The bundle of rope in his hand quickens my breath, but he doesn’t give me time to think. His arm hooks around my back. His head lowers, and his hot mouth seals over my nipple.
I squirm against him, overcome by the stimulation. His arm holds me in place, and his teeth dig in, replacing the suck of his lips with deliciously harsh bites. I stab my hands into his hair, yanking at the strands as he abuses my breast with savage expertise.
He drags me closer, feasting. I curl my fingers against his scalp, scratching. The wooden railing rubs against my stomach, separating us, preventing us from climbing into each other.
He releases me, and blood rushes to my nipple, throbbing, aching. God, I need more.
“Hands on the fence.” The gruffness in his voice summons images of hard, wet fucking.
My body throbs for exactly that as my mind panics. I can’t. I shouldn’t. Don’t do it!
I grip the railing, boots braced apart, knees locked, and nipples erect. I’ve never felt so wanton and reckless.
He ties my wrists down with practiced efficiency, looping and knotting in swift movements.
“You’ve done this a lot.” I search the shadows of his gorgeous face.
Without responding, he drops the excess rope and hops the fence to return to my side.
“How many times?” My stomach hardens. “How many women?”
“I’ve been sexually active since I was sixteen.” He crowds my back and feathers his fingers up the fronts of my thighs.
My skin prickles beneath his touch. “Do you have regular lovers? Friends with benefits?”
He makes a sound of irritation. “No.”
“You always restrain them?”
“Yes.” His fingers bite into my upper thighs.
He’s twenty-four, so that’s… I close my eyes. Eight years. Different women every week. I don’t need to do the math to know he’s a manwhore.
“I’m just a number.” I twist my neck to glower at him. “One of hundreds, I’m guessing.”
His heat vanishes from my back, the only warning he gives me before slamming a palm against my bare bottom. The impact lifts me onto my toes, and I gulp as the sting deepens, spreading fire through tissue and muscle.
“You will not judge me for enjoying sex with willing women.” His voice is unruffled velvet as he strikes me again.
“No, I’m—”
He spanks my other cheek and smooths his hand over the hurt. “Nor will you cheapen what’s happening here.”
I tighten my fingers around the railing, swaying against the burning pleasure in my backside. Every swipe of his palm reignites the throbbing heat. I feel it everywhere—in the gust of my breaths, the tingling in my muscles, and the molten spasms between my legs.
I want him to hit me again before the pulsing ache fades. At the same time, I don’t want him to stop caressing my hot, sore flesh.
I’m losing my mind.
“What’s happening here?” I hope he can explain it, because I’m at a loss.
“Something different.” He lowers his hand, depriving me of his touch.
“Different?” Anger leaks into my voice. “I saw you with McKenna. You were rough with her. You restrained her. How is this different?”
He grips my jaw and wrenches my neck around, imprisoning my gaze in the black cage of his.
“I fucked them.” He shifts closer to my side, fingers pressing against bone as he glares into my soul. “They took from me. I took from them. When it was finished, I walked away.”
I’ve spent nine nights with him, and he hasn’t fucked me. I’ve slept beside him when no one else has. He gives me more than he takes, and he isn’t bored yet.
My lungs expand. This is different.
“I can’t walk away from this.” His fingers loosen, gliding across my cheek and into my hair. “Can’t walk away from you.”
“Same.” A knot forms in my throat.
He ducks under my restrained arm and slides up the front of my nude body. The sheer size of him makes the space between me and the fence terribly cramped. But he fits, his chest pressed against mine, his hands meandering along every part of me he can reach, and his mouth…
The instant our lips connect, my back arches and my insides crackle and fizz. His fingers slip between my legs, and my knees buckle. One long digit curls inside me, and my breath sprints away.
“Goddamn, you’re wet.” His tongue brushes against mine, and he lifts his hand. “The spanking did this.” He trails a sticky finger across my mouth.
“You did that.” I close my lips around his touch, tasting the tang of my arousal.
“You’re authentic, Maybe. So fucking real and dirty and stunning from the inside out. Jesus, look at you.” He clutches my shoulders and stares down the length of my naked body. “You’re everything I never dared to hope for.”
His words have the power to slay me. The kiss that follows is a filthy, unhinged, catastrophic confirmation that I will never be able to walk away from him. Not if I want to remain whole.