Eyes lit with challenge, he jerked her off the wall. Supporting her with strong hands that gripped her bottom, he worked her up and down his rigid erection, the new position creating a slippery friction against her clitoris. With a throaty moan, she clutched his shoulders and leaned back, pumping her hips in time with his. They watched each other through the haze of lust, Brent’s sexually charged gaze hurtling her into orgasm. She struggled to keep her eyes open so she could watch him find his own release and was rewarded by his expression of absolute surrender. His teeth sank into his bottom lip, but it did nothing to mute the roar of gratification that escaped him.

No sooner had he finished than he let Hayden slide down his body to the floor. Before she could decipher his intention, he spun her toward the wall. Her palms pressed against the cool surface to brace herself as his big hand came down hard once on her bottom with a loud slap that echoed through the empty hallway, sending a wave of ecstasy through her. Then he pulled her back against his chest and held her close, breath rasping in her hair.

She didn’t have the strength to question him. If he wasn’t holding her up at that moment, she suspected she’d be in a boneless heap on the floor. Perhaps it didn’t require any examination. He’d accepted her needs without question. Allowed her to discover this new part of herself, all but abusing him in the process. She could do the same for him. And dammit, hadn’t she loved it? The sting of his hand, knowing she’d pushed him to his breaking point? Yes, she had.

Turned away from Brent, with him unable to see her face, she felt the sudden need to reassure herself about her actions. He’d been in pain. She’d…been turned on by his torment. She didn’t know how to feel about that. “I, um…I’m sorry I made you wait like that.”

“Duchess, you can mistreat me like that any day of the week,” he murmured, obviously still recovering. When she didn’t say anything for a long stretch, he turned her around to study her face. She had no idea what he saw there. Didn’t even know herself at that moment. “Hey. Look at me.” She complied. “I’m a big, bad dude. I can take it. And Hayden?” He kissed her long and hard. “Let’s get on the same page. I’m the only one who has the privilege of taking it ever again.”

Chapter Fourteen

Brent glanced over at a silent Hayden as they walked down the deserted boardwalk. Well past sundown, the crowds had descended on the casinos and nightclubs, the beach forgotten until the next day. Crashing waves combined with distant cheers from inside the casino walls. Flashing lights from the gambling establishments pulsed, creating an ambiance specific to Atlantic City. He noticed a light breeze lift Hayden’s hair and mentally shook himself. If he’d started noticing things like breeze and ambiance, he was in bigger trouble than he thought.

It didn’t help that Hayden had gone mostly silent after his declaration that he intended to be the only one on whom she inflicted her particular brand of torture from now on. Hell, he’d made that decision before tonight, but no need to vocalize that fact. If her reaction served as any indication, it wouldn’t exactly have her floating on air and singing show tunes. Apparently it was going to take some convincing that they could work. Yes, they’d started off as adversaries. Yes, they came from two completely different worlds. And, oh yes, they were as different as two people could get. Seeing each other exclusively would mean an open mind on both their parts. A lot of compromise. A shit-ton of arguing. But holy hell, if it ended the way tonight had, he’d deal with just about anything she could throw at him.

Even now, he craved her body like an addiction. It had begun almost immediately, the relentless ache to get back between her thighs. See how far she’d push him next time. He’d never been driven so far outside of his own consciousness as he’d been with his c**k tucked tightly inside of her. He’d never considered himself someone who enjoyed delayed gratification. Now? Delayed gratification, party of one. Your table is ready. Christ, he’d come like a speeding freight train. It had felt so damn unbelievable that it almost hurt. What happened afterward, the spanking…well, he didn’t really have an explanation for that, except that he’d wanted to punish her for making him feel so incredible. Where was the logic in that?

Logic didn’t apply to them, he supposed. They’d been two opposite magnets that suddenly switched poles and were now compelled toward the other. When it came to their physical connection, the differences between them didn’t matter. They only heightened the experience. If he applied logic to their situation, he’d probably conclude that they were wrong for each other and the ridiculous sex was a product of months of foreplay. That’s what the fighting had been. He recognized that now. He’d been goading her toward his bed since day one and thank Christ it had finally worked. Otherwise, he’d be missing out on the best sex of his ever-loving life.

So, enjoy the sex and keep it simple, right? No messy commitments…right? Yet the thought of limiting their relationship to a physical diversion made him all kinds of antsy. He didn’t want to limit them. He wanted to hear her say the words, that she was his. His to fight with. His to soothe. His to f**k. No one else’s. Hayden, however, didn’t appear to share his interest in the idea. Good thing he never turned down a challenge. Especially when she looked like some kind of mussed-up sex kitten in her clingy dress, hair tangling around her thoughtful face, lips swollen from his treatment of them, from their unbelievable treatment of his cock.

Brent released a slow breath. One battle at a time. Get her talking, ease the tension you created by speaking too soon, jackass, and then worry about getting her back into bed.

“So…Beaches, huh?” Brent cleared his throat. “What is that, some kind of chick flick?” Of course, he’d seen Beaches. Bette Midler was a national treasure. He’d keep that to himself though, in the interest of her not questioning his masculinity.

A brief flicker of humor shone in her eyes before she hid it. “No, it’s a buddy cop movie. You would love it. Action-packed. Definitely no singing.”

Brent nodded, pretending to take her seriously. “I’ll add it to my Netflix queue.” Unable to help himself, he took her hand. “And if you come over and watch it with me, I promise not to sing along to ‘Wind Beneath My Wings.’”

Her momentary pause over his impulsive hand-holding turned into surprised laugher. The kind that made his chest tighten. “You’re so lucky your boys weren’t here to hear that.”

“Who do you think performs duets with me?”

She pursed her lips. “Normally I would say Daniel, but Matt could be a potential dark horse.”

Kind of like him and Hayden. For so long, they thought they had each other pegged, but it turned out they hadn’t even scratched the surface. She’d never seen it coming. “So Beaches…a classic piece of cinema, but a weird thing to think about while witnessing a marriage proposal.”

She glanced sideways at him, then sighed. “I guess I was trying to remember the last time I cried.”

Brent held his breath, afraid he’d open his mouth and some boneheaded comment would emerge, ruining this rare glimpse under her surface.

“I’d just gotten my tonsils taken out and I was too doped up to get out of bed and find the remote,” she said. “Beaches came on. Complete with commercial interruptions. I was helpless to escape it.”