up at him. He doesn’t understand—how could he ever understand? He’s brilliant and handsome and driven, he’s got a face made for idealism and sin, he’s got stubble that people would pay money to feel scratching against their thighs. Of course he’s a Dominant, of course he can waltz into a club, into a bedroom, into a cold, political girl’s heart and make himself the king there. But when an otherwise powerful woman is a submissive, it’s a tacit confirmation of something. It’s acceding to the sinister notion that all women secretly crave submission somewhere, and I refuse to be a party to that.
“It can’t be me. I won’t be the woman who says she kneels for no one, and then abruptly decides to because the right man came along. And even if I could, that’s not how submission works. I can’t be submissive for just one person, that’s nonsense, that’s wishful thinking, that’s—”
Lorne yanks me into him, his mouth hovering a mere inch above mine. “You’re right,” he breathes. “You’re not submissive. You’re fucking stubborn.”
And then his mouth crashes down on mine.
3
His kiss is exactly how I remember, and at the same time, it’s so much more.
It’s more potent, more possessive, rougher and silkier all at once. His lips over mine are firm, warm, and the first flick of his tongue against my mouth is not a request. I part for him, and then I’m rewarded with plunder. Hot strokes that give no quarter, urgent kisses that have me sinking back into his arms—and his embrace brings renewed pain sizzling up my skin. His stubble hurts a little too—it’s just enough to scrape, just enough to scratch—as he moves his kisses to my neck and then ducks his head to nip at the exposed inner curves of my breasts.
I can’t think straight, I’m not Lorne-sober, I’m flushed and flying under his drugging kisses and his demanding mouth. All my carefully constructed defenses, all the reasons why I shouldn’t, why I left him—they’re so flimsy in the face of this.
In the face of him.
Somehow, we’ve moved back, back against the ballroom wall, and his hand is cupping my nape while the wall presses fire against my bottom and my wings flatten behind me. His erection is pressing hot and thick against my stomach, and my heart is crashing against my ribs, and I can barely drag in enough air, and I think if I could do this for the rest of my life, I’d be happy. This dance of pain, this symphony of hungry but deliberate force.
It’s why I had to leave.
Because with him, I can let go of all the things that have kept me safe and strong, and what happens if I let them go? Who would I even be then? How can anyone live with their mind, their heart, their everything just out there, in the open? Defenseless?
Beating raw and bloody in the open air?
Fear climbs up my throat, and I break away from the kiss. “Lorne, I can’t.”
He doesn’t chase my mouth, he doesn’t press any harder against me. But I still feel caught like a fly in a web—the hot need between my legs and the heat on my backside. The wall at my back and his beautiful eyes in front of me.
As always with him, I’m caught between what I want and what I should want. And it’s just as miserable now as it was years ago.
“Tell me why you can’t,” he says.
He’s not angry—no good Dom would be, and he’s one of the best—but he is infuriatingly patient, which is almost worse.
My jaw tightens. “Because I’m waiting for a date,” I half-lie.
“Ah yes, this mysterious date of yours. When will they be here? Where are they while I kiss you? Where are they while I touch your pussy, while I check to see if it needs more from me?”
“You’re not—”
His hand echoes his words then, coming between my legs and finding me wetter than ever. I don’t even know what I feel right now. Indignation, arousal, shame.
Vulnerability.
Why does the vulnerability feel so good? Why has it always felt so good with him?
“They should be here soon,” I answer with as much defiance as I can muster.
His fingers search me, search out the lies. “Then you still have time, Morgan. You know how good I can make you feel.”
“But there’s a price, isn’t there? There’s always a price with you.”
He ducks his head to meet my gaze then, his eyes burning behind his mask.