He leaned his face down to where my pulse throbbed against my throat and slid his tongue over it, one long, drawn-out taste to tell me he knew I was terrified, he knew how my heart pounded, and he knew, despite the bravado in my talk, I was scared shitless.

But he didn’t know that didn’t mean I was done fighting.

He brought his face to mine again. His right cheek dimpled when the corner of his mouth turned upward as he looked at my slightly parted lips. He thought he’d won. He thought I wanted him. His eyes declared his assumed victory.

He leaned his head in and kissed me. He took my lower lip between his and moaned as he sucked on it, and I stood there, feeling my body go limp against his, letting it, using its traitorous reaction to my advantage. And when I tilted my head back and he kissed me full on the lips and slid his tongue inside my mouth, I struck. Even knowing full well I’d be punished, I struck. I drew my head back and banged it into his nose. A break would be painful enough to give me the second I’d need to get out.

I didn’t break it, though. I knew instantly because his grip on my wrists tightened and he slammed them hard against the door.

“You’re a bitch.”

He lowered my arms and twisted them behind my back into one of his hands, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his other hand. He turned me so he stood behind me, then walked me toward the chest where, without a word, he unlocked and opened it to take out three sets of leather cuffs similar to the ones that had shackled me when I’d gotten here.

I struggled against him as he led me back to the bed. I didn’t ask for freedom. I didn’t beg. But I fought because he was right. I was a bitch. And I wasn’t going to make this easy. Even if that meant I’d pay.

He didn’t speak either, didn’t tell me to be still, didn’t do anything but keep his steady hold on me, tightening it a little. When we got to the bed, he released my wrists and took hold of one arm, pushing me to sit on the edge. I struggled against him as he drew it out and attached the leather to the wrist before fighting me for the other and binding them together. He met my gaze afterward, and I knew this was a show of who was in charge and just how in charge. And I hated myself for the little scream I let out as he drew me backward on the bed to attach the cuffs to a ring on the headboard. He was nothing if not prepared.