He took several steps toward me, then stopped. "Get up."
I rose slowly and somewhat unsteadily. Lust continued to roll off him in waves, and tiny beads of perspiration began to dot my skin. My damn nipples were so hard, they ached and, as much as I hated it, I couldn't entirely ignore the desire that slithered through me. And while most of it was undoubtedly the spell he'd placed on me, some of it was not.
I might hate him, but I also wanted him.
But I'd be damned if I admitted it.
Our gazes clashed for several more nerve-racking minutes; then he raised a hand, pressed a fingertip between my breasts, and pushed me backward. Amaya's screams echoed in my head, and I ordered her to shut up and not cut.
My back hit the wall, the wood rough and grimy against my skin. He kept me pinned, not moving, not saying anything, just watching me with that smug, insolent expression I was beginning to hate.
Then he stepped back.
For a moment, hope leapt, but the amusement touching his lips soon killed that.
"Undress me," he ordered. "Slowly."
I flexed my fingers, battling anger and the urge to do as Amaya desired, then raised my hands and unbuttoned his shirt. When the last button came undone, I placed my hands on his skin and slid them upward, over the taut muscles of his stomach and chest and then under the shirt. As it slipped to floor, I ran my hands back down his body and played with the waist of his pants.
His warm breath fanned across my skin, its tempo one of expectation. Mine was no better, despite my loathing of the situation. My gaze rose to his. Desire burned in those green depths, but so, too, did warning.
I unfastened his pants. His cock strained against the restriction of his silk boxers, thick and hard and ready for action. I hooked my fingers into the waist of both and slid them down his legs. He stepped out, then pressed a hand against my head, keeping me down.
"Suck me."
I did as he bid, sucking and licking and teasing until the salty taste of come began to fill my mouth.
Abruptly, he tangled his fingers in my hair and yanked me upright. He spun me around so that I faced the wall, then pulled my head backward, kissing me fiercely as he entered me from behind. What followed was animalistic and hard, and, despite my loathing of both him and the situation, felt good. But I did not give voice to my pleasure. There wasn't much I could keep to myself given the situation, but I refused to give him that.