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Wicked Ties(52)

By:Shayla Black


His words smacked her between the eyes. She bucked again, struggling to break free.

He’d called her a coward for trying to be sane! Unreal. “I’m not running from myself. I’m

getting away from you! I wanted protection, not a mauling.”

Sending her a sharp smile, Jack eased a hand down her rib cage, over her hip, a soft

contrast to the unyielding bindings at her wrists and ankles. Damn him for being so

warm and looking so scrumptious shirtless, so totally male and confusing the hell out of

her. He could make her needy and angry at once. And angry because she felt needy.

Damn! He was using his experience to crowd her, cloud her judgment, overpower her

good sense.

And she had to stop her body from falling for it…

“That was me against the door this morning,” she ground out. “I’m not running and

I’m not playing a game. You’re just expecting something that’s not me.”

“Yeah, that was you this morning, but it wasn’t all of you. You’re capable of deeper

submission. You let me touch a part of what’s inside you. But you held back. Yeah, I saw

that; don’t look surprised. The deep part, the dark one that wants to be dominated and

fucked, that’s the part you hid from me. That you deny exists. You have the guts to defy

this sick asshole trying to stalk you, but not enough to take the pleasure I’m offering.”

Morgan ignored the heat wave that flowed in with his words—and the sight of his

thick erection pushing insistently at his jeans. She focused on her anger instead. “Maybe

being around too many female doormats had made you assume all of us live to roll over

and spread our legs for you on command.”

“You want to submit because you’re strong, because when you’re fucking, you don’t

want responsibility. You want a man who can understand you and give you what you

need—all without a word.”

“Is that the kinky version of Dr. Phil?”

“Watch that mouth, cher. I own a ball gag. I know how to use it,” he growled.

At his gravelly threat, Morgan’s mouth snapped shut. Fury and desire both spiked

inside her, threatening to boil up and up until it all exploded.

“I listened to you. I know you’ve been looking for a man strong enough to force your

surrender in the bedroom. You’ve never explored your dark side, cher. I know you’ll

respond perfectly to what I want. I sense it in you, see it in you.”

Male confidence and the physical power to back it up—all with that smooth control

that wreaked havoc on her senses. Heaven help her. Jack looked so convinced of every

word he said. Morgan trembled. For most of her life, she’d had…urges, curiosities.

Fantasies. Didn’t everyone? That didn’t mean she wanted those fantasies to become

reality.

She shook her head. “If you’d stop pushing your twisted needs on me, you’d figure

out I’m just a normal girl.”

His shoulders tensed, arms bunched. He looked ready to grind his teeth.

Then his expression smoothed, until no trace of anger, or any emotion, remained. He

merely leaned over and worked at the knots at her left wrist, then her right. He repeated

the process with her ankles, careful not to touch her anywhere. That quickly, she was

unbound and free, no longer at his mercy.

An odd emotion slammed her, like she was…empty. Bereft. Morgan curled her knees

up to her chest and watched Jack yank on his shirt. He didn’t look at her—or avoid her,

either. It was as if she was irrelevant. She felt suddenly alone, even though he was in the

room, gathering up the velvet ropes.

“Jack…” she blurted, without having any idea what she was going to say. Morgan only

knew his indifference hurt.

“Yes?”

That expression. He could have been talking to anyone—a complete stranger, about

nothing more vital than the weather.

The irony of his accusation fired her temper. “Talk about playing games! You don’t

get your way, so I get the cold shoulder?”

He ambled back to the bed and eased down on it, a good two feet away. No part of

him touched her, and she ached for his hands on her.

What the hell was the matter with her?

“If you’re not willing to be who and what I know you are, I can only give you what you

asked for: platonic and professional.”

Morgan knew she ought to be rejoicing. She’s wasn’t submissive at heart. A few

scattered fantasies didn’t make her any dom’s dreamboat. She wasn’t really wired like

that.

So why did part of her yearn to call her words back, return to the moment she’d

awakened and discovered his beautifully bare chest crowding her as he bent over to lap