Dammit. After flipping her braid away, she poked his shoulder forcefully enough to hurt her finger. “You don’t tell me what to do, Ra-oool. I’m not your property anymore.” She’d expected the blaze in his eyes; she hadn’t anticipated her regret at verbalizing the fact. I’m not his. She poked him harder to make the sense of loss go away.
He grabbed her hand, preventing more abuse, and sat up. “That’s enough. Get out of the bed before I lose my patience with your rudeness.” His voice had lowered, and excitement shimmered deep inside her.
She felt her nipples bunching into peaks, saw his gaze drop to her breasts, and her anticipation increased at the flare of heat in his eyes. “Stop bossing me around.” She planted herself deliberately, kneeling with her butt on her feet. “I’m not going to do anything you say. Ever. Even if you beg me.”
“And what if you beg me?” he asked softly, the increasing Spanish accent an obvious clue to his temper. “If you stay in this bed, I will take you, Kimberly, the way I want, as rough as I want, unless you scream your safe word.”
His dark voice flipped a switch inside her, and she was suddenly very wet, her clit throbbing as if he’d stroked it with his tongue rather than his words.
But her mouth had gone dry at the threat in his voice. He would… He could hurt her. Only, she wanted that. Kind of. She took a breath. Besides, backing down would make her a coward. “Take me, Ra-oool? Pfft. You’re all talk and no—”
He grabbed her. She squeaked as he flattened her on her belly, her face on the mattress inches from the ornate ironwork of the headboard. She felt a pull on her hair. Tugging.
“That should keep you out of trouble.” He yanked her up, onto her hands and knees.
It was going too fast. Unable to help herself, she attempted to rear up and…couldn’t. She tried to lift her head, but her braid was caught on something. She stared at the mattress, three inches from her nose, and fumbled at the headboard, trying to find what he’d hooked her braid on.
His ruthless hands closed on her wrists and secured them one-handed at the hollow of her back.
“Damn you!” She struggled, totally helpless, her head caught, her hands caught. He shoved his knees between her legs, pushing her legs apart, exposing her. With his free hand, he explored her intimately and hummed in interest. “You’re puffy, gatita. And very wet.”
His fingers moved over her clit, so very assured, touching her in the way he knew turned her on. Although she kept fighting, the more she fought, the more her need grew. His chuckle showed he realized exactly what was going on—and his ability to read her so easily increased her arousal as well. Dammit.
He positioned his cock at her entrance and swirled it in her wetness. His grip on her wrists tightened, warning her. He plunged into her, all the way to the hilt.
Her body froze in shock, and she gasped as her pussy strained to accommodate the invasion. Yes, yes, yes. Pushing her forehead onto the mattress, she let him take her over.
He did. He took her, roughly as he’d promised, slamming into her, thick and hard and uncomfortably long.
Not satisfied, he released her hands and gripped her hips, angling her for greater penetration until he nudged her womb with every thrust. Yet the roughness and discomfort increased her arousal, pushing her toward climax in a way she’d never felt before. He wasn’t touching her clit, the stimulation only from his rigid erection. Everything inside her started to tighten, her entire lower half a fiery ball of nerves.
As he yanked her back onto his cock, over and over, her braid pulled at her scalp, reminding her she was restrained. Her hands fisted the covers as the pressure inside her grew. The air thickened until she cried out with each stroke, each demanding thrust wonderful, perfect, keeping her teetering right at the top.
And then he moved differently, his shaft circling her entrance, making her folds tug on her clit. The fire inside contracted into a whirlpool, blasting a tsunami of sheer sensation over her sea walls, flattening everything in front of it until an ocean of pleasure streamed to every far nerve. The room echoed back her scream, then her gasps for air.
He somehow hardened, thickened even more. Short, brutal thrusts sent more waves through her, and then he pressed, deep, deep, and the spasms of his cock made her insides clench over and over around him
His grip on her hips released—she’d have bruises there tomorrow, and she didn’t mind in the least. No—she gloried in the thought of his marks on her. Every nerve in her body was singing, and satisfaction flowed with each beat of her pulse. And happiness. More than from her climax, but caused by the feel of his hands, demanding, controlling, merciless. Dammit, why?
