My stomach clenched, but I held my ground. Raising my chin, I whispered, “Mark my words. I will win. Because I am right and you are wrong.”
Jethro seethed, silence thick between us.
“You’re so high and mighty, aren’t you, Ms. Weaver? So sure you’re the one in the right. What if I told you, your ancestors were scum? What if I showed you proof of their corruptibility and eagerness to hurt others in their chase for wealth?”
Lies. All lies.
My family tree was impeccable. I came from honest and good and hardworking stock. Didn’t I?
I ignored my rushing heartbeat.
Jethro stepped closer, crowding me. “The things your family did to mine sicken me. So continue on your quest believing you’re pure, because in a few hours you’ll know the truth. In a few hours, you’ll realise we aren’t the bad guys—it’s you.”
My throat closed up. I didn’t think he could say anything to crumble my fortress so soon, but every word was a carefully planted spade, digging at my foundation until I stood on crumbling ground.
My eyes danced over his, trying to decipher the truth.
Were my bloodlines tarnished with crimes I didn’t know about? My father hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with our history, apart from telling us our family had always been involved in weaving and textiles. It was how we were granted the last name Weaver. Just like the Bakers, and the Butlers, and every other trade that dictated their last names.
Jethro chuckled. “Don’t believe me?” His hands landed on my shoulders, pushing me backward. I stumbled, wincing as my spine collided with the bricked wall of the kennel.
“Don’t believe your forefathers were sentenced to death by hanging for what they did to mine?” His gaze latched onto my mouth. “Don’t believe you’re alive because the Hawks granted them mercy in return for a few signatures on a few debts?”
His voice dropped, sending a constellation of warning skittering over my skin. “Don’t believe I’m fully within my right to do whatever I damn well please to you?”
His touch seared through my jacket and maxi dress, sending unwanted intensity down my arms.
Do I believe it? Could I believe it? That everything I understood of this situation was reversed?
Mind games. Illusions. All designed to trip me up.
Shaking my head, I snapped, “No. I don’t believe it.” My blood pressure exploded, thundering in my ears. His focus was absolute, and it burned, oh how it burned. “Nothing you say will make you the victim in this situation. Nothing you show me will make this permissible. You think I believe a ludicrous debt that you say is over six hundred years old. Wake up! Nothing like that would hold up in a court of law these days. I don’t care that you’ve staged my disappearance, or following my family with a loaded pistol. I don’t believe any of this, and I certainly don’t believe you have anything law abiding on your side.”
Jethro scowled but I continued my tyrant.
“All I believe is you’re a bunch of sick and twisted men who made up some bullshit excuse to make themselves feel justified while tearing other’s lives apart. Show me where you have the right to own me. No one has that right. No one!”
He chuckled, gold eyes growing dark. His body language switched from stand-offish to oozing with sexual innuendo. It was like watching a glacial melt, shedding winter for volcano heat.
“I like it when you’re feisty. Your whole perception of the world is warped. You live in a fairytale, princess, and I’m about to destroy it.”
His shoulders softened, lips parting; his gaze caressed my face to land on my mouth. “You think we don’t have men in high places? Men who make what we say absolute law? You think we got to the level of standing in society or the obscene amount of wealth we have by not using the very same law you think will protect you for our gain?”
His voice whispered over me, threading with his heady scent of woods and leather. “So stupid, Ms. Weaver. We own more than your family. We own everything and everyone. Our word is unbreakable. And we have proof.”
He leaned in; the violence he emitted switched to dangerous lust, buffeting me harder against the wall. His eyes were rivers of fire, annihilating my argument, dragging me under his spell. “You think I can’t make you do what I want?”
I sucked in a breath.
He’d never looked at me like that. Never given any hint he might find anything about me exciting. He treated me like a leper. He looked at me as if I were a different species—a species not evolved enough to warrant his sexual attention.
But that’d changed.
His interest trapped me, consuming me better than threats and tightly restrained anger. This was unexplored territory. Lust and attraction and flirting were terrifying because I was the novice and he was the expert.
