Under Control

by Zoë Normandie

  Carrick shot her a ‘don’t even try’ look, threatening her to continue to cooperate, so she shook her head, accepting her fate. The last time she’d tried to run, it hadn’t worked out. And maybe she could flip things around and get the truth out of him.

  They both took their shots quickly. She winced as that familiar burn ran down her esophagus. Her stomach wanted to reject it and convulsed as she gagged, bringing her fingers to her lips to keep everything in.

  “Don’t tell me to savor it.” She fluttered her watering eyes rapidly, feeling an instant rush.

  Carrick let out an honest laugh, shaking his head.

  “You want to go first?” He put down his glass and picked up the bottle, pouring two full shot glasses again.

  “No.” She snorted. “Definitely not.”

  “All right, truth or dare, Dani.”

  Her gaze darted back and forth as she debated it, and he shot her an impatient look.

  “Dare.”

  “Take it all off,” he growled, licking his lips as he looked her body up and down.

  “No, wait—truth,” she correctly herself.

  “Why can’t you just tell Petrov to fuck off?” he asked, throwing down the toughest question right out of the gate.

  Fuck.

  She sucked in air, realizing he wasn’t messing around. This wasn’t going to be a lighthearted game. This was business.

  She opened her mouth to begin, but he leaned forward intimidatingly and said in his deepest, darkest tone, “There’s a special punishment in this game for liars. You don’t want to find out what it is.”

  Goosebumps ran up her thighs with a vengeance, and she tried to wrap her head around his question. Why can’t I just put Petrov in his place? Why?

  “I haven’t spent a lot of time thinking about that,” she began, connecting with his eyes as he listened, still as could be. “But I guess it comes down to the fact that he’s my father’s brother. My uncle. And I loved my dad more than anything.”

  “So, it’s all some misplaced sense of blood loyalty?”

  “It’s just hard. I miss Mom and Dad. I want to honor my parents,” she explained, and realized her throat was choking up. “Not to mention the fact that my uncle terrifies me. He’s threatened to kill me before.”

  Blinking quickly, trying to get the tears away, she took a deep breath and kept her eyes on him. Was it the tequila? She wasn’t sure. But suddenly, everything was coming to the top.

  “I know this sounds so stupid.”

  “You know that what Petrov wants doesn’t have anything to do with honoring your father?” Carrick demanded.

  “Is that a question?” Danica caught on quickly and shot him a slick look. “I think it’s your turn—truth or dare?”

  “Dare.”

  He leaned back, his seated stance wide, and crossed his arms, gazing down his long nose at her. So she decided to make it harder for him.

  “Off with your shirt.” She licked her lips, knowing she was just being selfish and trying to make him feel equally uncomfortable.

  His eyes hard on her, he tore off his T-shirt like he didn’t give a fuck, exposing the long, curving tattoo across his chest. Now, in the light, she had a way better view of it than when she’d seen it in the tent. It was words and numbers—likely something meaningful to him. And now, she also had a way better view of his rippling, jacked body. Tan and defined, his chest flexed as he leaned forward.

  “Not bad,” she shrugged, shooting him a coy look.

  Carrick shook his head with a grin then stared her down in all seriousness.

  “My turn.”

  Shit, Danica thought, as she weighed her options. She didn’t want any more questions. And she definitely did not want to drink any more of that engine grease.

  “Fine. Dare.”

  “You know what I’m going to ask.” He leaned back, his arm resting over the top of the couch. The view was delicious as his hard body shone under the soft amber light in the corner of the shadowy room.

  “When exactly is this game over?” She caved back into the chair, eyes wide and shy as he watched her.

  “When I’m done.”

  Danica grumbled as she reached forward and took the shot of tequila, sending the burning liquid down her throat. She was going to be drinking a bottle of tequila that night, apparently.

  “Now, tell me, truth or dare?” she said, licking the last drop of tequila from her bottom lip.

  “Truth.” He shrugged like he didn’t care, but she knew he did.

  She’d guess he was just testing her to find out what her question was, so she might as well go for the jugular.

  “What does your tattoo mean?” she asked, narrowing her eyes on the cursive writing across his chest. “Is that a date—from two years ago?”

  Without hesitation, he reached forward, took the shot from his glass and poured them both new shots. He reached over and picked hers up, motioning for her to grab it.

  “I forgot to tell you—any round where neither of us answer, we have to take another shot.” He brought his to his lips. “And the punishment gets worse from there.”

  “Who invented this game? God, you are sadistic,” she grumbled as she brought the second tequila shot to her mouth, slamming it back.

  I can’t take any more of this.

  “You have no idea,” he mumbled as he took his drink, winking at her.

  A literal cold snap of electricity ran up her body and she parted her lips. That reaction only seemed to encourage him. He likes being the bad guy, she realized.

  Now, three shots in, it was safe to say she was starting to feel it—and that all the things she really wanted were starting to bubble to the surface. Maybe she really needed to say some stuff. It didn’t help that she wasn’t far away from him, and she’d spent the entire day oscillating between hating and needing him. Her own resolve to have the upper hand was wearing thinner and thinner, and he was starting to look better and better by the second.

