Wicked and Forever (Wicked & Devoted 6)

“Trees…” she pleaded.

His expression only turned chillier. “Whimpering won’t work anymore, Laila. How do you want this to go, easy or hard? You have ten seconds to decide.”

Let herself be led like a lamb to slaughter or fight him with her last breath?

Even five minutes ago, Laila would have sworn she would take any opportunity to throw herself in Trees’s protective arms and burrow her way to warmth and love in his embrace. But now? She saw nothing but terrifying wrath on his face.

She slid her nervous gaze around the room again, this time in search of a way to protect herself.

Her stare fastened on the guns she had swiped from his dungeon. She pounced for them, nearly knocking them to the ground in her trembling haste.

Trees was right behind her, one massive arm wrapping tight to crush her. With his free hand, he ripped the weapons from her grip and swept them to the floor. “You want to kill me?”

“I want to defend myself,” she panted out.

With his chest pressed to her back, his mirthless laugh shook her body. A shudder went down her spine. “By killing me. But I guess since your lover didn’t manage the job, you thought you’d do it for him? Will he fuck you extra hard and raw as a reward for that?”

“Do not do this,” she pleaded.

“You did this, honey.”

The sweet endearment that had once flowed off his tongue was now bitter. She quivered and held in a ridiculous urge to cry. Trees no longer loved her. He didn’t even care, not that she was surprised. She’d known that was the likely outcome. But maybe if she explained, it would defuse some of his fury. “I did not leave your house with Victor because I wanted to.”

His fingers bit into her arms. His lips slid against her ear. Her heart rate surged—and it had nothing to do with fear. How could she burn for a man who hated her?

“Since you walked out the front door with him, I’m calling bullshit. But I’m not here for details about your torrid fuckfest with Victor.”

“You do not understand. I—”

“Stop. You open your mouth, and lies come out. I don’t want to fucking hear them anymore. Easy or hard, Laila? You tell me how it’s going to be.” He sucked in a hissing breath as he pressed his erection against her backside. “I fucking hope you choose the hard way. My palm is itching. I want you strapped to my table, under my thumb, utterly helpless and unable to stop me until you learn to be a good girl.”

Nothing about that should turn her on, but everything did. Even fear gave her desire an edge she didn’t understand. Her heart revved harder. She swallowed to moisten her suddenly dry mouth. Her nipples felt hard enough to cut glass. Her womb clenched. She got unbearably wet.

“No,” she said more to herself than to him.

“No?” The hand clamped around her waist lifted, caressing up her arm. Then his palm engulfed her breast. His thumb flicked the engorged tip.

Laila sucked in a shocked breath of pleasure, then bit her lip to hold in a moan. “Stop.”

He didn’t. “Your nipple is hard, Laila. Why is that?”

“I am cold.”

“You weren’t cold two minutes ago.”

She hadn’t been, and he was too astute not to know. “I am now.”

“You know what I think?” He nipped her lobe with his teeth, sending another wave of sensation crashing through her. “I think you’re lying. I think you’re aroused as fuck.”

“No.”

“Yes. I think you’re wet for me, too.”

Laila pressed her lips together. If she denied it, he would only slide his big fingers into her panties and prove she’d been dishonest. If she admitted it…then what? Would he toss her on the bed, strip her bare, and make her scream with ecstasy? Or would he laugh and ignore her?

She remained mute.

His growl in her ear sounded low, grating, and not remotely amused. “Nothing to say, little one?”

“Let me go.”

“Oh, that’s never happening, not unless I’m good and ready. You’re going to learn to stop lying, misdirecting, and obfuscating with me—and we’re going to start now. Are you wet?”

Something in his voice warned against lying. He wouldn’t physically hurt her, but there would be consequences if she wasn’t honest. She felt too emotionally naked, too vulnerable to relinquish the truth. If he knew how much he aroused her, he would use it to his advantage.

“It is none of your business.”

“Tsk, tsk,” he murmured in her ear. “You just keep digging yourself a deeper hole. I’m starting to think you want me to punish you.”

“I want you to leave me alone.”

“If you did, you wouldn’t be so”—his hand slid down her ribs, over her abdomen, and inside her panties—“wet. Oh, fuck, Laila. This pussy…”

She tried to steel herself against the desire, but his fingers diving between her folds and trailing through her flowing juices had her gasping, her back arching, her hips writhing. Now that he knew how much she wanted him, there was no hiding. Despite the dread and need clashing in a dizzying thrill, she twisted away from him, pressing her thighs together in an attempt to evict his hand.

“No.” Her protest sounded far more like a panting plea.

“Yes.” He used his free hand to hoist one leg into the crook of his elbow and spread her wide open. His free hand curled over her mound. “This is mine. You’re mine. The sooner you realize it, the easier this will be.”

The objection on the tip of her tongue dissipated to silence when his slick fingers grazed her clit. He’d primed her for his touch, and she was beyond sensitive. Tingles erupted, melding with the heat of his skin. The new sensation mowed down her resistance and sent her up on tiptoe with a cry.