Chapter 11

Vivian

His gaze locks with mine, and the force of the connection is like a gut punch. My ribcage squeezes down on my lungs. My throat closes. I'm caught in the magnetic tether that seems to lasso around me. I can't move, can't look away. The noise around us and the sight of the crowd fade away. It's him and me, and this primal link between us I sensed from the moment I saw him.

Then, his body shudders. The blood drains from his face. Oh, no, no, no, Ryot hit him again.

"Quentin, fight!" I yell.

An electric current seems to run through him. He tears his gaze from mine, swings, and catches Ryot with a hook to the right side of the temple.

Ryot seems to freeze mid-step. Then, he shakes his head and keeps going. Quentin moves so fast; he seems to blur. The grace, the agility with which he moves, the fluidity of his body as he follows with another upper cut to Ryot's cheek, then a jab to his shoulder, then to his side, a final one to Ryot's stomach... Oh my god! My pussy clenches. My nipples harden. How can I be turned on when he's beating up another man?

And why was I so upset when I saw him getting beaten?I couldn't stand by and let it happen. I couldn't understand why Quentin seemed to give up without a fight. I had to do something to get him to retaliate. I yelled out his name but didn"t expect him to react the way he did.

Ryot shakes his head as if to clear it and throws another punch. I don't know a lot about boxing, but even I can tell that the big man is tiring. Quentin dances out of his reach, and with a litheness that lights a thousand fires in my bloodstream, he kicks Ryot"s legs out from under him.

Ryot goes down with an earth-shaking thud. Without giving him a chance to recover, Quentin leans his knee into Ryot's throat. Ryot struggles to rise. Quentin presses his weight down into his stance.

The crowd around me boos. Seems these people are on Ryot's side. Time to even things out.

I cup my palms around my mouth and chant, "Quen-tin! Quen-tin! Quen-tin!" Next to me Zoey jumps up and down. "Go, Quentin!"

Quentin bends his head; his lips move. He seems to be talking to Ryot. Asking the giant if he's ready to give in? At least, I think that's what is happening. There's an imperceptible nod from Ryot, and Quentin rises to his feet. He holds out his arm to Ryot, who ignores it. The hulking man straightens, his movements slow. He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, then brushes past Quentin.

He heads to the ropes, ducks under them, and doesn't acknowledge the men standing there. A man who I assume is Ryot's brother, going by the facial resemblance, holds out his T-shirt. Ryot grabs it, without breaking stride. He walks through the path that emerges when the crowd steps aside. He walks past me and heads for the exit.

Clearly, the crowds were there to see him in action, for they begin to stream out after him.

From inside the ring, Quentin lifts his head, and when our gazes meet, it feels like all of my breath leaves me. He takes a step forward, another. His jaw is hard, his forehead furrowed. Only, his eyes are clear. Those blue eyes flare with cold fire. His gait is purposeful. His expression determined. He reaches the ropes, and I back away. He ducks under them, straightens.

Knox walks over and hands him his T-shirt. He nods his thanks, without breaking our connection.

Not bothering to wear it, he stalks closer. I take in his massive shoulders, the width of his chest with the tattoo of the beating heart dripping blood on the skin over his heart, and tiny black triangles which peek out on either side of his torso. It's almost like a serrated edge brackets his chest. Then there's the brick-like musculature of his abs, with his dog tags nestled in the demarcation of his pecs, the concave stomach with the trail of hair that disappears into the waistband of his jeans, the thick thighs which strain the fabric, and the bulge at his crotch which indicates the size of what this man is packing.

As he closes in on me, the scent of his sweat, mixed with the coppery tones of the blood splotched on his torso teases my nostrils. And below that is the pungent scent of woodsmoke and the freshness of pine, a confluence I recognize as uniquely Quentin.

When he comes to a stop in front of me, I tear my gaze from the part of him that has captured my imagination and meet his eyes. Oh my god! He's more injured than I realized. I saw him take the hits; now I notice the impact of Ryot's fists on his face.

Blood drips from a cut on his forehead, there's a bruise on his cheek, and one eye is swollen. Why does it add to his allure? Why does it make him seem more magnificent?

