Unlike her, he’d never taken a life. Jax didn’t know he held a real monster in his arms.
“You’re not a monster, and I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me,” she asserted, although she wasn’t as sure about her heart. “Touch me the way you want. Show me what it’s like to belong to you.”
He kicked her legs farther apart. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
She tilted her head back to rest on his chest. “I know how safe I feel when I’m in your arms, and I trust you to honor my limits. But if you’re going to change your mind again or call me a mistake, you need to walk away now. Just because I don’t shed tears doesn’t mean I’m not crying inside.”
Digging deep, she found the courage to admit the truth and laid her heart at his feet. “You leaving like that last night hurt me. I’d busted in on my best friend fucking my boyfriend and received a threatening phone call, but neither one of those things pierced my heart like you did when you walked out my door. I’m tough, Jax. I can hold my own in a fight, walk in a straight line after drinking half a fifth of gin, and fix the engine of my Harley, but damn it, I don’t think I can protect my heart from you. So I’m adding a hard limit. No changing your mind tomorrow based on some martyr complex in an effort to protect me.”
She twisted to look him in the eyes. “You asked me if I’d been touched by violence. Yeah, I have. But it’s not the violence that haunts me. It’s what happens after.”
Chapter Five
HOLDING HER BREATH, she closed her eyes and waited for his response. Would he accept the new hard limit?
Warm lips feathered across her mouth. “Remember your safe word?”
She met his gaze. “Gunshot or red.”
He slid his fingers into her hair close to her scalp and pulled, yanking her head back to expose her jugular. In an animalistic display of his dominance, his other hand remained wrapped around the front of her neck. He could crush her throat or squeeze it to cut off her air supply. She couldn’t fight back. He had total control.
Like the last puzzle piece locking into place, the credo “safe, sane, consensual” now made complete sense to her. This was BDSM. A mutual exchange of power based on trust. In handing her will over to Jax, she had to trust him to keep her safe. And she did. She trusted him with her body.
She surrendered.
A warm, floating feeling enveloped her. All her muscles relaxed, and she breathed easy.
“Good girl,” he whispered in her ear.
While normally she’d give a man hell for calling her a girl, she preened under his compliment.
Applying firm pressure to her neck, he directed her through the living room, down the hall, and into her bedroom. Before this moment, she’d thought wearing a collar and being led by a leash was degrading, but now she understood its appeal. It was more than a sign of ownership or submission. A leash would substantiate the invisible line tying her to Jax. He moved and she automatically followed.
A giggle escaped. Did she really want Jax to lead her by a leash like a pet?
“Something funny?” he asked, bending her over the edge of the mattress, one hand high on her back, pressing her into the soft blanket.
His rough hands forced down her pants, the air cool on her overheated skin. The heady rush of surrender pounded hot in her veins, desire sweet and thick, almost tangible. As tangible as the fabric-covered, steely erection brushing against her naked hip. She could taste it on her tongue. Her body was like a wire, coiled tight. And if he didn’t touch her soon, she’d snap.
“No, Jax. There’s nothing funny about this.”
His fingers, so deft and light she almost believed she imagined them, wandered down her backside. She squirmed, her pussy clenching with aching need. Nothing he could do to her would hurt as much as making her wait.
He pinched her thigh. “Stay still, Katerina.”
She sucked in a breath, grateful for the pain, which anchored her. “Yes, Jax.”
He cupped her between her thighs. “I do like these panties. I think I’ll keep them.” He wrenched them away from her body with a loud rip, the crotch of her underwear swiping her pulsing clit in the process.
She shouldn’t like this. Shouldn’t want this. Grown women shouldn’t enjoy being told what to do. What kind of a person craved pain?
She did. Craved it like an addict for her choice of substance. She’d tried alcohol. Drugs. Sex. But nothing flew her higher than pain.
For so long, it was her dirty little secret.
As a teen she’d leave the bottom of her palm over the flame of a candle for a bit too long. Dribble hot wax on her forearm. Stick safety pins into the pads of her fingers to draw blood. Pain provided a momentary escape from reality and, at the same time, centered her.