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By:Cherry Adair

She shifted her butt, trying to leverage herself upright. Again he anticipated the movement, canting his hips so that all of him ground against all of her. When she gasped and froze, he swiveled his hips. Grinding, rocking. Pushing. All the while watching her with those dark fathomless eyes. Pleasure so intense it was close to pain sizzled through her, from her toes to her already tight nipples.

Toes curled, thigh muscles quivering, Mia was so turned on she could barely drag a real breath into her constricted lungs. She fought to get her hands free. Her shackles tightened. Her skin was on fire as her blood rushed to the surface. It was a shock when he moved his hips away from hers. Automatically Mia lifted her hips to regain that contact.

Face inches from hers, he murmured silkily, “You want to be fucked?”

“I might have mentioned it—” Horrified that her voice wobbled, she clamped her mouth shut, shuddering with the power of her need. Shit. He was a piece of work. Who the hell did he think he was? A paid “escort,” that’s who. Mia had no idea why, with all his tightly leashed menace, she wasn’t terrified out of her mind. Intellectually, she knew she should be. But her body urged her to ignore any rational caution and just go for it.

She was so primed, so freaking ready, that if he touched her between her legs, she’d go off like a rocket. And so far, he’d done not much more than give her orders and look at her.

She should’ve specified the rules before—oh, yeah. She’d tried that.

His face was inches from hers, taut with the same tension that suffused her entire body. He needed a shave. “Would you like me to suck on your pretty tits?” he whispered, shifting so his hard chest massaged her breasts. It was too much and not nearly damn well enough.

Even the suggestion of him having his mouth, and that rough beard, anywhere near her breasts made all her girl parts clench. Mia gritted her teeth, wanting desperately for him to touch her for real. Only inches separated their mouths. Unbearable tension coiled deep inside her. Tighter and tighter, the tension torqued and spiraled, causing her head to thrash and her hips to jerk to try to get closer.

Anticipation was one thing, but this was torture. Another matter entirely.

She was starting to hate the son of a bitch. The frigid look she gave him had zero effect. His dark gaze was hot. Smoldering, in fact.

“That window of opportunity,” she said hoarsely, “is closed.”

His smile was feral. “Is that a fact?”

Hard as hell to do haughty when she was naked under the unflattering glare of the bright light, only his shadow covering her. He was still fully dressed.

He shook his dark hair out of his eyes. It was too long. Longer than hers, for God’s sake, and tickled her cheeks, a curtain of shiny dark silk as he leaned over her supine body.

The heat, her helplessness, his deliberate withholding of something so damned easy to give her—something she was paying for, damn it—made Mia crazy. This was all a matter of control, she knew.

Except the wrong person was exerting the control and he was taunting her.

“You don’t like being the one taking orders, do you?” He sounded mildly amused. “You like to be boss. But here’s a revelation. Your skin’s flushed. Your eyes are shining, and your pussy’s swollen and wet. For me. You’re angry because you’re enjoying this. Which pisses you off even more.”

The fact that he was amused when she was about to go nova, and the fact that he’d read her mind, infuriated her. “If I didn’t want to be here, you’d be on the floor clutching your package.” Mia rarely lost her temper. The more pissed she was, the icier she got. But she was teetering on losing her temper now. She was a sexual pressure cooker ready to blow.

His coffee-scented breath was hot on her face; she’d tasted it earlier. “So that makes me in charge, doesn’t it?”

Mia snarled. “Let me up. I didn’t hire you for your charming conversational skills or your pretty hair. I’ve got better things to do with my evening. Besides, I’m cold.” The very opposite of true. Sweat beaded at her hairline, and her skin felt prickly hot.

No foreplay, no penetration, no damn anything, and her skin was on fire, and so sensitive to the touch that the mere brush of his shirt made her nipples painfully hard. She felt her juices hot and wet on her inner thighs.

A moan, so low it trembled—a mere vibration between them—came from her throat. The pleasure was so fierce that she almost came with the anticipation. Her body screamed for her to beg for him to do her. She might be pretending to be someone else, but even as deep as she was into the pretense, she was still Amelia to the core, and Amelia never begged for anything.