He could be a conquering hero or a knight returning from a joust to claim his spoils.

In this case, me.

He inclines his head."Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before." His voice is a harsh whisper scraping over my already sensitized nerve-endings.

"Poe." I swallow.

"Raven," he growls.

"You're bleeding."

"Not nearly enough." His lips twist.

"You're hurting."

Next to me, Zoey's gaze ping-pongs between Quentin and me.

He nods. "More than you'll ever know." The lines around his eyes deepen. "What happened is a part of me. I have to live with the consequences of my actions."

I frown. "Is this about... about... what went down between you and Ryot?"

"Uh, I'm going to head out. Glad you're, more or less, in one piece, Quentin." With a small wave, Zoey peels off.

Quentin nods in her direction, then turns to me. His features shutter. "What do you know about what happened between me and Ryot?"

"Nothing. None of the details. Only that... uh... There's a history between the two of you?"

Around us, the crowd thins further.

Quentin firms his lips. And when he glances away, it's clear he doesn't want to talk about it. I swallow down the disappointment that curdles my belly. Why did I think he'd unburden himself to me? After all, our relationship is superficial, at best. Still, this is the most vulnerable I've ever seen him. The anger in his gaze is aimed at himself, and it's tinged with helplessness and hurt.

I raise my hand to touch him, then stop myself. "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself," I murmur.

"It's the only way I know," he says through gritted teeth.

"Maybe I can show you otherwise?"

He jerks his chin in my direction. "Is that why you came here?

"I came here because—" I bite down on my lower lip, and his gaze instantly darts to my mouth and stays there.

My body recognizes him, knows who its master is, no matter how my logical mind insists I'm crazy. How would it be to have him touch me, to place those thick fingers on the curve of my breast, to bury his face between my legs and draw his whiskered chin over my pussy lips? To have him squeeze my arse, and bite down on my nipples and suck on them? To have him cover my body with his weight and take me without showing any mercy? To?—

"Because?"

"What?" I blink.

"You were saying you came here because?—"

"I wanted to keep Zoey company." Yes, that's it. That makes sense. "I knew she was coming to watch the fight and uh... I decided to come take a look for myself." I bite the inside of my cheek.

One side of his lips twists. "Lying to me, Raven?"

I flush. "Of course not. It's the truth."

"So, you're here because you wanted to see me fight?"

I nod. Then shake my head. "No, no, not you... just… An underground fight. It could have been anyone fighting."

My cheeks are hot, and my heart is jackhammering away like it's going to cleave through my ribcage any moment.

"Only it was me," he reminds me.

And something shifted in me when I saw you getting beaten up. Something I"m not going to think about right now, because I have no right to feel that way.I have to stop feeling so much for him. Stop missing him when I'm away from him. Have to stop myself from wanting to throw myself at him and climb him like a tree. Have to stop myself from blurting out ‘yes' to his crazy proposal. OMG, don't you dare!

I am so pissed off with myself; it's the only explanation for what I say next. "And Ryot." I jut out my chin.

His features darken. His eyes flash. He's angry, as I hoped he would be. His response propels a thrill of anticipation down the back of my throat.

"Why are you here?" he asks in a clipped tone.

His face has gone carefully blank, while a fine tension radiates from his body.

The lack of emotion in his voice sends a warning jolt up my spine. The hair on my forearms rises. Did I push him too far? Do I dare stretch his control even more?

"I came to see if you could hold your own against someone younger than you, of course." He"s denied it"s an issue, but c"mon, he must be conscious of the fact that I'm much younger than him, and his son's ex.

Or perhaps, it's me who's more conscious of our age gap, and that"s why I drew his attention to the age difference between him and Ryot? Which is why I implied Ryot would have more stamina than him. Which would mean he could keep going longer, whether in a fight or in bed.

I wanted to make him uncomfortable. Now the words are out, and I realize, I"ve made myself equally uncomfortable. The space between us turns into a mass of pulsating emotions. An undercurrent of tension ripples through his demeanor. He hardens his jaw and narrows his gaze on me with such intensity, my chest seems to seize up.

