I’m losing it.
My pulse quickens, my ears prickle, and my limbs shake at the faintest sound.
It’s been this way since last night.
Ever since Creighton looked at me with that frightening heat, metaphorically stripped me, and then stood and left.
But not before he issued that warning with a mere gaze.
It’s crazy how expressive his eyes can get when he puts in the effort. In a fraction of a second, they’ll morph from blank and absolutely indifferent to scorching lava.
I kept tossing and turning in bed last night, staring at the window and the door. For some reason, I thought he’d ambush at night, when the world sleeps and he’s camouflaged by the darkness.
Like the night he committed arson in my brother’s house.
The anticipation kept me awake, tossing and turning in bed with my heart pulsing in my throat.
I refuse to address or put a name to the feeling that’s been sinking in my stomach since this morning.
After school, I go to the shelter with Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake blasting in my ear. It takes an inhuman effort to stop myself from dancing in sync with the music.
It’s quiet today, with dejection floating in the air because their resident ‘Hot Stuff’ didn’t show up. Yes, we have more volunteers, thanks to him, but it’s inconvenient when their entire work ethic is centered on his presence—or lack thereof. Oh, and his six-pack. Harry started a whole group chat where they share half-naked pictures of him and bicker over who’s going to worship his ‘huge dick’ first. Seriously, not one of them has seen his dick, so that’s a total overstatement.
In no time, he has a fan club, fanatics, and antis—the latter being only me at the moment. I’m just in that group to grasp hold of the situation, nothing more.
And he does get half naked a lot. If I didn’t know he was aloof to a fault, I would swear he’s doing it on purpose.
If it were up to me, I’d kick him out of the shelter so that we can get our peaceful atmosphere back. However, if I do voice that thought, I’ll be stoned to death by the fanatics.
Even Dr. Stephanie appreciates all the helping hands.
I play with Tiger for a bit, exchange some small talk with the other volunteers, and then I get busy list-checking the stock in the storage room.
Since no one usually comes in here, I put my Tchaikovsky on speaker and twirl as I move from one aisle to the other.
My feet tingle and burst with inexplicable energy. I’ve always loved dancing, to the point that Mom had no choice but to teach me and enroll me in ballet classes when I was four years old.
Sometimes, it feels like I’m putting that talent to waste by choosing to go to college. Other times, I remember that I love ballet for ballet, for moments like these where it allows me to purge negative energy. It’s not for stardom or for people to watch me.
Yes, I’m a people person, but not in that sense.
As the music reaches a crescendo, I open my arms and twirl on pointe across the aisle.
Then, in that moment of excitement, I slam into a wall.
No, not a physical wall—a wall of muscle.
The music starts a slow descent, completely at odds with the chaos brewing inside me.
A merciless hand grabs my elbow to stop me from toppling over. I stare up at his ethereally gorgeous face, at the lips that rest in a line, completely devoid of emotion.
He’s a cold god whose only language is disapproval.
A predator whose sole purpose is trapping prey.
That’s currently me.
My breasts are smashed against the hard muscles of his chest. Our bodies have collided in a mesh of strength against softness.
In this position, the difference in size is too great to ignore. I’m so small compared to him that he could easily break and stomp all over me.
Leave me absolutely wrecked.
The skin where his fingers are touching my elbow sparks in a million fires, expanding all the way to my chest.
I’ve always heard about overwhelming tension, the type that lingers like a weight at the back of one’s throat and robs them any semblance of sanity and logical thinking.
But I never imagined it would be this…frightening.
This powerful.
And I need out of his orbit. Now.
I try to pull my elbow free, but it might as well be caught in a trap.
So I force my lips into a smile that probably looks awkward at best. “Oh, hi. I didn’t know you were coming today. You should probably go out and greet the fangirls and fanboy, Harry. They’ve been dejected thinking you wouldn’t be here—”
“Shut up.”
My lips slam shut in an attempt to actually stay quiet. Just two words are enough to stiffen my spine. All the anxiety from tossing and turning and staring at my balcony last night crashes back into me.
