plan where she was concerned, he should be able to get through this part of his story.
“We were in Montana, specifically the Rocky Mountain range. Have you ever been there?”
“I’ve seen pictures.”
But you’d like to experience it. “It’s rugged country, nothing you’d call civilization. We’d taken along bear spray and were armed as we always were when we were out like that.”
She covered her mouth. Her breasts rose and fell.
“Not a grizzly. The scars would look different if it had been one of them.”
