by W Winters
“I need to know what you’re going to do to me,” she says before clearing her throat. “I’m not naïve. I know … I know you can do what you want. I know you may lie to me, hurt me, fuck me, whatever it is you intend to do, I’m not stupid.” I can hear her swallow and then she adds, “But what if I did go along with it? Would you really tell me what happened to her?” Her eyes gloss over and her voice softens.
“A question for a question,” I tell her. “An answer for an answer.”
“You’re going to be disappointed with my answers,” she says with a weary note to her voice. “She barely told me anything. I was speaking out of anger when I saw you.”
“You came to my bar, you looked for my family. You tried to shoot me.” With every sentence, she cowers more and more. “There’s a reason for those actions.” She nods solemnly.
“What are you going-”
“Just sign,” I cut her off and she moves her focus to the empty glass. My pulse is racing, my nerves on edge. And yet, she looks so … unaffected by the weight of what’s to come. Like some part of her has given in.
“I need this as much as you do.”
Her huff is nothing but sarcastic. Easy, I remind myself. Go easy on her now. It will be different later.
“It will be an escape from the pain if nothing else. You need it,” I tell her and this time her expression changes slightly, as if she’s so very aware of the agony that mourning is. It’s also an aphrodisiac. There is never a more relevant time to be touched, or to be loved than when someone you love is gone.
“You want another glass?” I offer with a slight teasing tone to lighten the mood, an asymmetric grin pulling at my lips when she peeks up at me through her thick lashes.
“I may have had more than enough already.”
The sofa groans as she leans back on it, reading the single sheet of paper once again.
The faint light from the disappearing sun kisses her skin as the loose shirt slips down her shoulder and she has to readjust it. She doesn’t look back at me as she does. With her legs bent, her bare feet resting on the edge of the sofa and a thin blanket thrown over her lap, she looks far too casual for this moment.
As if that exposed skin of hers wasn’t everything I’ve been thinking about since I first saw her across the bar. As if I don’t want to rip that shirt off of her and devour every inch of her body with open-mouth kisses, dragging my teeth along her skin and making her that much more sensitive for what I’m going to do to her.
There are moments in time, pauses in your reality, where you realize this instant will be a memory forever. Something that will never leave you. I’ll remember this one forever.
I hope I never forget how the adrenaline is rushing through me, how eager I am. I want to remember it all. Every single detail.
I’ll remember it, and I’ll have to, because I’m going to lose her. She’s not meant to be mine.
That doesn’t mean I won’t take her, though.
“If I say no?” she asks, her wide hazel eyes searching mine for something.
“It doesn’t happen.” There’s no hesitation in my answer.
“If I say stop?”
“It stops.”
“Why do it then? Why would you do this?” she asks with her brow furrowed.
“Because I know you want it. I know you need it.” She’s silent in return.
“This would never hold up in court,” she says, finally breaking the quiet.
“I have no desire to ever see you in a courtroom, Miss Fawn. I didn’t even intend to write this down; I only did it because I thought you would respond better, maybe even listen to what I’m offering, if it was written in black and white.”
“And what is it you’re offering exactly, Mr. Cross?”
“Answers, and an escape, a way to pay a debt I know you can’t afford.” My gaze stays on hers, holding her in place until she gives me an answer. “This is a world you know nothing about, Bethany, and I’m willing to bring you into it. I’m willing… and you’d be wise to take this deal.”
“Call me Beth.” She corrects me without looking at me as the pen scribbles her signature, right on the line next to mine.
Desire sinks into my blood in an instant, surging through every fiber of my being as the paper and pen find themselves on the coffee table. Signed on the dotted line.
“I’ll go easy on you,” I tell her as I stand up, preparing myself to show restraint. She stays where she is, pretending not to be affected in the least.
“Is that right?” she asks as I pour a glass of wine. She stares at the dark liquid swirling before speaking out loud. “I’m already a little further than the right side of tipsy, Mr. Cross.”
I fucking love the way she said my name. My cock stiffens, immediately hard just from having her obey me, having her speak to me like this. There’s something about a fiery woman submitting that makes me lose all control and focus, giving it all to her.
“It’s for me,” I point out and take a sip. It’s cheap wine, but decent enough.
“Don’t confuse me going along with this for something it isn’t,” she says a little harder, with more resolve than I expect.
“Oh, and what isn’t it?”
“I’m not just going to let you do what you want and get away with it. I’m not that easy, and I’m not submitting to your every wish if that’s what you think this is.”
A beat passes before I ask her, “Then what are you doing?”
“I’m simply learning the ropes of your world, Mr. Cross.”
“This is how you’ll learn. You’ll do what I say. I ask the first question, then once I’m satisfied with your answer, you can ask me whatever you want. Those are the ropes, Miss Fawn.”
Her long brown hair brushes against her shoulders as she nods, making her shirt fall once again and a shiver run across her skin. She’s quick to lift the thin fabric back into place, as if it will be staying there.
“Lie down.” I give her the first command and just like yesterday, in the guest bedroom when I waited for the book she held so tightly, she hesitates, testing me before obeying.
