“More?”
“No thanks.” I suppressed a belch. Mistake, chugging that water. But I was nervous and uncomfortable. I couldn’t stop myself.
At least it had been water. If it had been something stronger, I might have found myself chained to something in that torture chamber.
A little quiver shot through me.
He polished off his water and set the glass on the counter. “I guess we’ll head out now.”
“Okay.” Somewhat relieved, somewhat not, I followed him to the door leading out to the elevator. He stepped aside, letting me exit first. As I was brushing close, I turned to face him. I couldn’t stop myself. My heart jerked in my chest, and before I could stop it, the word, “Why?” slipped out of my mouth.
“Why, what? Why, that?” He jerked his head toward the dungeon.
“Yes, why?”
“It’s difficult to explain. It’s an expression of who I am, essentially.”
“You’re…what? Sadistic?”
“No. I don’t get any pleasure from causing others pain. I have a need to control, to dominate. It’s difficult for some people to understand the difference.”
I thought about my mother, how she controlled me, my life, my every move. She was a wonderful woman, just like Shane had said. But she was also extremely controlling. “Actually, I can see it. I was raised by a woman who probably had the same drive.”
“She did.”
A chill swept up my spine.
I didn’t want to ask how he knew that, or what he might be implying by that statement. I knew for a fact that there’d been no torture dungeon in our house. But I suppose she could have gone somewhere else to exercise those demons, out of my sight.
Another shiver swept through my body.
Standing close enough to touch, close enough to smell, he said, “I’m sorry if I said something you weren’t ready to hear.”
“It’s okay.” I forced a smile, hoping it would ease his guilt. For some reason I looked deeply into his eyes. I don’t know what I saw there, shadows, sadness, loneliness, maybe. Regret, perhaps. Something dark. “I still think you’re one of the most amazing men I’ve ever met.”
“And I think you’re one of the most amazing women.” He set his hand on my shoulder, and another buzz of electricity zapped through my body. “That will never change.”
I felt myself leaning toward him, as if some kind of force was drawing me in. And the electricity was getting stronger with every inch I moved closer. I wanted him to kiss me. Despite the torture chamber. Despite the voice in my head, screaming, he’s not for you! Get out of here now!
“Bristol.”
“What?” I was so close now. Near enough to feel the heat radiating off his big, lean body. His mouth was still too far away, though. Much too far. No, too close. Much too close.
I leaned in, drawn to him by that invisible current. Pulling me.
Something like a low growl rumbled from him. “If you don’t leave now, you’re going to learn firsthand what happens in that room.”
I heard him. But part of me didn’t care. The other part, the one that did, wasn’t being very vocal at the moment. “I’m not afraid of you,” I said. The minute the words came out, I regretted them. The way my heart was racing, that had to be a lie. I was afraid. Afraid of that room and what he might do to me in it.
But also afraid that he might shove me out the door and say goodbye and not speak to me for another ten years.
Stay? Go? What did I want?
He cupped my cheek, ran his thumb over my lower lip. “Sure, maybe you aren’t afraid. But can you trust me?”
“I…don’t know.”
His head tipped, moved down, closing the distance between our mouths. “That’s not good enough. But dammit, I want you.”
At the sound of torment in his voice, I threw my arms around his neck and crushed my body against his.
He growled, hooked an arm around my waist and whirled around so I was flat against the wall and his body was holding me there.
Oh. My. God.
His mouth descended upon mine, his tongue shoved its way in, and within seconds, I was writhing against him while he kissed me into a coma.
I felt him scoop me up into his arms. He was carrying me, walking, while our tongues mated and battled. I was losing the war, ready to surrender to him, to the fierce heat boiling in my veins, to the blinding need he’d sparked in my body. He broke the kiss, stared down at me with eyes full of male hunger. “I’m sorry, Bristol. I can’t let you go now. I can’t.”
We kissed again, and again, as he carried me into the dungeon. At some point he set me on my feet, but I was too shaky to stand, and I wasn’t about to let him stop kissing me. I hung onto his neck, arms wrapped tightly, and lost myself in his aggressive, demanding, plundering kiss.
I’d been kissed plenty of times, but never like that.
Never like the man couldn’t get enough.
Never like he was staking a claim.
Never like he was conquering me.
When the kiss ended—not my choice—I clung to him and fought to catch my breath.
“Wow,” I murmured. My gaze started at his mouth but quickly moved to the closest piece of torture furniture. I felt myself backing up.
“You’ve never been in a dungeon, correct?” he asked, hands sliding down my sides.
“Never.”
He blocked my exit with his hulking body, held me at the hips. “If I do something you don’t like, say, Red.”
“Red?” I echoed, trying to wiggle my way free. I wasn’t ready for this. That kiss. It was the kiss’s fault I was in here. I didn’t belong here, no.
He cut me off completely, cornering me against another wall, his body a giant obstacle I couldn’t push past. He caged my head between his hands, arms stretched out. His eyes were dark, hard. “You may beg me to stop, but I won’t. You may plead with me and cry, but I won’t stop. But if you say red, I will cease immediately.”
“Red,” I muttered.
His fingertip trailed down the side of my face, down my jaw, my throat to the center of my breastbone. I sucked in a deep breath and fought to regain my composure. But he was so big and so sexy and so intimidating, I couldn’t speak. “I promise I won’t be too hard on you this first time.” He closed his hands around my waist, forcing me deeper into the room.
Ohmygod, what was happening? “On second thought—”
He kissed me again. His tongue shoved its way into my mouth. It was a hard kiss, a feral one. I was swept up in pulsing waves of sensual heat, barely realizing I was being half-carried, half-shoved as we traveled through his torture dungeon. My head was going blank. I tried to repeat the word red in my head. Would I remember it? What if things got too intense?