I couldn’t fight against something that made me feel.
Jethro’s nostrils flared, fingers twitching on my shoulders. His voice lowered to a husky whisper—a whisper best suited for seduction. “You think you deserve a life built on other’s blood? You think you’re worthy?” The rhythm and volume turned the horrible questions into a poem rather than curse.
Don’t fall for it. Don’t let him win.
He was already winning. He spun a tale of a lethal unstoppable force. His family’s legacy somehow granted him police approval, government blind-eyes, and the right over life and death.
Who gave him that right?
I still couldn’t believe it. But it didn’t stop my legs shifting, pressing together, trying to alleviate the strange ache building with every moment.
Our fighting coaxed my unseen claws to grow a little more. My temper made my legs firmer; my vision clearer. My body unknowingly found a cure from dreaded vertigo, all while embracing anger and rage.
Jethro noticed my tension, stroking my shoulders as if I were a skittish prey. “We’re simple creatures, Ms. Weaver. I know what’s happening to you.” He smiled gently, his gold eyes attempting to look soft but unable to hide the steel beneath. “Your skin is hot. You’re breathing faster.”
He ducked his head, murmuring, “You like this. You like being pushed past your limits.”
I shook my head. “You’re wrong. There’s nothing about you that I like.”
He sighed, his gaze whispering over my mouth. “Lying won’t work. I know you’re growing wet for me, wanting me.” His touch morphed from menacing to lightning, sending a rain of sparks through my blood. “Want to know how I know? Because I taste it in the air. I smell it all around you.”
My lips parted. My chest rose and fell, increasing faster and faster. I couldn’t look away; I couldn’t push him away. I couldn’t do anything but revel in the intoxicating melting, glowing, sparking need building rapidly in my core.
Closing my eyes, I swallowed hard, trying so hard to dispel the sick and twisted desire he conjured. “I’m—I’m not.”
He ran his thumbs over my shoulders, following my collarbone with infinite softness. “You’re not?” he breathed. “You’re not feeling the rush of lust or the knowledge you’d throw all your rules away for just…one…little…taste?” His lips came so close to mine, pulling away in the ultimate tease.
Yes. No. I don’t know.
I’d lost control of my body, hurtling straight for a cataclysm where everything was hot and sharp and intense.
I didn’t have an answer. I didn’t know what he wanted.
He’s fucking with your mind. That’s all he’s doing.
His thumbs stroked higher, smoothing away the bruises he’d caused on my neck. “Tell me you’re not wet for me. Say it.”
I shook my head, willing the words to come. “I’m not. I’m…”
“What?” Jethro murmured.
The ache grew stronger, sending a rush of dampness against my knickers. My body didn’t care this was a monster. My body didn’t care about the future. All it cared about was curbing the intolerable need.
Opening my heavy eyes, I said, “I’m not wet. Not for you.”
My hands balled, fighting against the thick intoxication. I couldn’t let him steal the warmth from Kite. He’d already turned the small flame into an out of control inferno, cindering my morals, turning my hatred to ash. I couldn’t fall into his web—he’d eat me alive.
But, one kiss…would it be so wrong?
To take something from him when he’d already taken so much from me?
I swayed closer, unconsciously seeking everything he dangled before me. I wasn’t equipped to play these games. I was naïve and woefully unprepared for combat where lust was used as the weapon.
“You’re a little liar, Ms. Weaver.” He dropped one hand from my shoulders, tracing my contours until he captured my hip, the other skated upward, cupping my cheek. Every millimetre he travelled sent sparks along my skin unlike anything I’d ever felt before.
His tongue appeared, licking his lips. “You want this.” His knee nudged against mine, forcing my legs to spread. “You want something you know you shouldn’t.” With seamless authority, he pressed against me, tilting his hips into mine.
I shivered. Hating him. Lusting for him. Hating myself. Loving the forbidden rush.