"You're here to test my masculinity?"

His tone is casual, but it feels like a whip wrapped in silken threads curling around my body and pulling tighter. My insides quiver. There's a threat in his voice which warns me to shut up. Shut up. Zip it, you idiot.

But what if I push him all the way?A frisson of thrill pinches my nerve-endings. I want to see him unfettered. I want to goad him and watch him unravel. I want to find out what he does once he sheds that iron control he wears like chains. What will he do when he loses that iron grip on his emotions? What will he do to me? And why do I know that I"ll like it?

"Not how I'd put it, but if you want to see it that way, sure." I raise a shoulder.

For a few seconds, his features turn into a mask of stone. Those blue eyes of his glitter with an emotion I later place as resolve.

And I know I've pushed him beyond the ability to think straight, for the next moment, the world tilts.

I yelp, for he's bent his knees, wrapped his arm around my thighs and thrown me over his shoulder.

My hair flows down, blocking out my line of sight, and when he begins to stalk forward, my breasts bump into the hard expanse of his back. My skirt rides up and cool air assails my upper thigh. Ohmigod. Ohmigod. He's carrying me over his shoulder in front of everyone. Like he's some neanderthal and I'm the woman he's dragging to his cave.

My cheeks feel like they"re on fire. And it's not only from the blood which has rushed to my face. My scalp tingles. My skin feels too tight for my body. This is so embarrassing. So mortifying. But it's also primal and exhilarating and…

No, no, no, how can I think of it like that?I seriously can't be turned on, though my soaked panties say otherwise. This is the antithesis of every feminist principle I've ever believed in.

"What are you doing?" I cry.

He doesn't answer. Just keeps moving.

My cross-body bag with my phone is caught between my stomach and his upper chest. I bury my fists into the unforgiving muscles between his shoulder blades, then hiss. Pain shivers up my arm. Incredible. It's like I'm beating my fists against a brick wall. Or the side of a mountain. The man's super-built. And the way his muscles flex under his skin, every dip and roll of which I feel against my own, it's as if we're already melded into one organism.

And the fact that I'm so intimately close to him, and that my blood feels like it's turned into a crimson tide of desire, and every cell in my body seems to have opened up and is absorbing his nearness, makes me so pissed off with myself.

I lock my fingers together, raise my joined-up fists and bring them down on the slope of his back.

He must feel something, for he tenses. Then, his big palm connects with my butt. A sharp pain squeals up my spine.

What the—!"Did you spank me?" I yell.

In reply, he smacks my other arse-cheek, and the first and the next. With each slap, my backside quivers, and the pain zooms straight to my cunt. Moisture drips out from between my legs, and I have to squeeze my thighs together. Then, he places a possessive palm over my butt and gently squeezes.

Instantly, the hollow sensation between my thighs curls in on itself.

A groan spills from my throat. I bite down on my lower lip to avoid making any further noise. How can I be so aroused? I should be worried I've lost every shred of pride I had, but I can't bring myself to care for that. All of my attention is focused on the throbbing heavy flesh between my legs.

My silence must satisfy him, for he keeps moving forward.

I assume the crowd dispersed, for he carries me toward the exit without stopping. The warmth of his big palm over my butt reminds me he hasn't removed it yet. It's a declaration of his possession to the world.

I sense him walking up the short incline which leads onto the sidewalk. When he comes to a stop, I open my eyes, just as he wrenches open the front door of his car. He throws me down in the passenger seat.

The man carried me nearly a hundred yards over his shoulder and he's not out of breath. And I'm not slim, by any means.

The blood rushes away from my face, and my head spins. It"s a good thing I"m sitting. Or maybe it's because his scent of woodsmoke and pine is in my nostrils. I feel like I'm surrounded by his presence in this car.

Without looking at me, he pulls my seatbelt across my chest, and when his knuckles brush against my pointed nipple, I shiver. He fastens my seatbelt and straightens, then shuts my door.

Knox walks over and talks to him. I hear the low murmur of their voices, before Quentin walks around. He shrugs on his T-shirt, then opens the door and slides into the driver's seat.