“I’d like to address an important matter first,” she states innocently enough, arching a perfectly plucked brow at me.
“What’s that?”
“It’s seven seventeen,” she tells me and I grin, letting the rush of desire take over.
“I already started the clock at six fifty-two when I pulled into your driveway.”
Surprise widens her eyes.
“Lie down.”
“I’ll say no if you tell me to spread my legs for you.”
The determination in her voice is surprising, considering how badly she wants me.
Although I don’t speak the sentiment out loud, I make her words a personal challenge.
“You’d spite me to deny yourself a basic need?” I ask her and before she can respond I add, “I have no intention of fucking you today, but I know you need to be fucked long and hard … both that mouth of yours and your cunt.”
Indignation flashes in her eyes, darkening them, which only makes the golden hues that much more vibrant.
“If I put my hands between your thighs, would I find you hot and wet for me?” My voice is calm, although my dick leaks precum, throbbing from the very idea that her cunt is ready for me.
“You’ll never know,” she says offhandedly before lying down, covering herself with the blanket and resting her head on the one pillow that was tucked in the corner of the sofa.
“I asked you a question.” My words are hard, and her hazel glare whips to mine. “Is your cunt soaking wet for me?”
“No.” She answers savagely and begins to ask her own question, but I tell her, “I’m not satisfied with that answer.”
I drop to my knees one by one to get closer to her, feeling her heat, but not touching her. Not yet.
Somehow I keep my voice low and controlled when I repeat my question, “Is your cunt soaking wet for me?” My breathing is short, my pal
ms hot with desire raging inside of me.
Give in to what’s to come, my cailín tine.
The Gaelic phrase fits her, everything about her, perfectly. My cailín tine. My fiery girl.
Lifting her head and staring boldly into my heated gaze, she answers, “You’re an attractive man, Mr. Cross. I’ve been wet for you since you pinned me against my foyer wall.” Her blink is slow and deliberate. When she opens her eyes, she stares at the ceiling as if her heart isn’t racing out of her chest, as if the blush on her cheeks is only from the wine. With her hands on her chest, she gently places her head on the pillow and asks politely, “Is it my turn to ask a question?”
Sitting back, I rest my hands on the rustic wood floors on either side of my thighs, forcing myself not to touch her. It’s so cold, and a much-needed reminder of how hot I burn for her.
“You aren’t in the position I want yet, but yes, I did say I would go easy on you this first time.”
“Who killed my sister?” Her words are blurted out and her body tenses. “I want a name,” she adds quickly.
“I don’t have a name, but I’m looking into it and when I do – which I will, I promise you – when I do have a name, I will tell you.”
“So you’re saying you had nothing to do with it?”
“That’s another question, Miss Fawn. I’ll gladly answer it now, but then I get two in a row.”
Her wild eyes search mine for a moment as she clenches her jaw before nodding in agreement.
“Not only did I have nothing to do with her death, neither did my brothers or anyone who works for me. I have no idea why she was killed… yet.”
She swallows thickly and her forehead scrunches as she wars with whether or not to believe me.
All I can think about is the one night at The Red Room. I bet her sister told her about that night and that’s why she came searching for me and knew to go to my club.
“Move your hands above you, to here,” I say then reach up and pat the arm of the sofa. She’s slow to obey, but she does. Her nails sink into the fabric and that loose shirt slips down her shoulder again, showing me more of her soft skin. I run a finger along the curve of her arm, leaving goosebumps along my path.
“I don’t know-”
I cut off her objection. “I want to know when you’re lying to me, and I’ll do as I see fit.” My words are barely spoken, because my focus is on how flushed her skin is already from such little contact.
I take my time, moving her hair to the side so I can see her slender neck and the dip in her collar.
Reaching into my left back pocket, I pull out a simple, black silk tie and tell her, “Your wrists will be bound.” Her eyes flash to mine, and I take another sip of her wine. It’s so much sweeter the second time, not unlike herself.
Although she watches as if she’d like to object, she doesn’t. Instead all she says is, “Seven thirty-four.”
“One thing you’ll find benefits you greatly in this arrangement is that I enjoy taking my time,” I tell her, picking up her left wrist, wrapping it and then the other before tying the two together. “Your body will tell me if you’re lying to me. Your body will tell me everything.”
All the while I watch her body. How her back arches slightly, how slowly she’s blinking, how quickly she’s breathing. I’m captivated by her and I couldn’t give two shits if every word out of her mouth is a lie.
“You said you’d stop if I want you to?” she asks me and I answer with a question of my own. “Are you already having doubts?”
“Just checking,” she whispers as I tighten the knot and place her wrists back on the arm of the sofa, above her head. The nervousness colors her every move. She can’t hide anything from me like this.
I don’t ask her or warn her before I pull the blanket down, exposing her to the cool air, so at odds with her heat.
I’ll go slow. I’ll be gentle this first time and ease her into what I want.
Her hips dig into the sofa as if she’s trying to get away or hide, before ultimately relaxing. Her thighs are pressed firmly together, all the way down her legs to her ankles, barely covered by the thin sweatpants. With her shirt pulled up from the way she’s laying, there’s a sliver of her midriff exposed.
