She Devil. Christy McKellen
the red haze that descended over my eyes, I saw him lift a hand in apology. ‘Shit, April, sorry, I didn’t—’
But I didn’t want to hear it. I was way past trying to make any kind of peace with him. I wanted to hurt him, like he’d hurt me. Repeatedly. For years. But the words wouldn’t come. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would penetrate that thick hide of his so, in the absence of a better idea, I pulled back my arm and slapped him hard across the face.
The violent sound of it rang around the small room, but somehow still failed to penetrate my rational consciousness. I seemed to be in some sort of incensed rage that incrementally had been building for years, so I simply swung my arm back again and attempted to repeat what I’d just done.
This time he was too quick for me and managed to grab my wrist before my hand made contact with his cheek again. He gripped me tightly, staring into my eyes and shaking his head in silent warning. But I wasn’t having it. I wasn’t going to let him subdue me. So I raised my free arm and swung that towards the other side of his face.
He seemed to be anticipating this, though, and managed to grab hold of that one as well then twist us round and pin me against the window, holding both of my wrists in his large hands, effectively confining my wrath.
‘Stop!’ he ordered me as anger and something that looked suspiciously like desire flashed in his eyes.
We were both breathing hard now, the sound of it loud and raw in the otherwise silent room.
I should have felt scared and defenceless, alone with him and physically overpowered like this.
But I wasn’t afraid. In fact, I felt weirdly jubilant.
I had the strangest urge to push him as far as I could, just to see what he’d do. I wanted to force him to act, force him to the very edge of his comfort zone, and perhaps even past it. To make him feel as off-balance as I did right then. I was determined not to be the only one fighting to stay in control.
‘What are you gonna do now, huh?’ I growled at him. ‘Now you have me trapped here, half-naked and vulnerable.’
I stared into those striking eyes of his, hyper-aware of my bare breasts rising and falling only centimetres away from his own exposed chest. My nipples were rock-hard and felt super-sensitised and I was intensely conscious that it wasn’t just the cold breeze that was responsible.
Something flickered in his eyes and they appeared to grow darker as his pupils dilated.
It suddenly felt as if we were on the cusp of something—something new and dangerous.
And my whole body ached for it.
But to my frustration he loosened his grip on my wrists and backed away from me, his handsome face drawn into a deep scowl but his eyes still betraying a heated longing.
A moment of pure, sweet wistfulness hit me as a memory flitted through my mind of how he used to look at me with the same kind of unadulterated need.
We’d had a wild time together what felt like a lifetime ago now, experimenting with all kinds of crazy stuff—mostly power-play and some BDSM—which I’d loved at the time but had never wanted to do with a partner since. It reminded me too much of the time I’d spent with him—a happier, simpler, more naïve time, and one I’d been determined to forget. I’d needed to be emotionally rock-solid for my family’s sake since breaking up with him so I’d boxed up those desires and never peeked at them again.
Until now.
But to my raging disappointment he just shook his head and said, ‘I’m not going to do anything. I have zero interest in continuing this pathetic exchange, because I have zero interest in you. I don’t waste my time with cold-hearted bitches. Not any more.’
The words stung like a thousand paper cuts and the red mist of anger swelled in me again.
How dared he act as if this meant nothing to him? As if I meant nothing. Because I knew I did. He wouldn’t have acted this way towards me if he really didn’t feel anything.
Without conscious thought, I strode forward and braced both hands against his shoulders, using the surprise of my attack to catch him off-balance so I was able to push him against the nearest wall.
He let out a grunt of surprise as I pressed myself into him, jamming my pelvis up against his, jubilant to discover that his cock was as hard as I’d imagined it would be.
‘It doesn’t feel like you’re not interested in me,’ I goaded.
He let out a huff of a laugh and, before I could register what was going to happen, he wrapped his arms around me and swung us around on the spot so that now it was me with my back against the wall. Not wanting him to get the jump on me, I pressed myself backward, trapping his arms between my body and the wall so he couldn’t get away.
Looking up into his face, I saw both fury and confusion in his eyes, which only made me more determined to win this battle.
‘Now what are you going to do, huh? What’s your next move?’
Knowing his hands were securely trapped behind my back, I slid my fingers inside his open shirt and ran them up his chest, making sure to graze both of his nipples when I reached them, gazing into his face the whole time to check his reaction.
His sharp intake of breath and frustrated glare made my heart leap with satisfaction. I knew his body so well, even after all this time, and that knowledge made me unreasonably happy.
I felt his hands shift behind my back and realised they weren’t as trapped as I’d thought.
But he still didn’t try to release them.
He wanted me to do this.
So do it I would.
Skating my hands lower, I pressed the tips of my nails into the flesh of his torso, feeling him twitch and shudder under my touch. I watched with satisfaction as he closed his eyes, his breath juddering through his throat and catching each time I dug my nails into him a little harder.
And then I was at the top of his trousers, where I hung out for a moment, running my fingertip across the hard muscles where his taut belly met the leather of his belt.
‘Fuck!’ he moaned, his eyelids still squeezed shut. ‘Go on, then.’ He opened his eyes and looked straight into mine. ‘Do it.’
It was half challenge, half plea.
And I didn’t need any more encouragement than that. Laying the flat of my hand onto his chest, I pushed until he was forced to take a step away from me, giving me enough room to reach down and slide the soft leather out of his buckle. His arms fell to his sides as I pulled the belt free then popped open the button on his trousers and tugged down the fly so I was able to slide my hand easily into the waistband of his boxers, my eyes never leaving his.
I wanted him to know I was still in charge of things here. That despite his repeated attempts to bring me down he hadn’t succeeded. I was still directing the play. This was only happening because I was letting it.
His cock was hard, but his skin felt silky smooth as I wrapped my fingers around his shaft, drawing another guttural groan from him. I began to move my hand up and down, giving a little twist as I reached the tip and getting a short, satisfying pant of appreciation from him each time I did it.
I was aware of heat emanating from his body in waves now, warming my skin and causing goose bumps to rush over me, but I ignored my response, not wanting it to distract me from what I was doing to him. I wanted to revel in this, to enjoy the sense of power I was experiencing from totally being in control of his pleasure.
In control of him.
Heady with triumph, I increased both the pressure and speed of my movement and was rewarded for my efforts when he closed his eyes, dropped his chin and clamped his jaw shut, as if losing himself in what I was doing to him.
His chest heaved as his breathing