ELEVEN - Alana

ELEVEN

Alana

He catches me at the doorway, one arm banded around my waist lifting me off the ground. I was so close. His low chuckle rumbles through the silent library and I realize he let me get that far. Temper streaks through me and I struggle in his hold, turning to punch him in the neck and following with several kicks to whatever part of him I can find.

Every blow glances off his hard body, hurting my hand but not hampering his stride. Panic rushes through me like a live electrical wire in water.

He sits on the vacated sofa and smoothly flips me over, facedown. My abdomen impacts his hard thighs and the air whooshes out of my lungs while my hair falls to the floor. This is not happening. He tosses my skirt up and cool air brushes my nearly bare ass. Why did I wear a thong?

The first jolt of his displeasure lands hard, smack in the middle of my butt.

Pain blows through me—along with more humiliation. I rear up, shrieking, reduced to raw fury. Coughing, I struggle wildly, more animal than human. He plants a hard palm in the center of my back, eliminating any hope of freedom.

Then he hits me again.

I hear the slap before heated pain spreads out from his hand, down my thighs and up my back. Never in my life have I been treated like this. "You fucking son of—"

The next slap is even harder, and I suck in breath, the words sticking in my throat. I exercise and I know how to fight. Yet I'm helpless against his strength, and that, more than anything, infuriates me even more.

Until he rains down a series of blows that has my ass on fire. "You're gonna want to submit sooner rather than later, baby," he rumbles. He hits every spot with his over-fucking-large hand, top, bottom, and both sides, more than once, no doubt coloring my rear brighter than the garnets inlaid in the floor. I hadn't noticed them before.

Tears blur my vision.

Warmth rushes through my skin, pricking every nerve on the way. Somehow, the pain turns to something else—something with a bite I don't recognize. But I need. This makes no sense. I stiffen, fighting us both. A flash of fire burns right to my clit, making me throb. Wetness dampens my thighs and it takes every ounce of my self-control to keep from rubbing against him. My nipples sharpen so fast and hard they hurt in a way I've never experienced, and every inch of my skin feels electrified. And needy.

His hand moves from my lower back to tangle in my hair and he wrenches my head back, forcing me to meet his gaze. Those silver streaks are back, giving him a primitive look. A dominant, firm, unyielding look that I'll remember to my grave. "Submit." He says the word slowly, fully enunciating each syllable of the harsh order. His other palm flattens over my punished butt, pressing in the heat.

I moan. "I already did. I begged for the guard's life."

"No. You and me. Right here and right now. You submit." His eyes flare and for a second, I see the primal being at his core. His face is sharp angles and rough hollows, with his scar darkening as his nostrils flare.

I swallow, tears sliding down my face. "No."

He blinks. Just once. Then I'm facedown again and he's fully unleashed, spanking me with absolutely no mercy. The heated feelings inside me intensify, sparking my blood and nerves alive. The pain turns to pleasure then to need, raw and devastating. My muscles give, and I relax against him, my body taking over from my mind.

When I soften, he pauses, once again palming my butt. I moan again and move restlessly against his hand. "Good girl," he murmurs, pressing down.

I arch, trying to get my clit anywhere near his hard thigh.

"No, sweetheart. Submission is more than physical. Now you count out ten."

Tears leak from my eyes, the words far away. What did he say? My head is filled with cotton and my body is a strung electrical wire.

He smacks me hard, dead center. "Count."

"One," I hiss, wanting to issue a death threat but not having the guts. Not right now, anyway. I count them out, and he doesn't go any easier. Finally, we reach ten, and I sob the word. Finally, he stops. My breath is panting out, and tears are still sliding down my face, but my mind has gone blank.

His hand curves over my butt to my very wet pussy, and he pinches me.

I shriek and buck against him, nerves short-circuiting throughout me.

"We're not done." He slides one finger inside me and then presses on my clit with his thumb.

It's too much. I gyrate against him, desperate for relief. Even his chuckle is sexy.

"Admit you like this," he orders darkly.

"No," I protest instantly, my mind overriding my body.