“Let me tell you a secret.” My fingers fall to just above the exposed skin, playing along the hem of her shirt and gently lifting it higher. “I often have to get answers from people. It’s what I do; it’s what I’m good at.”
It’s because of me that Carter was able to create this empire so quickly. Everyone had secrets and I was able to get them all. With a knife and ruthlessness he didn’t have quite yet. Power is limited if you don’t have the knowledge to enforce it.
Her body stiffens and the breath she releases is strained.
“When someone is put in a state where they can’t control their body, their emotions,” I say, watching her as she stares at the ceiling, waiting for her eyes to find mine before continuing, “their pain or their pleasure, they give so much away.” I let my words linger in the air before my fingers finally fall to her exposed belly. I run the tips of my fingers just inside the waistband of her sweatpants. Just barely venturing lower. “I intend to tie you down, to push your limits, and to enjoy every detail you give me about whatever it is I want to know.”
“I can say no,” she gasps as I slip my hand lower, finding the elastic band of her underwear. The way her shoulders rise and hunch with every quick breath reveals her desire just as much as it displays her need to run.
“Of course you can, but why would you deny yourself if you have nothing to hide?”
“I don’t have anything to hide.”
“Prove it,” I tell her.
“You just want to touch me.” Her words fall carelessly from her lips.
“I want to do more than touch you,” I admit to her and feel a pang in my chest. A longing that’s desperate to be spoken. “You aren’t the only one in this room who’s in need.”
At my words, her gaze drifts lower, down to my zipper and I’m sure she can tell how hard I am for her. Her mouth parts slightly and she looks away, not commenting but showing her cards all too easily.
My gaze wanders to the crook of her neck, and as she breathes, a lock of hair falls right where I’m looking.
Leaning forward, I brush it to the side and bring my lips closer to her ear. Intent on whispering, intent on sharing a part of me I haven’t shared with anyone.
I want to run my lips along her neck, kissing and sucking and confessing all my sins, begging for forgiveness.
Her chest heaves as if she knows I want to kiss her.
None of that happens though, because she turns her head just as I start to make my move, and she steals the kiss from me.
Her lips brush against mine at first, soft and hesitant. Yet she nips my bottom lip before I can deepen it. The gentleness of her touch is at odds with how my hands reach up to her hair, gripping it at the base of her neck and pulling her head back to expose more of her throat.
With my breath stolen, once again caught off guard, and with the desire running rampant in my blood, I stare down at her. Her eyes half lidded, her breaths coming in short pants as if I’d just devoured her and it wasn’t at all a tempting taste of a kiss.
I’m drunk off her.
Breathing in her lust and not breaking her gaze, I lower my fingers to her swollen nub, spreading her arousal up to it, and then circling it. “What was that for?” I ask her and she tells me, “I wanted to take it first. I deserve that much at least.” Her last word skips in the air, like a flat rock thrown across a summer lake. Her speech moves from a higher pitch to a whisper as I move my fingers lower, playing with her and watching every reaction she gives me.
“How many lovers have you had?” I ask and my question catches her off guard as she struggles to hold back her gasps.
“Few,” she answers in a strained voice as I circle her clit again.
“Recently?”
“Not since college.�
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“Did they touch you like this?” I ask her, imagining a younger version of her under the sheets in a dorm room, letting some dumb fuck put his hands on her.
“Yes,” she breathes with her eyes closed and I gently press down on her clit and then smack it.
She sits up and when she does I aim for another kiss, but she bites down hard on my mouth. Her teeth plunge into my bottom lip, the bite sending a pain shooting through my body. It’s hard enough to draw blood and I swear to God it does nothing but make me that much harder for her.
She releases me all too soon, sucking in a deep breath with her mouth still open, her chest heaving and her eyes pinned on me.
Lifting my fingers from her heat, I bring them to my throbbing lip.
“No blood,” she murmurs and a soft smirk plays on that pouty mouth of hers. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Mr. Cross. Even if the thought of you getting me off makes me all hot and bothered, I still hate your fucking guts.”
My dick responds, getting harder by the second as she utters the threatening words so sensually, words that would get others killed.
Her anger’s at war with her desire, but it’s losing the battle. Maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the exhaustion, but I can give her desire the upper hand.
I watch her every move. The way she clenches her hands and struggles to keep them motionless above her head. The way her skin flushes and goosebumps run up her chest, then down her arms. She’s fucking gorgeous like this. Bared to me without reluctance. Without a single hint suggesting she’s hiding a damn thing.
She’s lost in the lust.
I spread her arousal around her swollen nub before bringing my middle finger back to her opening. With a gentle press, her lips part, and the word stop is there, just behind her clenched teeth. The hiss of an S was coming.
I push her, barely sliding the tip of my finger into her hot entrance, and her jaw drops open, the word lost somewhere and remaining unspoken.
Bringing my fingers back to her clit, I let her come down from the high, simply toying with her as she regains her composure.
