The mill crashes to the floor beside me, and I barely have a second of freedom before a hard, hot hand clamps around my ankle.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Instinctively, I kick out, trying to dislodge his hold, maybe buy myself a few more seconds, but his grip is iron around my bones. He presses his hand tighter, showing me how much further he could push it.
“Rose, stop this. You’re being ridiculous,”
I don’t know if it’s the condescension in his tone or the grip he’s loosened just enough. Instead of answering, I kick out hard enough to send him flat on his ass. This time, I move faster, crawl faster, intent on getting back to my bedroom.
I don’t even get to my feet before his hands clamp around one of my ankles and lower calf.
I struggle, but this time, he’s not giving an inch, and if I keep trying, he’s going to break something. He shifts his grip just enough to keep me on my knees, sliding across the smooth wood until I fall over onto my ass. Not that it’s stopped him. He continues to drag me across the floor until the carpet in front of the fireplace is bunched up under my ass, my panties following suit.
All I can do is stare up at him, ringed by the light of the very faint embers still nestled in the hearth. “What do you want from me?”
I’m proud that my voice doesn’t shake, and that I don’t scream at him again.
He shifts my ankle to one hand and throws a couple of logs in the fireplace with the other hand. They hit the embers, sparking a small flame that grows larger by the second.
I give my leg a gentle tug, which earns me a glare over his shoulder. I blink and stare at those impossibly wide shoulders, corded with muscles. I mean, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen him with some clothes off, but I’ve never really studied him before, not like this.
The fear from earlier is bleeding away. If he wants to keep hold of me as punishment, then it’s not the worst thing I’ve had to endure. I settle onto the soft carpet, shifting it so I can lay flat at least.
When the fire blazes high, he turns to face me.
Something in his eyes kindles the panic, the fear, in my chest again. I make a move to try to get free again, but his eyes warn me against it.
“Don’t you fucking dare move.” His tone is fire, fury, ferocity that I have no touchstone for.
Yes, I’d been brutalized repeatedly, but there had never been any anger in it. Most of the time, I suspected Sal only hurt me because he couldn’t hurt my cousin. A power play more than vengeance.
I swallow hard and stare at him, the light is brighter now, and I can see his chest, his abs, all that muscle leading down to—
Shit. He’s pissed and so fucking hard I can almost see the tip of his dick busting out of the top of his boxer briefs.
“Um.” It’s all I get out before he’s on top of me. Not the gentle, yielding way he’d been before when he’d tried to keep me from hurting myself and him. No, there is no give in his body now. Nothing but hard lines demanding I do the yielding this time.
My mouth is dry, my throat a barren desert. I can only blink at him.
He makes a subtle shift, and then I feel it. The thick, so very hard length of him right there, nothing but our underwear separating our bodies from each other.
My breathing sounds louder between us, borderline panting as panic threatens to take hold and carry me off again.
I shove at his chest, but it’s no use. He won’t move. His eyes tell me what my body already knows. Yet I can’t keep from fighting. I won’t let another man kill me without a fight.
I wrap my legs around his hips and try to set him off-balance, but that doesn’t work either. My breathing is coming faster now in short, fast bursts of air that feel like they are doing nothing for me.
“Why are you doing this? Please get off me.” I hate the whine in my tone and the panic in my voice.
He leans in until our faces are almost touching. “Stop fucking moving. We aren’t doing this song and dance again.”
There’s a red mark on his cheek and a smear of blood beneath. Did I do that? I stare, wide-eyed, still freaking the fuck out, but reality slowly snakes in to break through.
Who the hell am I that I’d hurt him when he’d done nothing to me except try to help me? How am I this person now?
I swallow against my parched throat. “Look, I’m sorry about—”
“No, that’s not what this is about. I don’t want your apologies or your excuses. You need to fucking do better, and until I see that, none of the rest of it matters.”