In my moment of hesitation, he grabbed my wrist. He barely had to squeeze before the razor slipped from my fingers. I’d lost my only weapon, and now I was faced by a hulking, bleeding madman.
Only, he didn’t look mad. He looked… disappointed? What kind of man faces an attempt on his life with such mild emotion? He could have attacked me. He could have killed me and eliminated the threat.
But the laughable truth was, I wasn’t a threat.
Keeping his hold on my wrist, he took a slow step toward me. I dodged back as far as I could, watching him warily. I didn’t understand his calm response.
“I cut you,” I blurted, trying to comprehend why he wasn’t responding to my violence in kind.
“You did,” he said coolly, completely unconcerned by the little rivulet of blood dripping down over his defined abs. “Are you really so eager for another spanking already? Did you enjoy it so much? I’ll have to devise more clever punishments for you.” The ghost of a smile flickered over the corners of his lips. “We are going to get along very well.”
“Stop saying that,” I forced out, my voice trembling. His calm was beyond unnerving. “I don’t want you to spank me. I don’t want you to touch me.”
He moved with lightning speed, and his body suddenly pressed against mine. My back bumped against the wall, and he captured both my wrists in his big hand again, pinning them above my head. He caged me in, his powerful body too close for me to defend myself.
My breath caught in my throat, fear fluttering at the center of my chest.
“Liar,” he said smoothly. “I won’t tolerate that, either. You enjoyed your spanking.” His thigh wedged between mine, forcing my legs apart. He reached between us with his free hand and lightly slapped my sex.
A strange, strangled sound left my chest. It felt… weird, being spanked there. It stung, but the rebuke went deeper than physical discomfort. The punitive touch to my most secret, sensitive area was a causal demonstration of ownership. Something inside me clenched. A shadow of the toxic fear that had overtaken me the last time he’d touched my sex made me shudder.
He stared down into my eyes, his black gaze penetrating my soul. He spanked my sex again. This time, a wet sound accompanied the slap.
I bucked in his hold, struggling to escape. My writhing caused his palm to rub against my bud of sensitive nerve endings. I gasped and shivered, my body alight with sensation that was utterly foreign to me. My toes tingled, and warmth curled low in my belly.
But fear persisted, fogging my brain.
“What are you so afraid of, cosita?” he asked, his voice low and silky smooth. “The pain or the pleasure?”
“What?” I managed. Pleasure? Nothing about what was happening was pleasurable in any way. My situation was horrifying, disgusting.
He studied me for long, torturous seconds, his hot palm resting against my sex in an obvious proprietary gesture.
“Do you really not understand?” he finally asked. His long fingers played through my sensitive folds, and I felt the slickness of my flesh under his touch.
I pressed my lips together, refusing to contemplate what was happening to me.
Something like a growl rumbled from his chest, and his dark eyes burned into me. “How innocent are you, Samantha?”
“I… I don’t like when you touch me there,” I whispered the truth.
“There?” he repeated. “You mean, your wet little pussy?” He rotated his palm against me, and something strange crackled through my system, making me cry out.
“Stop,” I moaned. “I don’t like this.”
“Liar,” he accused again, delivering another stinging slap against my labia. I tried to close my thighs, but he kept me securely pinned in place.
“I don’t want you to touch me,” I pleaded. Despite the unfamiliar electric current that was coursing through my body, fear still sapped my mind.
Wrong. Dirty.
Dirty little girl.
You want me to touch your secret place again, don’t you, dirty little girl? The low, masculine voice whispered across my mind. I stiffened, my horror creeping up my throat to choke off my air supply.
The heat of his hand left my sex, and his palm came up to cup my cheek, his thumb hooking below my jaw to tilt my face up to his. “Look at me,” he ordered in soothing tones.
I blinked, and my eyes focused on his face. His scar was deeply pronounced, drawn downward by the twist of his frown. The sight of his displeasure might have made me flinch with fresh fear, but I detected only concern in his dark eyes. He watched me with such intensity that I was unable to look away.