I should get out of the car. I should leave, call Zoey, who I"m sure would be happy to come back and get me or call my sister. I should do anything but go home with a man who just carried me like a sack of potatoes. But as much as I"m furious, I don"t want to leave. I want to fight him because it will keep me in his blue gaze.

I turn on him. "How dare you carry me out of there like that?"

He places those thick fingers of his on the steering wheel and stares at me.

"Nothing to say for yourself? Do you realize how humiliating that was?" I burst out.

He inclines his head. "If I touched you between your legs, would I find you wet?"

I gape at him. "How?… What?… Why?… Why would you say that?" I sputter.

"Answer the question, Raven."

I open my mouth, then shut it. I could lie and say I'm not. But somehow, I can't bring myself to lie. So instead, I point at my head. "I'm blonde."

He arches an eyebrow.

"You called me Raven. But I don't have dark hair."

"But there's a darkness in you that yearns to be let out.

I begin to speak, but he holds up his hand. "Don't bother denying it, when we both know it's true."

I swallow past the knot of emotion in my throat. How is it possible that this almost-stranger sees me when everyone else in my life sees what I portray for the outside world?

I hear a sound of distress emerge from my throat. He does, too.

He cups my cheek and somehow, his touch is soothing. "It's okay. It's okay to let go. You're safe with me. I'll never judge you, I promise. I want you to be true to yourself. To your emotions. To what you feel inside. To what you want to be. To explore what you feel. Your feelings. Your desires. Your deepest darkest needs. They all matter to me."

A bead of sweat runs down his temple. It's cold in the car but I feel like a million flames are trying to burst out of my skin. "I... I don't know what you mean."

"Sure you do. You liked it when I carried you out of there."

I shake my head.

"You loved it when I spanked you."

"No, no, no." I squeeze my eyes shut.

"You craved more of my touch when I massaged your arse. And knowing everyone was watching us only turned you on further. Your feelings of humiliation pushed you further in the direction of an orgasm.

"Oh, my god!" I slap my hands over my ears. "Stop, please."

When he does, I'm surprised enough to open my eyes and look at him and instantly realize, it's a mistake. There's empathy in his gaze, and understanding, and below it all, a thick, heavy lust coats his features. A need which touches a hidden part of me.

He sits straight, his military bearing hard, uncompromising. Precise, like the edge of a scalpel knife. He could cut me and hurt me, and damn him, but I'd enjoy the pain.

He reaches for me slowly, like I'm an animal who could bolt at any time, and when I don't flinch away, he cups my cheek. "You can trust me. I'll take care of you, I promise."

"That's what I'm afraid of," I whisper. To be honest, I don't understand where these words are coming from, or what exactly I mean by them.

But he does, for he nods. "I promise, I'll never do anything you don't want. You have the power in this relationship."

"Doesn't seem that way from where I'm sitting."

"You think I have the power because I have the money that you need, but you forget that you have something I need, too."

"Sure, you need to get married, so your father confirms you as the CEO of the company and you secure your inheritance."

"Not only." His lips curve, and his smile is a little sad. "I need you because you remind me of possibilities. You give me hope that there's more to life than what I've lived so far. You make me believe in everything that is good and beautiful; you"re an antidote to what I"ve seen as a Marine."

I laugh self-consciously. "You're making me out to be something I"m not."

"I have no doubt that you're submissive."

I swallow. It's one thing for me to realize that for myself. But hearing it from him makes me feel exposed. Like I have nowhere to hide. I've never been this seen as with this man.

His gaze intensifies. "You give me a reason to focus my attention, something I am grateful for. And if you choose me to bring out your submissiveness, then it's an honor I will never take lightly. You hold the power...to say no. I have the prerogative to test your limits, so you learn more about yourself, but the final say in whether you want me to dominate you or not is up to you."

I clear my throat. "Am… I... Am I supposed to know what you're talking about?"

"Do you expect me to believe that you don't?"