“You truly fucked up, Annika.” He pushes me backward with his commanding hold on my elbow. “I told you to give up on the fake boyfriend idea, but you went ahead and provoked me. You. Fucked. Up. You’re lucky I didn’t jump through your window and turn your skin red.”
A gasp echoes in the air and I realize it’s mine as my back hits one of the shelves. Creighton still has my elbow hostage, his body pressed against mine.
I’m sure he can feel my heaving chest and hear my choked breaths that rise over the sound of the music.
This is the first time I’ve witnessed this side of him, and it’s eliciting all sorts of emotions—fear, dread, but also thrill and anticipation.
The type I’ve never experienced before.
“What did I say would happen if you didn’t do as you were told?” His deep voice floats in the air and lands on my constricting chest.
I gulp the saliva that’s gathered in my mouth. For the first time, he’s the talkative one and I’m speechless, grappling for words and finding nothing.
“What the fuck did I say, Annika?”
I flinch at the whip of his commanding words and blurt, “That you would acquaint me with pain.”
The words are barely out of my mouth when he spins me around. A yelp escapes me as he grabs hold of my ponytail and shoves my head against a plastic bag of dog food.
That’s when I realize that I’m bent over, ass in the air, with him right behind me.
Strong fingers lift the skirt of my dress to my waist and a gust of air hits my bottom. Goosebumps erupt on my skin in terrifying succession and my temperature rises until I’m boiling.
“You should’ve listened, little purple. You really shouldn’t have provoked me.” He strokes his hand across my ass cheek and over my lace panties. His touch is sure, dominant, disallowing even an ounce of resistance.
I try to stare back, wanting—no, needing—to see his expression. The grip on my hair tightens, letting me know who’s in complete control here.
“You’ve been wiggling this little arse for weeks and it’s time to discipline it.” His chest covers my back—heavy, hot, and powerful. Then his whisper follows in my ear, “And you.”
“Creigh…” His name comes out like a haunted whisper. “Please.”
I don’t know what I’m begging for. For him to stop? To take this a step further? Test my limits to the point where I won’t be able to come back from this?
What exactly?
He pushes off me, his body heat leaving mine, but his merciless grip remains on my ponytail. “I didn’t ask you to beg yet. When I do, it’ll be much worse than this.”
What—
My thoughts are interrupted by his firm command, “Now, count to ten or we’ll start from scratch.”
A slap echoes in the air and my mouth opens in a wordless gasp. Pain erupts on my ass cheek, hot and fierce. But I don’t even focus on that when his hand meets my flesh again, harder than the first time.
So hard that my front bumps against the shelves and my legs shake.
“I don’t hear you counting.” His voice has darkened, becoming shadowy and rich with dominance. “We’ll go again.”
The slap collides with the mounting music and I whimper, “One.”
He smacks my ass again and a sob tears from my throat, mixed with the crescendo of the song and my raw breathing.
“T-two.”
The air is weighed down with a cloak of depravity and twisted emotions. I never imagined I would be in this position, held down, ass in the air, being spanked.
But maybe this is exactly what I’ve been yearning to learn ever since he warned me away.
Ever since he told me about his deviant tastes.
Maybe this is why I provoked him. I didn’t do it on purpose, but deep down, in the black corners of my mind, I wanted to see him…snap.
I just had no idea that it’d be this brutal. Or that I would have this foggy reaction to it.
His hand comes down on my flesh again with the ruthlessness of a whip.
“From now on, when I tell you to do something, you do it.” Slap. “If I warn you, you don’t ignore me.” Slap. “You’ll listen to fucking orders.” Slap. “You will obey me.” Slap.
“Three, f-four, five, six.” I grab onto the shelves with a death grip. My nails dig into the metal as sweat trickles down my back.
My pretty purple dress is all crumpled and squashed by his overwhelming ruthlessness, but that’s the least of my worries.
Tears sting my eyes, and it’s not only because of the pain.
Tchaikovsky almighty. I really hope it’s only due to the throbbing of my assaulted ass.
My thighs clench and my core aches, pulsating with an animalistic need. When he slaps me three times in a row again, I rock forward, bumping my clit against the shelf below.