  That was, until it was his turn again and he demanded she take off her clothes for the third time. She realized it was something he really, really wanted. He wanted to see her naked again. He wanted more.

  Danica felt a rush up her chest as she considered her power over him. The man was undeniably horny and just as undeniably doing everything he could to control himself.

  She wondered if she could make him suffer a little.

  She decided having the upper hand was something that was really important to her—with him, anyway.

  Danica stood up out of the chair, turned around and slowly peeled off her yoga top, revealing a light blue lacy bra underneath. Still with her back to him, she bent over the chair slightly, arching like a cat and smiling when he groaned behind her. He wasn’t the only one who knew how to play games.

  Feeling the rush of the tequila coursing through her veins, she realized fruit for dinner wasn’t enough to keep her from getting absolutely wasted.

  And maybe she was going to do something she was going to regret, but at that precise moment, she didn’t really care.

  Hooking her thumbs in the soft waist of the yoga pants, she slowly started rolling them down over her skin, revealing to him her lower back then her tailbone. Very slowly she popped them down over her naked ass, which she had covered only by the smallest patch of lacy blue panties. As she folded over completely, reaching down to her ankles to very slowly pull off her pants, she gave him a full bent-over view of her body. She’d expected his reaction and it was unmistakable.

  He groaned savagely in the background, and she rose then reached behind her ass, innocently tugging at her panties to readjust them, showing a half inch of her raw, wet pussy. Just for fun, she slipped a finger underneath the fabric and pretended to play with her own wetness.

  She knew how to compete in a game, all right. She was going in for the kill.

  Turning back around, she sat down in the chair and brought that same finger to her mouth, taking it in like she was sucking on sugary icin
g.

  “The fruitarian diet has its benefits.” She grinned absently, as though she didn’t have a care in the world.

  The entire moment became absolutely worth it when he shifted in his seat to adjust the hardness in his crotch, his incredible erection. That part of his pants was tighter and more pronounced than it had been minutes ago. And she remembered how his cock had felt going in and out of her.

  One point for me.

  He looked her up and down, licking his lower lip, but kept on with the conversation as if nothing had happened. The man had fucking skills.

  “So, you’ve got some misplaced sense of blood loyalty to Petrov, and he terrifies you,” Carrick reiterated, machinations obviously working through his mind as he watched her. “Got it.”

  Under his heated gaze, she stirred in her seat, her arousal kicking in, but she couldn’t be the one to relent. She had to be stronger than he was.

  There was a silent game going on—one where the points really did matter.

  “I think you are starting to understand me.” Danica shrugged and leaned forward to push her empty shot glass back toward him, squeezing her breasts together to tempt him. “And maybe you are starting to understand why I can’t just do what you want me to do.”

  “Then we will have to find another way.” His voice grew dark, and she realized he was planning something.

  Without her input, of course.

  She clenched her jaw as she narrowed her eyes on him. “My turn.” She took in a deep breath and stiffened. “You told me last night that you will never love again. What makes you think you can control that?”

  He just sat, staring at her—silent as a grave. His lips and jaw tightened, and she recognized a familiar pain in his eyes. She knew the pain of loss anywhere—because she’d experienced it once, too.

  Breathing out low, she whispered, “What happened to you, Carrick?”

  Carrick pre-emptively reached out, poured himself an overflowing shot and sucked it back, shrugging like he didn’t give a fuck.

  “That’s not fair,” she gasped.

  “Why not?”

  “You can’t just deny all my questions. You can handle more booze than me, so I’m at an unfair disadvantage,” she cried out at the mounting injustice. “Don’t be a cheater.”

  “I’m not a fucking cheater.” His voice was hoarse, and his eyes were growing livid as he bounded forward, intimidating as hell.

  But she wouldn’t be frightened by him. She needed to keep her upper hand. She jumped up from the chair, staring him down.

  “If you aren’t going to play fair, then I’m not playing.”

  She moved to march away, but he lunged up from the couch, grabbing her.

  “I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a cheater,” he countered, the strong scent of tequila on his breath. “I’ve never cheated.”

  She blinked up at him, partially confused—and she realized that he wasn’t talking about the game anymore.

  And neither was she.

  “Then what are you?” She pushed back. “What are you to me?”

  He searched her, drinking in her meaning. The game had taken a sharp turn and things had gotten raw. Real raw.

  She didn’t expect he was going to answer.

  Until he did.

  Eyes locked on her, his face tense and serious, he growled, “I’m not the hero you want, but I’m the monster you need.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m going to marry you tomorrow morning. You’ll never worry about Petrov again.”

  And that was when Danica realized that Carrick had just put her in checkmate, threatening to win their whole goddamn game.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Danica

  “Carrick.” She blinked up at him, in disbelief. Marry him? She was at a loss for words.

  He remained stoic, steely.

  “I thought…” she began, breathless. “I didn’t think…”

  Before she could finish her sentence, he reached down and grabbed her jaw, tilting her chin up to him.

  “You in those fucking librarian glasses,” he growled savagely, arousal deep in his throat.

  And he kissed her.

