Crawling forward, her tiny hands landed on my belt, releasing the button and zipper in one short second. It was my turn to blink in shock.

She’s a seamstress, idiot.

She dealt with buttons and zippers every day—they were her forte. Dealing with what lived behind them however was entirely another.

I hated, positively hated, that she’d stolen my power again. She’d drugged me with her witch potion, making me think only with my dick.

Fisting her hair, I growled, “You’re on thin ground, Ms. Weaver.”

Her temper exploded like a firework. She snarled, “Wrong. I’m on Hawk ground, and I’m still standing. You want me to pay you back? Fine. Tell me what to do, then feed me and take me back to your vile home. I’m ready for this day to end.”

My mind went numb as her hand disappeared into my jeans, cupping me boldly.

“Or better yet, take what I damn well give you.”

I HAD NO words for what I was doing.

Seriously, no words.

Part of me hated myself for being drawn to Jethro even now—especially after he’d hunted me down and punished me like some animal. But the other part—the bigger part—loved the woman I was becoming. I didn’t have anyone to rely on. I had no one saying what was right or wrong. The rules of everyday life had no place in this new existence, and if Jethro thought I would play by his rules, he was a fucking idiot.

His erection leapt in my hands, hot and scalding—the only part of him warm.

His golden eyes were blank of all feeling, and for one blessed moment, he stared at me with lust. Only lust.

Then anger saturated him, his fingers latching around my invading wrist. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

I tugged the waistband of his boxer-briefs with my free hand, twisting my other from his grip, and sliding my fingers into the dark heat of his underwear. He locked his jaw as I traced the length of his cock.

“I’m paying you back. This is what you had in mind, right? An orgasm for an orgasm?”

He growled low in his chest, his eyes narrowing with hate and need.

Don’t lie to me, you bastard.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. I squeezed him hard—hard enough to cause shooting pains in my palm.

He jerked in my hold. “Jesus.”

That one word switched the rage splashing my insides into lust-blazing gasoline. The hardness of him sent electricity humming in my fingertips. The anger brimming below the surface turned my insides into hot liquid.

This.

This power.

This body-consuming connection.

It was pure.

Simple.

Intoxicating.

The whipping he’d given me hadn’t made me wet. I’d never associated pain with pleasure. Sure, I’d read the books and heard rumours about how exciting a BDSM relationship could be with someone you trusted implicitly, but that was the key difference.

I didn’t trust Jethro.

At all.

This was a battle.

Every time we touched, licked, and eventually fucked, it would be war.

And only one victor would come out alive.

I have every intention of winning.

Sex to me didn’t come with past perceptions or notions. Sex wasn’t wrapped up with love or sweetness in my brain. In a way, I had my father to thank for keeping me secluded and untouched. I’d uncovered an aptitude for delivering pleasure—an affinity for the basest of need.

I trembled, glowing so damn bright inside, I felt as if I’d swallowed the stars.

Jethro wanted me.

He couldn’t deny it. He didn’t want to deny it.

And I wasn’t above using my body to make him feel. Make the cold-hearted, untouchable bastard come apart beneath my touch.

Holding a man by his most precious body part and making him bow to my commands.

That was true power.

This was true power.

Testing my theory, I jerked my hand up and down, thinking of every text Kite had sent me. Every dirty innuendo he’d replied.

I’m stroking my cock.

I’m jerking hard.

Stroking. Jerking. Made sense. In a way the motion would be the crude action of fucking. Jethro would be forced to make love to my palm all while my fingers squeezed him to death.

With determination strong in my heart, I stroked.

Jethro wobbled on his knees, his eyes snapping closed. “Fuuuck,” he groaned as I squeezed hard, stroked even harder. There was no build up. No tease.

This is war.

Two sides. Two players. He’d made me come; now it was my turn to learn everything about him, so I could make him unravel.

Pushing his shoulder, I barely hid my victory smile as Jethro toppled backward. His eyes flared wide. “What the—”

I didn’t speak. Instead, I clambered closer, never stopping the mind-crippling stroke of his cock. Up and down. Twist and around.