Bursts of pleasure knot the base of my stomach and I close my eyes, my voice turning deeper, erotic. “Seven, eight, nine.”
My breaths form condensation on the metal and I welcome the small reprieve and the break from pain.
He slaps my ass, and I haven’t even finished whispering ‘Ten” when he shoves my thighs apart in one motion. His fingers dig into my skull and he yanks me back with his grip on my hair, forcing my eyes to shoot open.
The back of my head rests on his hard chest as he whispers in my ear with chill-inducing intensity, “You haven’t earned the right to come.”
I twist my head the slightest bit, and for the first time since he started his ‘punishment,’ I’m able to see his face.
And I’m not ready for the scene.
It’s like I’m looking at an entirely different person. His breaths are ragged, causing his chest to inflate and deflate in a rapid rhythm that still simmers with calm, and his face—damn his stone-cold face that’s caught in eternal blankness and oozes control to the brim.
His eyes, however, tell a completely different story. Yes, there’s that display of dominance, sadism even, but they’re masking something a lot deeper.
An emotion a lot darker.
And I wish I could reach inside him and tug those emotions out. Even if that means I’d get swooped up in the process.
My assaulted ass rubs against his jeans and I whimper, both at the pain and the expression on his face.
Though the first has dimmed compared to the throbbing between my legs.
His jaw clenches and his eyes flash to my parted lips. “I thought pain scared you, so how come you get off on it?”
I try to shake my head, but it’s impossible with his grip on my hair.
“I can smell your arousal. It’s permeating the fucking air.” His fingers spread against my panties. “When did you become this soaking wet, hmm? Was it before or after I spanked your little arse? Maybe during? Did you get turned on by the thought of being owned by me? Did you picture my cock tearing through your cunt until you screamed and choked on my name?”
My lips part.
Holy. Shit.
Who thought the quiet Creighton had such a dirty mouth? It’s almost like I’m meeting another version of him.
One whose every secret I want to unwrap and flounder in every splash of its darkness.
My hips rock against his hand, basically dry humping him, and he doesn’t remove it. Instead, his fingers push my panties to the side and glide against my folds.
His voice lowers against my earlobe. “Now is the time to beg.”
My heart nearly jumps in my throat as I murmur, “Please.”
“Please what? Say the whole sentence.”
Damn it. I’ve never spoken such vulgar words out loud, but I don’t really have a choice now.
He has me completely at his mercy.
“P-please make me come.”
His jaw tics once, twice, and then he shoves two fingers inside me. I reel from the pressure as it mounts and mounts until I’m unable to breathe.
The stimulation from earlier rushes to the surface and I reach a hand out and grab onto his side, my nails sinking in his shirt.
“Hand down,” he orders in a frigid voice, and I let go. My arms lie limp at my sides as a knot forms in my chest.
His thumb teases my clit with staggering expertise. He’s not only dominant, but he also knows exactly what he’s doing and how. I’ve used a few toys and my fingers before, but none of them compare to the wild intensity that’s shaking my limbs.
Pleasure bursts through me all at once and I have no hope to last. My raw moans overlap with the music as I fall apart around his fingers.
The wave submerges me and the pulsing welts on my ass elongate the pleasure, making it more potent.
By the time I come down from it, Creighton is staring at me with that suffocating darkness again.
That need for more.
More.
And more.
At this point, I’m not sure I can stop him from taking what he wants.
Hell, maybe I’ll even enjoy it.
His lashes lower, blocking his emotions, as he slides his fingers out and steps back. My legs wobble and I use the shelves as an anchor to remain standing.
My harsh breathing fills the storage room and it’s only then I realize someone could’ve walked in and seen the entire unorthodox scene.
Shit.
Creighton shoves a hand in his jeans pocket and glares at me, and the look is enough to make me shiver.
What’s wrong with him now? He looks even more tense than when he walked into the storage room.
And he’s suppressing something again. What, I don’t know.
“Defy me again and this punishment will look like child’s play in comparison to what I’ll do to you.”