Answer a question with a question. Typical. Also, damn him. How does he know I'm aware of what he's alluding to? I look out of the window. "It's a fact, I'm curious about the BDSM lifestyle. Enough to watch porn featuring role play." It was one way to feel less lonely when you didn't have friends or boyfriends. "But I never thought I'd have a chance to experiment with the lifestyle."

"But you wanted to."

He's right again. How annoying. I turn and scowl at him. "Doesn't mean you can drive me to wherever it is you have in mind."

"Hmm." He taps a blunt fingernail against the steering wheel. He might as well have placed it against my engorged clit. One touch and I'd explode. I squeeze my thighs together. His shoulder muscles flex, and I'm sure he noticed my action, but he doesn't draw attention to it. "I am going to drive you out of here because it's an unsafe neighborhood. I'll also never mention this conversation again, if that's what you want."

I could ask him why I should believe him, but I know instinctively. If I asked, he'd never again bring up this possible exploration of a part of me I've been curious about. I could set it as aside as a brush with a lifestyle which intrigued me, but which wasn't for me or... I could indicate I was a willing partner in understanding what it means to be a submissive.

"Would it"—I clear my throat—"would it include whips and chains?"

There's surprise on his face, then he chuckles. "Not unless that's what you want. And if we both agree that it"s in your best interest."

"My best interest?"

"Always, Raven."

"So you think marrying me is in my best interest?"

"I think you're too good for me. But I'm selfish enough to want you for myself."

"Oh." My heart flutters.

"I also think you're a brat who needs to be spanked."

I gape at him. "Did you call me a brat?"

"You trying to deny what you said back there wasn't designed to get me angry enough to punish you?"

The hard edge of his voice sends another spurt of liquid heat through my veins.

When I don't reply, he nods. "That's what I thought."

I glance away, then back at him. "Is now when you tell me you're the one who's going to bring me in line?"

"I'd certainly enjoy doing it."

I look between his eyes. His gaze is an expanse of blue, which is so bright it could consume me.

"I still don't know you."

"You know me better today that you did yesterday."

"What are you saying?"

"Have you given more thought to my proposal?"

Of course, he answers my question with another of his own. This man… His arrogance should piss me off, and it does, but his assertiveness is also a turn on. "You always sound so sure of yourself," I murmur. Mainly because I don't want to answer his question. If I tell him I've been considering his proposal, then he'll probe for an answer, and I'll have to reveal I"m no closer to making a decision. I don't want to appear as being indecisive, in contrast to his self-assuredness.

Something in his eyes fades. "I've learned I may not always be right." He scowls through the windshield. His shoulders are locked. The tendons of his neck stand out in relief. Is he referring to a mistake he made in his past?

"Quentin—" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"Do you want me to make a decision for you? Is that it?"

"What do you mean?" I ignore the excitement that ripples under my skin at the notion of him deciding for me.

"You give me the impression that you want to agree, but your ego is stopping you, so let me spell it out for you, Raven." He turns to me. "You don't have a choice but to go through with this."

"I… don't?"

"You need the money."

Of course I do. And I"m not getting it anywhere else. It's not like I"m going to win the lottery overnight and tell him I"m not marrying him. More to the point, I don't want to tell him I"m not marrying him, because I find him hot, and way too attractive, and I know sex with him will blow my mind. And because I feel safe with him. It"s my instincts, something deep inside me which says, this man… will never leave me wanting for anything.

He continues, "Also, you didn't answer my earlier question."

"Wh-which question?"

"The one I know you remember. Maybe you want me to find out for myself?"

I begin to shake my head. I should shake my head. But something inside me... Perhaps that darkness he recognizes… Or that brattiness he referred to… Or it could be the need to find out if I"m as submissive as he says I am coaxes me to part my thighs.

Without taking his gaze off mine, he reaches over, slides his hand under my skirt and cups my sex. The confidence in his act pushes the breath from my lungs. Thank God, I didn't wear my jeans. It's only my panties separating my pussy from his touch.

"If you want me to stop, you only have to say so. If you don't want this, you can leave the car, and I won't stop you," he snaps.

But do I open my mouth to say no? Of course not. Instead, I squeeze my thighs together, trapping his hand.