His sharp gaze turned hazy, his lips parting as his breath grew heavy.

His hips thrust, just once. Surprise battling for supremacy over his need. I didn’t let him overthink it or realize I was winning. I crawled on top of him, spreading my legs, straddling his large, powerful bulk.

My heart strummed; my blood grew thick and cloying as every stroke I gave caused my inner muscles to clench. Giving him pleasure—taking his pleasure—was the headiest aphrodisiac.

I was a goddess. An accomplished geisha.

I lost track of lust versus vengeance. I didn’t care about last names or futures. All I wanted, all I focused on, was the sweetly plaited emotion where the rush between my legs took control.

My touch turned frantic, jerking rather than stroking.

His icy hands clamped around my hips, grinding himself hard against my grip. Our eyes locked, our breathing synced, we became two animals in the forest.

More.

I wanted more.

Yanking at his boxer-briefs, I tried to push them down. Jethro raised his hips, taking my weight with him as he gave me room to wrench his jeans and boxer-briefs to mid-thigh.

The moment his cock sprung free, thudding against his muscular stomach, he lashed out, fisting my hair and dragging my mouth to his.

My tongue tingled to taste him—to indulge in a kiss. But he held me firm, millimetres away from his lips. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he groaned as my fingers encircled the large girth of my enemy.

I didn’t reply, my mouth watering for his so temptingly close.

Dropping my hand to the base of him, I cupped his balls in my palm.

His back bowed as I rolled the heavy, delicate flesh. “Christ!”

My tummy twisted, my heart thundered, and my nakedness couldn’t hide how much his need turned me on.

His fingers went slack in my hair and I sprawled over him, unashamedly rubbing my throbbing core on his thigh. “You called me a disappointment. You said my hands were good for nothing but holding up my towel.” I squashed my breasts against his chest, snapping at his lips with the threat of a kiss. “Do you still believe that?”

I jerked my wrist, stroking the velvety flesh of his erection.

His eyes rolled back, his entire body vibrating.

“I’m proving you wrong.” I sat up, my gaze latching onto his hot cock. Smiling sweetly, I murmured, “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

His eyes stole mine. “There’s nothing about this that I want.”

I laughed—it sounded a little demented. “Who’s the liar now, Mr. Hawk?”

His hand snaked up to cup my throat, the other captured my hip. His face darkened. “You want the truth? I’ll give you the fucking truth.” His muscles contracted as he braced himself against my touch. “I want you begging me. I want you so damn hot—you’ll let me do anything to you.”

His raspy voice tore away my past, throwing me headfirst into sex.

I squeezed harder, riding his cock with my fingers, driving blood to blaze in the tip.

He’d gotten what he wanted. By letting me touch him, he’d made me seduce myself. I’d never craved to be filled before. But now…every inch of me felt empty and greedy and needful.

I’m fucking your mouth. I want to blow down your throat.

The text from Kite suddenly popped into my head as if his ghost watched over me, giving me instructions on how to destroy the man glowering into my eyes with a mix of rage and lust.

Fear wrapped around my heart as I looked at the angry erection in my hand. I doubted my jaw would accommodate it, but I’d try. I would try my hardest and give it my all to make him come.

Not to please him. But to ruin him. To prove I could control him as easily as he could control me.

I moaned as a delicious throb worked its way from my womb. I was hungry for another orgasm. Instead of sucking him, I toyed with the idea of impaling myself on his huge size, wanting so much to chase my own pleasure.

My eyes couldn’t look away from Jethro’s parted lips. I would’ve given anything to kiss him. To be devoured the way my body craved.

You can’t.

I shook my head, dispelling the connection. A kiss was too intimate. A kiss would destroy me.

Squirrel nuzzled closer, wondering what the hell we were doing, sniffing at the violent war taking place in the dark forest on a plaid blanket.

Jethro snarled, shoving him away.

In the same movement, he spread his legs, clenched his hands by his sides, and wordlessly gave himself to me.

My heart leapt, blazing with sunshine and happiness, before plummeting back into the tar pits my life had become.