“You will learn to accept my touch,” he said. As though to prove his point, he rubbed his thumb along the line of my lower lip. My sensitive nerve endings crackled and danced, and I sucked in a sharp breath. My body quivered, my skin pebbling. “You will learn to crave it,” he continued, imbuing the words with command.
“Please, let me go,” I begged, unravelling. All my earlier bravado had been torn away as swiftly and as easily as he’d disarmed me. I was left in a fog of fear and confusion. Trapped by Andrés’ powerful body, I had no hope of escape. All I could do was plead with him. I struggled to gather my wits, clinging to the final weapon that remained: my mind.
“You have to let me go,” I said, with a little more strength. “You can’t… hurt me.” I couldn’t bring myself to say rape me. “My friends will find me. Do you really think the FBI won’t do whatever it takes to get one of their own back?”
“My brother isn’t so sure of that,” he countered, still studying me intently. “It’s my job to ensure your honesty. He wants the truth from you, and I will have the truth.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” I insisted.
He cocked his head at me, then nodded. “Yes, I think you are.”
“Then you’ll let me go?” I asked, hope swelling in my chest.
His fingers tightened around my wrists, and he scowled, his first true show of anger since Cristian had cut me. “No,” he declared. “That’s my brother’s decision to make. Until he does, I’m keeping you.”
I glowered up at him, righteous rage rising. “Dex is going to find me,” I warned, an absolute truth. “And if you hurt me before he gets here, he will tear you apart with his bare hands.”
“No one will find you,” he swore. “You belong to me now.”
“You’re insane,” I flung back at him, twisting against his harsh hold. “I don’t belong to you.”
He rubbed his fingers over my lips, and I could smell my lingering desire that had coated them. “Your pussy says otherwise,” he told me. “You nearly came all over my hand, just from a spanking. Your body knows its Master. Your mind will follow.”
I snapped my teeth at his fingers. That was his fucking mistake for putting them so close to my mouth.
I barely managed to nip at him before he pulled back. His hand settled around my throat, applying the barest pressure. My eyes went wide, and my mind blanked. Something primal within me surrendered on instinct, my animal brain recognizing the show of dominance, the subtle threat. I was powerless against him, small and fragile in his grip.
“Good girl,” he said with approval. “Don’t try to bite me again, or I’ll find a better use for your pretty mouth.”
I sucked in a small gasp. He couldn’t mean… I’d never… I didn’t want…
His touch shifted, his hand leaving my throat so he could stroke his fingertips down the column of my neck. “Breathe,” he coaxed. “You spook very easily, cosita. But you will learn to crave me. All of me. My hand, my mouth, my cock. You will accept me.”
“I won’t,” I forced out on a whisper.
He frowned and opened his mouth to say something else that was probably equally terrifying. But a knock on the bedroom door interrupted whatever he was going to say. A masculine voice penetrated the door, speaking in rapid-fire Spanish. Andrés barked something back that I couldn’t understand.
Then his gaze fixed on me again. �
��I have business to attend to,” he told me. “We will work on this later.”
Work on this. Not talk about this. Whatever Andrés’ plan for me entailed, it didn’t involve my consent.
Chapter 4
He stared down at me, considering. I barely breathed. If I did, I’d inhale his purely masculine, purely intimidating scent. As well as the smell of my own confusing arousal. I didn’t understand why my body was reacting to his harsh treatment in this twisted way. Maybe it was a defense mechanism, an instinctive response designed to prevent damage to my sex if he did decide to take me against my will.
But that didn’t explain the strange tingling in my flesh, the way the blood pumped faster through my veins as I waited for his next move.
He blew out a sigh. “I need to get dressed,” he told me. “Can I trust you not to try to attack me again once my back is turned?”
I scowled at him, lifting my chin in defiance. I’d never stop trying to get away from him, even if I knew that physically besting him was next to impossible. I’d had a slim chance with my puny weapon, and now the delicate razorblade lay useless on the carpet.
