“It can be a game,” he tells me, taunting. “You can pretend you have a choice, if it makes you feel better. Would you like a safe word?”
It’s obviously a trick, so I don’t speak.
“Go ahead, pick one,” he says, leaning down on my arms with more force as he kisses my neck again.
I hate this game and I don’t want to play, but I throw out, “Red light.”
“Okay, your safe word is red light.”
“Red light,” I say, immediately.
His hands shift again, holding my arms with just the one, and the second snakes up under my shirt. He lifts my bra, shoving his hand inside and squeezing my breast, ignoring my utterance completely.
“That was fun, wasn’t it? We should do that again sometime,” he states, his hand moving around to the clasp of my bra.
“Mateo, please,” I say uselessly, as he gets it unclasped. “Please.”
Squeezing my nipple until it hurts, he says, “Beg all you want; I like it.”
Eventually, he has to let go of my arms to get my jeans off, so I wait until he does to attack. Throwing myself at him with everything I’ve got, I growl, I scratch, I hit—and I end up wrapped in his arms, wrestled until I’m belly-down on the bed, my jeans around my knees.
Growling at the injustice of my defeat, I try again, rearing back against him, attempting to curl into a position where, even if he can get my clothes off, he won’t be able to rape me. Not easily, at least.
Finally seeming agitated, he gives me one more violent toss to the bed and sits up on his knees. I scurry, about to climb off, when I hear the metallic click.
One foot touches the floor, the other leg still bearing the brunt of my weight on the bed, and I come face to face with Mateo’s gun—again.
“Let’s try this a different way,” he says, finger on the trigger.
I’m not terribly confident, but I say shakily, “You’re not going to shoot me. I could be…” I pause, the words too horrible to come out.
“Eight hours pregnant?” he questions. “Become a big enough pain in my ass and I think I’ll survive without ever knowing.”
I won’t accept defeat—I won’t. That’s not what this feeling of a thousand bricks resting atop my lungs is—it’s not defeat. It’s not.
But I don’t move the rest of the way off the bed. I’m too afraid.
Using the gun to gesture, he says, “Back on the bed.”
I swallow, slowly easing back onto the bed, my eyes glued to the barrel of the gun. “You wanna hear something stupid?” I ask him, shakily, as I sit down.
“Sure,” he says.
“After we talked in the library that night….” I shake my head, seeing now how foolish I must have looked to him. “I thought you never would have done it. I thought you never would have actually shot me before, in your study. I thought it was…”
“A front?” he finishes, almost sympathetic.
I nod, choking on the acidic taste of my own foolishness.
“Sadly, no. I don’t make threats I’m not prepared to follow through with.” Nodding toward my lower half, he says, “Take off your panties.”
Lips turned down in a helpless pout, I steel myself, pushing down my panties.
Trying one more time, I say, “You don’t have to do this.”
“I’ve already been inside you, Mia. It doesn’t have to be so dramatic.”
Bastard.
Swallowing convulsively, I will away the nausea gripping me, threatening to make me sick. Mateo moves over me, the gun falling to the side for a moment. With his free hand, he jerks my chin until I’m looking into his eyes, then he leans down and kisses me.
I try to turn my face away, refusing to take part in this. When he gets nothing back, he lets the gun trail up my arm, bringing the barrel to a hard rest at my neck, just below my ear. A fearful sob escapes me but I open my mouth, letting him have access.
“Kiss me,” he growls, before his tongue pushes into my mouth, catching mine and overpowering it, just like he’s overpowering the rest of me. The gun is still pressed firmly against me, digging into my skin uncomfortably, so I do. I kiss the bastard back, just like he demanded.
The worst of it is, my blood races, my heart pounds, and even though I tell myself there’s only fear here, I feel a sudden tingle between my legs that fills me to the brim with self-loathing.
Willing it away, I remind myself he’s a monster. He tricked me and now he’s forcing himself on me—he’s threatening my life, for fuck’s sake.
Withdrawing from my mouth, he leans back. He holds my gaze as he unbuttons and unzips his black slacks, and I feel a throb of fear and arousal confused and mashed together. Befuddlement and resistance sweep through me, but there’s no time—free of his pants, he’s now running his hands over my legs, up over my knees and trailing up my thighs.