She’d been dominated before; he gave her…more. Or she surrendered more. Anxiety rippled through her. How much would she surrender to him?
He ran his hands down her sides in long strokes, reached under to fondle her breasts, and chuckled when her vagina spasmed around him. When he finally pulled out, she moaned at the loss. Without speaking, he flattened her on the bed again to unhook her braid, then rolled her onto her back like a puppy.
Throat exposed, belly up. At his mercy. Her anxiety increased as she realized annoyance still tightened his jaw.
“Is this what they call friends with benefits?” he asked, holding her chin.
She felt her face heat and closed her eyes.
“Look at me,” he growled.
Her gaze met his, and she couldn’t escape from the anger in his eyes. She swallowed.
“If you wish rough sex or D/s sex, then tell me. I took you hard this time, so we could both discover your response.” His gaze softened, his thumb stroking over her lower lip. “There’s no question as to how you respond. You think about it and what you want.”
He swung off the bed and turned, his expression dangerous. “And then you will talk to me honestly and openly.”
Dammit.
* * * *
That afternoon, Raoul pushed back from his desk, rubbing his exhausted eyes. If he was going to continue designing at home, he needed a bigger screen.
On the left, Kimberly worked her way through the stacks of filing he’d accumulated. He hated paperwork. Normally, he’d summon his secretary to do the tedious business. But for now, it kept Kimberly occupied.
My friend, Kimberly. Smiling slightly, he watched her examine a paper and put it into a folder. Even lacking any power exchange, he liked having her in his house.
After she’d crawled into his bed last night, he’d discovered he still enjoyed making love to her. Then again, he was a man. Was fucking ever bad? Yes, the normal sex with Kimberly had been pleasant, although lacking any rich flavor or bite, as if someone had made tacos without adding cayenne or cumin.
She’d also felt the lack. He grinned, remembering how she’d goaded him, trying to make him lose his temper. He hadn’t—barely—although he’d given her the roughness and control that she needed. She’d come like a dream.
He shook his head. It was amazing she tolerated sex at all after her experiences, let alone with a man dominating her. Would she admit she wanted his control in the bedroom? Could she be that honest with herself—and him?
For a minute, he simply studied her. Pretty gatita, her black, shiny hair loose over her shoulders, her curvy ass filling her shorts nicely, reminding him of the feel of her soft hips under his hands. His eyes narrowed as he looked more intently.
Pretty…but not happy. The quiet content she’d shown in the weeks prior to the Shadowlands had eroded away over the past three days. Her body now lacked…grace…as if she were no longer comfortable with herself. Tension simmered under her jerky movements and tensed muscles.
Yet she wasn’t looking around nervously. He opened and shut a drawer loudly—no jumpiness. Not fear then.
He rested his elbow on the desk and leaned back in his chair, thinking. Serving her dom and others filled a need in her—whether she admitted it or not—but she was also more comfortable when she had rules. Boundaries. Consistency. Apparently, her erratic father had been loving, then not—stern when sober, nasty when drunk. She’d never known what to expect from minute to minute. Rules probably felt…safe.
When she’d requested that they be friends, she’d not only lost his domination, but the consistency that came with it.
She glanced over her shoulder, and his eyes met hers. He held her gaze, looking for—Dios, stop it, Sandoval. He turned away, disgusted with himself. Her need called to his, but she had said no. No meant no.
However, she wasn’t happy or at peace, and he wasn’t sure how to fix that. Not as friends. Hopefully, she’d discuss the problem with Gabi or Faith, but knowing Kim, she’d probably avoid discussions on dominance and submission.
He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye.
She was kneeling at his feet, head down, nape beautifully exposed. Begging for a collar. No, stop dreaming.
“You don’t have to kneel to talk to me, Kimberly,” he said. “We’re friends, are we not?”
“Yes. Kind of.” Rather than her hands resting open on her thighs, her fingers were laced and white-knuckled in front of her. “I…I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but being friends isn’t working for me.”
Well, apparently she was learning how to share her emotions. He smiled ruefully, then bent and tilted her chin up. “Do you have a request?” He winced, wanting to punch himself. Even when he told himself not to, he couldn’t speak or touch without dominating someone, especially this little one.