Fuck me, I want to scream. Ram yourself inside of me.
But he moves with such excruciating slowness that I'm afraid I'll burst before I’m completely full. He guides himself slowly deeper, and when I shift to try and hurry his progress, he pushes me against the wall again, holding me immobile.
He makes it only about halfway inside of me before he stops. It's all I can do not to whimper in tortured frustration when he begins to draw out of me again. He's doing this intentionally. He's driving me mad on purpose.
He withdraws from me completely, then pauses for several long, excruciating seconds. It's the encounter in the gallery all over again—he's getting off on my desperation.
He begins to move into me again. My fingers curl into fists and then uncurl again as he pushes slowly along my passage. Every moment is agony, yet I've never been so aware of my body before. Every time Calder shifts, a thousand new nerve endings respond. I'm intensely aware of every adjustment my body makes for his, every tremor of my flesh, every firm, hot inch of his arousal.
I'm half-delirious when he stops and withdraws the second time. I nearly sob in desperation, but I'm afraid that if I don't remain silent—if I refuse to play by his rules—he'll leave me in this horrible state forever. If he releases me now, if he leaves me empty and unfulfilled this time, then I'll dissolve into a puddle at his feet.
I can’t take it anymore. I spit out the gag and twist my head, capturing his ear in my teeth before he has the chance to move away. I suck the lobe into my mouth, returning the bite he gave me earlier.
Now it's his turn to fight down a growl of pleasure. He tries to push me away from him again, but I only clamp down harder. The hand that doesn't hold my wrists reaches around and grabs my ass, half-lifting me even as he grinds against me once more.
Suddenly he yanks me down onto his length so hard and so fast that my teeth break the skin of his ear. This time he doesn't manage to stifle the sound that rises in his throat, but he doesn't seem to care anymore. For a moment we both freeze, locked around each other, while the metallic tang of his blood fills my mouth and my other opening throbs around the fullness of his cock. I slowly loosen my jaw and lean my head back against the wall, reveling in the mind-numbing sensations pulsating from my core.
And then he begins to move.
No longer with tortuous slowness, thank God, but with steady, eager strokes. He thrusts into me, over and over again, while I rock against him as much as our position allows.
His fingers dig into the underside of my thigh as he lifts my leg, allowing for deeper access. I strain against the belt around my wrists, against the hand that still keeps them pinned against the wall. I want to tear at his hair. I want to suck on his lips and tongue. I want to dig my nails into his back and leave new scratches next to the marks from this afternoon. But I can't move. I'm completely at his power, subject to his lust.
It's the thrill of that thought that sends me completely over the edge. My entire body convulses, and it's only his strong arms around me that keep me from collapsing at his feet as the orgasm sweeps through my flesh. My teeth clamp down on my bottom lip as I struggle to keep from crying out.
Calder keeps moving, even when I fall limply against him. I turn my face and close my teeth around a bit of skin at his neck, nipping at him as I squeeze the muscles between my legs once more, tightening myself around him.
He lets out an unrestrained grunt, nearly dropping me as he shudders in release. I pull my teeth away from his skin and slide my leg off his hip, only just managing to regain my feet before he slumps forward against me and the wall.
For a moment, neither of us stirs. His mouth is against my ear, his warm breath stirring my hair. I'm warm from the inside out, and while a part of me never wants to move, the other, more practical side of me remembers we're standing in a cold, empty room in his basement.
I shift from beneath him and reach down to collect my jeans, remembering too late that my wrists are still bound. I strain against the belt, trying to twist myself free, but in the end Calder has to untie me himself.
It's too dark to see much, but I feel his eyes on me all the same as I fumble again for my pants. My wrists are throbbing from their confinement, but I don’t let that on to him. There are a dozen feelings rushing through me right now, and I'm not sure which ones to acknowledge. Part of me is still giddy from passion, while the other half can't allow me to forget about why we ended up like this in the first place—I lost. Once more Calder won our bet, and there's little chance he'll give me yet another opportunity to win the money for the Center. I'm back where I started.
Calder seems far less confused by all of this.
"There's no need to put your clothes back on," he says.
I yank up my zipper, angry at the hungry way my body responds to his words, even now.
"You've had your prize," I respond.
"We agreed you'd be mine for the night," he says, his voice low and husky. "And I'm afraid, Ms. Frazer, we're just getting started."
He reaches out and brushes a finger down my arm. I shiver at the contact and curse myself again for falling so easily for his charms.
This is ridiculous. I'm supposed to hate this man. I do hate this man. He's poised to destroy everything I love.
So how is it that, time and again, he can say a simple word, or touch me just so, and make me forget everything but the way the blood is rushing through my veins? I'm a modern, sensible woman. I’ve allowed myself to be swayed by a man before—with Garrett—and I’m not going to let that happen again. So why am I having such trouble now? Why do I still feel like throwing myself in his arms and letting him take me again?
If I'd managed a moment longer in our game, things would be different. If I'd secured the money for the Center, then I could fall into his embrace without this guilt weighing down on my shoulders. Instead, it feels like every surge of pleasure I feel, every sigh he draws from my lips, is a betrayal of the Center and my dad and everything we've ever worked for.
It's all the fault of my fucking phone.
I jam my hand into my pocket and whip out my cell, determined to see who cost me everything. I want to cry foul, to call for a rematch, but even if I thought Calder would oblige me, I know it's too late. I didn't fight him when he pressed me up against the wall and had his way with me. I as good as accepted defeat.
I pull up my missed calls list. The blue light of the screen seems unnaturally bright now, but I don't even blink as I gaze down at the name.
Surprise, surprise. “Dipshit” continues to ruin my life. I knew asking him to help would come back to bite me in the ass.