He flicks me and then circles my clit, his other hand pressing down on my abused butt.

"Thorn," I whisper shakily, trying to ride his hand. I don't care about humility or even breathing right now. The need is too great.

He tugs on my clit and I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood. Then he rubs my sex, lightly, teasing me. "Say it."

"I like this." My body takes over for my mouth and shoots my brain to hell.

"You like me spanking you."

I blink and a tear falls to the garnet-encrusted floor. "Yes."

He smacks my ass. Hard. "Say it."

"I like you spanking me." I hate him. Really hate him.

"I know." He plunges two fingers inside me, slaps my butt again, and scrapes my clit.

I explode from within, blowing out into shards of ecstasy. Maybe agony. Both. The climax rips through me as he fucks me with his fingers, my body riding him as the sharp-edged pleasure rips through me. Finally, sobbing, I come down, my ears ringing.

He turns me over and plants me on his lap. I wince as my bruised butt hits his thighs. Gently, his callused thumbs wipe off my cheeks. "You did a good job, beautiful."

The praise is confusing. Part of me wants to snuggle into his chest and let him hold me. The other wants to find a gun. "I hate you," I say on a choked sob.

"Hate and love are but two sides of the same coin, forged in the same mixing of metals. Like pain and pleasure." One of his dark eyebrows rises as he runs his thumb across my jaw.

I shiver—and not from fear. I try to push away and he pulls me closer, tucking my head into the masculine hollow between his neck and shoulder, holding me. A sense of being protected washes over me and I crumble. His arms are solid, his chest wide, and for the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel safe.

And fucking confused.

So I curl into him and let the tears fall. Snuggling closer, I calm and listen to the steady beat of his heart against my ear. I don't know how long we sit there in the quiet library with the rain splattering against the windows, but finally, I come back to reality. He's warm around me and definitely aroused. Swallowing, I shift my weight.

Is that a groan?

I look up at his implacable face. The need there steals my breath. "Oh."

"Did you eat dinner?"

The question catches me by surprise. It's far past dinnertime. "Um, yes?"

"Good." He stands, easily holding me against his chest.

I clutch his dress shirt. "What are you doing?"

"You'll need lotion." He carries me through the darkened home and up the stairs, bypassing my room and heading to the far end where he nudges open one of a set of double doors.

Lotion?

Then we're inside his bedroom. I know it's his because his scent washes over me, tantalizing and male. The furnishings are black and the chandelier all garnets, no diamonds or crystals. Like the rest of the home, the furniture is masculine and solidly beautiful, and completely lacking in personal touches.

His bed is huge. Much bigger than a king-sized bed, it stretches out from the far wall, covered in a heavy black coverlet with white pillowcases.

I jolt.

"Relax. I'm not going to bite you."

I suck in a breath at the image.

He looks down. "Right now, anyway."

The words spark interest inside me. Which makes no sense. So I fall back on my sparkling personality. "Guys like you can't kiss. The smooch in the kitchen was a fluke."

One dark eyebrow rises, and he halts in the center of the room. "Do tell."

"You're rich, beautiful, and sexy in a demon-from-hell kind of way. Women probably throw their panties at you when you walk by in a bar. You don't have to try."

Amusement filters through the lust still glittering in his eyes. "You think I'm beautiful? Have you hit your head?"

Oh, he's definitely beautiful. My body is taut like a vibrating guitar string, and I know I should want to kill him. But the expression on his rough face somehow gives me courage. Or a hint of insanity. Could be either. I reach up and run my fingers through his thick hair. It's softer than I expected. "Prove me wrong."

He stills. We're not moving, but his body just stops. His gaze drops. Then his mouth is on mine.

I expect finesse or brutality . . . and receive neither.

Instead, raw fire pours into me as his lips form over mine, taking me under. My eyelids flutter shut and I open for him, not that he's giving me a choice. He drinks from me and I want to give him everything. My hand against his chest, I can feel the growl that rumbles up before it rolls into my mouth and down through my entire body, sparking nerves into exposed tendrils of sheer need.