But I wasn’t about to admit meekly that I’d be a good girl and stop trying to fight my way free.
His full lips twisted in a slight frown, dragging his scar down in a fearsome slash across his face. I dimly noted that he would be handsome, otherwise. Beautiful, even. His stubble-covered square jaw was strong and masculine, his cheekbones high and defined. Heavy dark brows drew together over his onyx eyes, and his black hair curled softly to frame his rugged features.
But the scar that marred his cheek… It was difficult to look at; vicious and violent.
Instinct urged my gaze to flit around the room in its familiar anxious pattern. But his eyes. I couldn’t look away. His pupils were dilated, fixed on me. A slender ring of rich chocolate brown surrounded them, nearly swallowed by the darkness of his stare.
A light shiver raced across my skin, but I remained locked in his steady gaze.
His frown eased, one corner of his lips ticking up in a perverse smile. In a shockingly tender gesture, he tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “So frightened, but so defiant. I’m going to have to restrain you, aren’t I?”
I jerked against his hold, but his grip remained iron around my wrists. “No.”
“So you won’t try to attack me as soon as I release you?” he asked, the twist of his smile letting me know the question was purely rhetorical.
I struggled again, and a frustrated noise that sounded a little like a growl slipped between my teeth. He laughed; a low, rumbling chuckle of dark amusement.
“Such an angry gatita. Maybe I should keep you in cage. Would that tame you?”
“I don’t need to be tamed,” I shot back, my anger bleeding over fear. “I told you the truth. I’m a federal agent. You said you believe me. If you do, then you know you can’t risk hurting me. My friends at the Bureau won’t stop looking for me, and if you’ve…” I couldn’t bring myself to say raped me. “If you’ve hurt me when they find me, they won’t show you any mercy. You have to let me go.”
His frown returned. “That’s up to my brother to decide. Until he does, you’re mine.” His fingers tightened around my wrists as he made the perverse declaration.
“You keep saying that,” I hissed out. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that, right? You’re—”
My next insult didn’t make it past my lips. He pressed his hand firmly against my mouth, his frown twisting with disapproval.
“You will learn to mind your language when you’re speaking to me,” he said coolly. “I need to get dressed, and you need to be quiet and behave while I’m gone. How comfortable you are while I’m out attending to my business is up to you. I can gag you and cage you, or I can leave you free to move around the suite. Make your choice.”
My eyes flew wide, finally leaving his face to search the room. Cage me? Surely he couldn’t be serious.
I sucked in a sharp breath through my nose. I’d been too distressed to notice before. Beneath the enormous four-poster bed were bars. Cushions and a blanket made it look like a second bunk beneath the big bed, but that was just my mind struggling to comprehend what I was truly looking at.
What kind of man had a cage under his bed? One that was clearly waiting to trap a frightened, unwilling woman?
“Choose,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Are you going to be a good girl for me, or am I going to have to cage you beneath my bed like a naughty gatita?” His cock jerked against my belly, and I shuddered.
I shook my head as best I could, but my movement was restricted by his firm hand on my mouth.
He studied me for a moment longer, then gave a small nod. The weight of his body finally left mine when he took a step back, and my shaky legs nearly collapsed without his support. He maintained his hold on my wrists above my head, keeping me upright until I managed to find my footing. Once I regained my balance, he lowered my arms, but he didn’t release them. He kept them trapped in one of his big hands as he moved back toward the bed, pulling me along in his wake.
“Please,” I gasped out, my eyes fixing on the cage as panic churned in my gut. “I don’t want to go in there.”
“I’m not going to put you in the cage,” he told me calmly. “You’ve already been punished for your transgressions. I told you: I might seem harsh, but I’m fair.”
“So you’re not going to lock me up?” I asked tentatively, my steps faltering as we reached the bed.