  She opened wider and wider as she received his kiss, which was hungrier than she’d remembered. It only matched her own desire and multiplied it. With enough tequila in him, his movements were less restricted, less controlled—more passionate.

  God, she wanted him. Any woman would want him. There was no doubt. He was an absolute prize of a man—striking in every way. Determined, powerful and dominating… Her mouth watered thinking of what his rough, greedy hands had done to her the night before, and how he’d let his oversized cock fill her, taking her for the first time, forcing her to nearly burst at the seams.

  But, sobering, she pulled back. While he held her shoulders as he looked down at her from his great height, she shifted under his gaze. He surveyed up and down her body, and the shade in his eyes shook her. She knew he was trying to figure out what the fuck her problem was.

  Swallowing what felt like an acorn in her throat, she whispered something so quietly that she didn’t think he could hear.

  “I deserve love. I can’t marry someone who is so vehemently opposed to the idea of love.”

  A laugh escaped his hardened mouth, like she didn’t understand.

  “You can—and you will,” he commanded as he shifted her a few feet back to where the chair was. “This is the only way.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s the only way I can protect you.”

  His words crashed over her, and that same dark look took over his entire face. She knew then he was hungry…but not for food. He fell back into the chair behind him, holding her in front of him like a jewel to be admired—in nothing but her bra and underwear. He ran his hands up and down her body, as if studying what he was buying.

  She realized then that it was her last chance. She had to do anything but give in, because the reality was that she couldn’t marry him. She’d learned that the hard way. Being with a man who couldn’t love, who refused to love? It was too dangerous.

  Because I’m falling for him.

  As her mind screamed at her to push back, to regain her upper hand, to run, Carrick cupped her ass down to where the wetness pooled in her panties, sending aching sensations up her spine. Unapologetic, he touched her as he pleased.

  She breathed out, “I don’t want a loveless marriage. I can’t do that with you.”

  “I’ll give you everything else you need.” He unhooked her bra and threw it to the side, massaging each of her mounds and teasing each nipple with focus.

  Then he pulled her down into his lap with ferocity, quickly grabbing her jaw. “And just so you know what you are getting into, I’ll give you a taste of what marriage to me will be like.”

  His pupils were dilated with arousal, and he traced a line from her lips to her breasts. The same sound of hunger grew in his throat as he moved his hands to play with the edge of her lacy blue panties. He grazed his fingers over her crotch, down low, and she felt soreness in her pussy from the night before—from where he’d taken her virginity. Lifting her, he moved her to straddle him, her legs on either side of his.

  “Fuck, Carrick.” She arched backward in pleasure. “I can’t do this.”

  “Then go.” He released his grasp on her so she could get away.

  But the painful truth was that Danica wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on hers again and to give herself to him completely. She nodded subserviently and fully immersed herself in the role he asked. He was the alpha in the room, demanding that she give in to his dominant play.

  She moaned as he touched her. “I can’t go.”

  “I’m going to start calling you Miss Paradox,” he growled as he lowered his touch, caressing the skin on her abdomen in a circular motion, alternating between looking in her eyes and openly appreciating what was before him.

  Adjusting his cock again in his pants, he sai
d, “You need to decide—now. I can’t handle you with those fucking glasses on.”

  She whimpered as he ran his finger over her panties, barely touching her throbbing clit. Goddamn, she needed what he was offering. It wasn’t a fair choice.

  And as he teased her once more, she breathed out, “Okay.”

  Carrick leaned back, a self-satisfied grin on his face, but then his expression changed and he laid out his conditions.

  He grabbed her jaw again, staring her down. “This means you’re mine now. Don’t forget it.”

  The possessive words stirred a desire in her that she couldn’t explain. She realized where his psyche had been all along. He’d always wanted her—all of her—for himself. And this was the only way he knew how.

  As she relented, falling into his touch, he cupped her breasts and rolled his thumb over each hardened nipple. While he pinched and played, her hips jumped with sensation, a fire rising in her core. He was rougher, harder—and less forgiving. He drew her up to his face, biting each nipple, hurting and pleasing her all the same. ‘Sadistic’ was starting to sound less like a joke.

  And with that promise, an aching grew inside her that she needed to be filled. Her pussy throbbed as she looked down at him, kissing and dragging his teeth across her flesh, and he seemed to know exactly what she wanted next without her saying anything.

  He grasped her panties firmly. When his gaze caught hers again, she saw the determination, the power. He ripped them off, the lace easily tearing with his force. Then he tossed them aside, running his thick fingers farther down her body. He found the top of her pussy and moved his fingers toward her clit, roughly testing her wetness.

  “My, my…aren’t you wet?” he groaned, lust filling his eyes.

  “Can you really do this without emotion?” she gasped as he drew his hand up and down her slit.

  He licked his lips again. “I’ll teach you how.”

  She refused to answer as he pushed his finger into her swollen pussy, which was still aching from being fucked so hard by him the night before. She arched as he did it, showcasing her breasts to him. That only seemed to please him more.

  The same grin widened on his mouth. “I’m a fighter, Danica. I don’t have emotions.”