The reasons for our fight flew away on soundless wings, leaving me with no argument against the swelling swollen ache.
“All that separates my cock from your pussy is a few fragile pieces of clothing.” He drove upward, grinding himself punishingly. “You won’t stop me.” There was no space, no secrets—our bodies glued together.
My mind went blank with sheer numbing pleasure. I felt every ridge and contour of him. From the pressure of his shoe against mine to the hot heat in his jeans growing larger every second.
You know what he intends to do. Stop this, I screamed at my betraying body. But it replied in force with a clenching ripple turning my legs to jelly.
I held my breath. His hard body was as unmovable as the wall I stood trapped against. His ripped stomach pressed against mine.
I wasn’t cushy or curvy. I had no feminine attributes—I’d exercised away any hope at softness.
But it only amplified the intensity.
There was nothing to cushion the firmness of bones and sinew and craving flesh. It was visceral. All consuming.
“Tell me again you’re not wet for me.” His hooded eyes imprisoned mine. “Tell me another lie.”
I tried to look away, but he thrust again, enticing another ripple of pleasure. I hadn’t planned on being the innocent girl. The stuck-up princess who never self-pleasured or enjoyed men. I hated that I came across priggish, uptight, and repressed. Those traits were a hazard of my upbringing, and I desperately wanted to turn them into weapons.
I wanted to use them as effortlessly as Jethro wielded his wintery charisma.
My body knew what it wanted. It wanted a release. It wanted to satiate and be sated. And it didn’t give a flying arse who granted the freedom of the mysterious orgasm. I knew who Jethro was—I knew this was all a game to him. But why couldn’t two people play? Why did I have to justify his touch as bad when it was so amazingly good?
Death was coming. Shouldn’t I try to live before I died?
Shouldn’t I embrace the lack of control by throwing away my submissive behaviour and fight for what I wanted?
For once in my life.
Be true and honest and raw.
Why can’t I use him? Just once be the bad girl and use the monster. Win by not fighting. Be stronger by giving in.
My pussy grew bolder, taking my unvoiced permission and growing wet, greedy, eager to experience the cock pressed firmly against me.
I…can’t.
You can.
I…won’t.
I will.
Jethro ducked, nipping my jaw with sharp teeth.
I unlocked my chastity belt, and melted into him. I arched my back, deliberately pressing my breasts against his chest.
His seduction lost the calculating edge, his breath went from calm to uneven.
Something new broke free inside. Some level of embarrassment of sex—the unapproved thoughts of being used—disappeared. I was a business woman. A daughter. A sister. The fantasies inside weren’t the thoughts of a puritan.
Deep inside, where I never let myself go, a sexual deviant lurked. A woman who was bold and angry. A woman beyond ready to admit she’d hidden so much of herself—even from herself.
Jethro’s hand moved to grab the back of my neck. His hips pulsed; his heart thudded hard, vibrating our tightly pressed forms.
I shivered in his hold, giving in completely to the clench between my legs.
“Answer me. Tell me the truth.” His mint-fresh breath fluttered my eyelashes as he hovered possessively over my lips. Only a tiny space between a tease and a kiss. Only a fraction between right and wrong.
Do it. Accept it.
He paused, murmuring into my mouth, “Tell me a secret. A dirty dark secret. Admit you want me. Admit you want your mortal enemy.”
I admit it.
“I won’t.” My heartbeat switched from thumping to humming; my skin prickled with heat.
I hated him. I wanted to kill him before he killed me. But I couldn’t ignore the overwhelming attraction he’d created. And it wasn’t just me affected. His breathing turned ragged; his fingers dug deeper with need. Every pulse of his hips drew a quickening in my core. I couldn’t control it. I didn’t want to control it. I was done controlling my life.
I’m free.
The longer we stood, the further we blurred the lines between debtor and debtee. Weaver and Hawk. In that tiny moment, we were each other’s answer to freedom. A mind-blistering coupling that would surely ruin me for life. But at least I would’ve lived.