He smirked at me. “I didn’t say that.” He directed me to sit on the mattress and pressed my hands into my lap. “Put your hands on your knees, and keep them there. If you try to fight me again, I think you understand what the consequence will be.”
He finally released my wrists, and I slowly directed my trembling hands to my knees, pressing my palms against them and locking my fingers around my kneecaps. He curled two fingers beneath my chin, applying light pressure. I had no choice but to lift my head and straighten my spine.
“Shoulders back,” he ordered.
I complied, too intimidated to do otherwise. I’d been hunched over in a last-ditch attempt to protect my most vulnerable areas, but he demanded that I sit upright. In this position, my small breasts were exposed, and his eyes flared as he studied my naked body.
“Qué bonita,” he murmured. His fingers left my chin, and I started to slump again. He simply clicked his tongue at me and lightly gripped my jaw, returning me to the position he desired.
“Stay,” he commanded firmly, using the puppy-training voice again.
The ire that had burned through my veins earlier in response to that tone was utterly absent. Instead, a light shiver raced across my skin. He released my jaw, but I didn’t move. He didn’t have to touch me in order to restrain me. He’d thoroughly brought me to heel. He might have spanked me, but it was his unnerving calm and gentle but firm touches that were fucking with my mind. If he’d responded to my violence in kind, I might have maintained the determination to fight. As it was, his iron will kept me trapped as effectively as his strong hands.
He stepped back from me, but he didn’t take his eyes off me as he crossed the short distance to a chest of drawers set against the wall a few feet away from the bed. He was right to watch me. If he’d taken his steady gaze off me, I would have bolted for the door. As it was, it took nothing more than his dark, stern stare to keep me locked in place where he’d left me.
He opened the top drawer and retrieved a thin strip of black leather, three small silver padlocks, and a length of delicate chain. My breath stuttered as he slowly withdrew the items, allowing me to clearly see what was in store for me.
“I don’t want that,” I managed breathlessly, my gaze locking on the collar. I’d longed for Dex to give me a collar, to love me and mark me as his own. I knew what it meant in the context of consensual BDSM: commitment, devotion.
With Andrés, it would be a symbol of subjugation. Everything I’d craved would be perve
rted the moment the leather touched my throat.
A single dark brow rose, and he lifted the collar for me to examine. “Does this scare you? It won’t hurt.”
“I know it won’t,” I began to babble. “But I don’t want it. Not from you.”
He closed the short distance between us. I didn’t budge from the position he’d dictated, even though I wanted to shrink away.
He studied me with renewed curiosity, his gaze sharpening on my features. “Not from me? Someone else has collared you before? Maybe you’re not so innocent.”
“No. He hasn’t. I just wanted… I don’t want this from you,” I finally managed to curtail the words that threatened to spill out of me. Andrés didn’t need to know about my heartbreak and secret longings for my best friend. No doubt, he’d find some way to use it against me.
His black eyes narrowed. “You lost the right to make demands when you tried to kill me,” he told me. “I can’t trust you not to attack as soon as my back is turned. So, I’m going to chain you to my bed, where you’ll wait for me like a good girl while I attend to my business.”
“I don’t want this,” I begged, still not daring to make a move against him.
“And I don’t want to have to punish you more severely than I already have. Not so soon. This is for your own good, Samantha.”
With that ominous declaration, he brought the collar up to my throat. I shuddered as the cool leather encircled my neck, but I remained in position, trapped by the looming threat of further punishment.
The collar tightened slightly as he slid the small padlock through the hasp at my nape, and the soft click as he secured it in place made my stomach clench. A single tear rolled down my cheek. This was all wrong. I’d fantasized about accepting a collar for years, and now one was being forced on me. I wasn’t willingly ceding my trust and promising my obedience; I was being conquered, rebuked.
He tenderly brushed the wetness from my face with his calloused thumb. “It’s not so bad, cosita,” he cooed, tracing the line of the collar with his free hand. “It’s very pretty on you.”
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