There is no feeling in the entire world like this. There can't be. The universe would burn down.

His hold tightens and I feel the bed at my back. When did we move? He deepens the kiss and I become lost again, his mouth taking me over as his body presses into mine. He's hard everywhere I'm soft. His hands rip into my hair and he clenches, holding me in place with an erotic pain, taking everything he could ever want.

We're both panting when he lifts his head and lets me breathe. My mouth feels swollen. Bemused, I stare up into his glittering eyes. His erection is pressed against me, right where I need him, and a stirring starts deep inside me.

"You are going to be mine, and it's not to save your hymen from Cal."

I want this. Oh, I shouldn't, I know it's wrong. He's wrong, I'm confused, and this is too dark for anybody. But it's something I want once before I go home. There's no way I'm staying. "One night," I whisper.

He rolls over to sit, grasping my hip and bringing me with him. Then I'm straddling him, my bare thighs on either side of his hard ones. "Your virginity is mine, but you will give it freely. Lie to yourself if you want and say you're making a brief choice before marrying that moron. But it's a lie, and deep down, you know it. I'm going to fuck you so hard nobody else will ever get deep enough again. It's only you and me. But take your time, because the yes is coming from you."

The erotic image bursts into my head, igniting even more lust. Wings flutter inside me, striking my abdomen and flashing down to my sex. I clench. My hair is all around us, and he grips a mass of it again, those dangerous fingers caressing my nape at the same time. His voice is so low it's beyond guttural. "This is what's going to happen. I'm heading into that bathroom to find lotion for your sore ass. Then I have to go take care of something. When I return, you can be waiting in this bed for tonight to be the night, or if you want more time to lie to yourself, go to your own bed, and tonight I'll leave you alone. That choice is yours."

The words riot through my brain. Then, against all rational thought, I press against him. Shock cascades from my clit to my breasts and I gasp.

He bites his lip hard enough I see blood. Even that is a turn-on.

With impressive control, considering the rod of steel I can feel in his pants, he lifts me off him and strides into the bathroom. I hear shuffling through drawers. Trying not to moan, I clench my thighs together and pull down the short skirt. The aquamarine band around my waist flashes blue light and I try to take comfort from it, but even those small crystals are burning.

He returns with a small bottle of lotion. "Found some."

Jealousy, green and sharp, cuts through me. He has somebody else's lotion in his bathroom?

He pauses, his gaze sweeping mine. "It was in a kit. I never have women here. Ever."

How does he read me so well? And what the hell is a kit? I scramble to stand, hoping my legs hold me up.

"Turn around."

I lift my chin, needing to find some courage. "No."

He grasps my arm and twists me around, smacking me hard on my already punished butt. I cry out. "Rule Three. I'm done with the defiance." He plants a hand between my shoulder blades and shoves my head to the bed. "Hold still." Without giving me a chance to argue, he's spreading lotion over my rear. I have to admit, it feels good. The cool calming of whatever is in there eases a bit of the pain. "This will keep you from bruising. Too much." Then he tugs me around, sits me on the bed, and crouches in front of me.

My hair flips around and I push it out of the way. I feel like a lost rabbit in front of a mountain lion. Or a panther. Or something deadlier than either. Drawn by what can only be danger, I reach out and trace the hard contours of his face.

He draws in a breath. "The end result is absolute. But in this, and probably this only, you can determine the timing. Clear your brain because I won't ever accept the lie that I forced you into this. Into us. Even if it takes an eternity for you to be honest with both of us."

He's right. My head is a ball of fuzz and my body a bastion of need. I hate that he's being honorable for once.

He stands. "If you're here when I return tonight, it's for good—as long as either of us live, and if you're here, it's my way. Period."

Since I don't have a way, I can't argue with that. But I do need to clear my head.

With one last, hard look at me, he turns and strides right out the door. A small part of me, one I should embrace, hopes that hard-on kills him. The other part, the one I won't admit to anybody, hopes he brings it right back to me.

For now, I need a bath. Perhaps he has some healing salts in that kit.