“Suck me. Fucking suck me,” he growled, thrusting his cock harder into my hand. The command sent a ripple through my core.

I didn’t hesitate.

Bowing over his body, I straddled his knees and in one swift move, slid his silky, salty steel into my mouth.

He bucked, his entire body going rigid. “Fuck…me.” His lips clamped shut as his eyes rolled back.

I moaned, adoring the power I wielded.

My nipples tightened. I stopped looking at him. Closing my eyes, I pictured another time, another place. I pictured my lonely existence in some repetitive hotel suite sewing tulle and silk. I pictured my life as it was—a slave to my craft with no peaks or valleys of living.

Then I pictured myself naked and spread over the man who meant to kill me, while my head bobbed furiously over his cock. I relished in how dirty and wrong and primal it was.

I preferred it.

Every inch of me screamed for a release. Every atom thirsted for blood and violence. My teeth ached to sever Jethro's body—horrible images of killing him in the worst pain imaginable consumed my mind. The other part of me wanted to give him the most pleasurable, erotic blowjob he’d ever experienced, with the hope I would smash his walls, liquefy his ice, and melt him into the man I knew was inside.

His hands fisted my hair, grunting low in his chest. He drove into me, forcing himself deeper. “Take it.”

I gagged; spit ran from my lips. I struggled to maintain the furious rhythm he set, but he didn’t stop using me.

And more importantly, I didn’t falter.

I forced him high. I forced him fast.

I stroked and licked and sucked and swirled until everything bellowed with pain. My jaw, my neck, my shoulder, my wrist.

All in the name of winning.

Jethro’s stomach tensed, his balls tightened, and the musky smell of him shot up my nostrils, drenching my soul in his flavour.

His hands dug harder into my hair, fucking me just as surely as I fucked him. Our weapons were different, but we were duelling hard and fast.

Jethro groaned long and low as I cupped his balls and squeezed.

I’m winning.

I’m coming. I came down your throat. Kite’s message burned my brain; I threw in every last reserve I had. My eyes swam, my brain swirled, and the world tipped upside down.

But still I sucked, and in some far off dimension, where sanity no longer existed, I tasted the first splash of cum on my tongue.

Jethro cried out, his body bowstring tight as his hips drove his erection past my gag reflex and emptied himself inside me.

I had no choice but to swallow. My stomach rolled as his salty release disappeared down my throat. I felt sick. I felt empowered.

He shivered as the last wave of his orgasm finished, a soft groan coming from his parted lips.

Despite the abhorrent dislike I felt toward him, something luminous dazzled in my heart as I sat up. I smiled, victory burning brilliant and sweet.

Jethro’s light brown eyes met mine, wide with shock, pupils black with sated pleasure. He breathed hard and fast.

We didn’t say a word.

We didn’t have to.

We both knew who’d won.

And he was fucking pissed about it.

FUCK.

Fuck her. Fuck me. Fuck everything.

For the first time in my life, I felt a stirring inside my frozen-over heart.

Not gratefulness or humaneness or tenderness.

No.

I felt…undone.

I should’ve known then that it was the beginning of the end.

I should’ve guessed how badly she would ruin me.

But all I could manage was dumbstruck desire.

I stared into the eyes of a worthy opponent.

I stared at Nila Weaver with awe.

CLIMBING TO MY wobbly feet, I ignored Jethro and beelined straight for the saddlebag. Inside, I found my running shorts, t-shirt, jumper, and summer sandals.

The instinct to turn around and make sure I was permitted to dress came sharp and strong. How had he worked his wizardry to make me second-guess my right to dress?

I would put a stop to that nonsense that very instant.

Slipping into the clothing, I winced as the shoes brushed against cuts and punctures. The painkillers he’d given me hadn’t worked their magic just yet.

The second I was dressed, I snagged a waxpaper-wrapped sandwich from the almost empty bag.

Striding away a little, I inhaled the sandwich like an urchin or homeless vagabond. Food. Glorious food. I’d never been so grateful for something as simple as a sandwich before.