She should be clawing his eyes out for even suggesting it. But it wasn’t fear that twisted in her stomach. It was a thrill of excitement.
She had come to his boxcar wanting to fight.
And she had come to his boxcar, more importantly, to lose.
Keeping her wrists behind her back with one hand, he slid his fingers of the other around her throat. He tilted her back just far enough that he could bend down to nip at her lower lip. “Would you like that? Hm? I think you would. What a naughty thing you’ve become.” He grinned. “I’m hardly complaining.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” But her words came out as a whisper. She didn’t mean them. It was a careful dance. She wasn’t saying no. She wasn’t telling him to stop.
He chuckled against her skin and pressed a hot, slow kiss against her cheek. “Oh, darling…telling me I can’t have a cookie from the jar is precisely how you ensure I steal every last one.”
Strings replaced his fingers around her wrists. She yelped as they pulled her down. She had no control over her movements. She felt the thin and impossible strands around her waist, her forearms, her shoulders, her legs. She couldn’t do anything but watch as he lowered her gently to her knees. “Simon! What’re you—”
He placed his fingers against her lips. “Ssh…You’re ruining the moment.” He leaned back against the tile again, black-red-white eyes lidded and dark with lust. “Look at you. Just…oh, Cora…”
The way the words left him were a low moan. She shivered. No one had ever looked at her the way he was gazing at her. The predator and the beggar, all the same. When he began to idly stroke himself, she thought she might burst into flames with how much it felt like burning metal was pouring through her veins.
He ran his thumb slowly along her lower lip, tracing the line, before urging her to take it into her mouth. She obeyed. She could bite him. She could snarl and fuss and fight. But the sight of him, looming over her, watching her with those demonic eyes…she couldn’t. She gave in.
He groaned as he slid his thumb into her mouth, running the pad over her tongue. “Are you going to play nice now?” He visibly shuddered as she sucked on the digit, rolling her tongue around it. “I’d hate to bleed out from having my member bitten off.” He sneered. “I’m not eager to check that one off the list of ways to die.”
She didn’t say anything. Just shivered in anticipation as he pulled his thumb from her lips. She shouldn’t be enjoying this. She shouldn’t be. She had serious issues, however. Because she was loving every second of it.
“Open up.” He ran his hand through her wet hair, resting his hand on the back of her head. “I have wanted to see you part those pretty lips for me for so very long.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You still talk too damn m—”
Her words were broken off as he pulled her head toward him, stifling her as he filled her mouth. She made a startled “nghk!” noise, but there was little else she could do. The sound he made was far more profane. Far more explicit. And one of pure pleasure.
He set the tempo, but she knew she was still in charge. If she fought him, if she bit down, if she screamed, he’d stop. This wasn’t about taking control; this was about making her want to surrender. And she did.
Even as she could see the strings dripping in the dew of the shower that held her in place on her knees at his feet, she was amazed at how much she wanted it. At how much pleasure it brought her. At how oddly powerful she felt, even as she was on her knees. She could pull the brakes on this whenever she wanted to. She was on her knees because she let him put her there.
He hadn’t robbed her. She had given to him.
She rolled her tongue along him when she could. She wanted to hear those explicit sounds of his again, and he obliged her. He was a thing of terrible and sinful beauty. The things he muttered to her would have made her blush if she could.
“You’re perfect. So perfect.” He groaned as he pulled away from her, leaving her gasping for air. He watched her hungrily, his muscles twitching, on the edge of release. It seemed he wanted to enjoy the