His feet stepped forward until he was a breath away from her. “Look at me.”

Her hands clenched, but she forced her face upward, bracing herself for whatever she was going to find there.

Blue fire raked over her as his eyes traced the planes of her face. “You do yourself a great disservice, Ms. Beaumonde, with those clothes you wear. What’s beneath is even better than I imagined that night I stroked my cock thinking of you.”

Oxygen forgot to move through her lungs.

He planted a hand on each side of her on the counter, caging her between his forearms, and leaned in. She closed her eyes, absorbing what he’d just told her, inhaling him. Clean sweat, grass, and man danced around her in a heady elixir. No aftershave or fancy cologne. Only the most erotic scent she could ever remember smelling in her life.

He nuzzled the spot behind her ear, drawing the tip of his tongue along her lobe. “Are you wet for me, Charli?”

The honeysuckle twang of his voice was like a hot lick to every one of her erogenous zones. She shuddered and he pressed against her, the soft denim of his worn jeans revealing the erection restrained behind that zipper.

“Shit, yes,” she murmured.

He bit her earlobe, the sharp nip sending a zap through her. She gasped.

“Yes, what?”

“Sir,” she corrected in a hurried rush. “Yes, sir.”

Hell. What was he doing to her? She could barely grab on to her thoughts.

“Good girl.” His hand found her waist, then traced down and over her hip bone in a slow, tortuous trail. His thumb brushed her mound. “You’re so lovely here, Charli. Nothing sexier than a natural redhead.”

She pressed her forehead into his shoulder, knowing that her skin was probably blotchy from a full-body blush. She was no virgin, but her encounters had mostly been casual, low-key romps. A little kissing, a little touching, and then the usually lackluster main event. She’d never felt so observed before. “Thank you.”

His palm dipped lower, his finger parting her sex and finding her damp heat. The callused pad of his finger slid over her clit, causing her to arch against him.

“Mmm, good girl,” he breathed against the side of her neck. “So wet and eager for me.”

The dirty words were so different from the way he talked to her normally, so opposite the gentleman cowboy. But somehow that made it even more effective. Knowing that he was showing her this secret, darker side of himself had her insides fluttering. He stroked her with firm confidence, and a soft moan passed her lips.

“But no coming unless I say so,” he added.

“Are you kidding?” She couldn’t help it. Her mouth had a mind of its own.

He moved his hand away, stopping the decadent stimulation, and took a step back, leaving her there naked and aching. The disapproval on his face was like a lash to her skin. “Turn around, forearms on the counter.”

Her heartbeat raced, her limbs tingling with a rush of fight-or-flight, but she turned around nonetheless and followed his instruction. The cool granite pressed against her arms and an overwhelming wave of vulnerability washed over her. His belt buckle clinked.

Whoa, was he going to take her right here, like this?

The idea shouldn’t have been so damn appealing.

But instead of feeling his hands on her, she felt smooth, supple leather brush across the base of her spine. “Lace your fingers together and put your forehead against your hands.”

“Grant, I—”

“Wrong answer.” He planted a hand between her shoulder blades forcing her down into the position. Her blood was roaring in her ears and ribbons of dread curled in her stomach. It was like that moment before she’d bungeed the first time—fear and exhilaration twining together. She laced her fingers together, putting herself in a sort of praying position.

She probably needed to pray.

“Ready to press the escape hatch, Charli?” Grant asked, the question deceptively soft.

Escape. She could walk out right now. Go back to her safe, little existence where she had all the control, where everything was nice and predictable.

“No, sir.” The answer was automatic but truthful. She shifted restlessly, both worried and desperate for whatever was to come.

“We’ll see.”

She heard the belt cut through the air before she felt the blazing sting as it landed across the fleshy part of her backside. The pain radiated like a line of fire over her skin. She cried out and her nails bit into the tops of her hands.

“Count, Charli.”

Her mind took a second to process what he was telling her. Count what? Oh, shit. The hits. There were more coming? “One.”

“One for questioning me.”

The belt came down again, different spot, same wicked bite. She pressed her forehead hard into her hands. “Two.”

“And two for failing to follow a directive after I warned you I don’t like to repeat myself.”

Anger sparked bright within her. Never in her life had she let anyone treat her like she was some misbehaving child. Her own father had never even raised a hand to her. As the only girl left in the household, she’d been treated with kid gloves. She wanted to turn around, rip that belt from his hands, and smack Grant in the head.

But then a low rumble of a noise came from him—something between a groan and a growl. His hands were on her in an instant, large palms massaging the throbbing stripes on her backside, activating a pleasant erotic burn that traveled over her nerve endings. “Oh, look how beautiful you are like this. Your skin gets so pretty and pink.”

The tone and reverence of his voice shot straight to that needy part inside of her, dragging her focus away from any lingering sting and onto the pulsing ache between her legs.

“You ready for me, Charli? Or do you want to leave now that you have a taste of what I’m like?”

She could bail. Probably should. But her feet remained fastened to the floor. This was no longer about winning a challenge. Everything in her ached for him—to experience all of whatever he was. To fall under his dark spell. “I’m ready for you, sir.”

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then his low, commanding voice caressed her. “Push up onto your toes and hold that position, darlin’.” She heard the rustle of clothing behind her as he moved. “Remember, no coming.”

She found her bearings on the balls of her feet and gave herself over to the moment. Yes, she’d wandered into uncharted territory. Yes, there would be shit to deal with afterward, but right now all she wanted to do was be there for whatever happened next.

She didn’t have to wait long to find out what he had in mind. Those roughened thumbs of his brushed against her folds and then spread her open from behind. A little noise of surprise eked out of her, and she almost dropped her heels back to the floor. But then his tongue, so hot and adept, was against her. Tasting her. Teasing.

Pleasure shuddered through her, lighting her up like a tree at Christmas. Every sensitive zone on her body perked to attention. Her nipples against the cold granite, the now strangely pleasant burn of the belt marks, the arches of her feet straining, the oh-so-tender skin he licked and nibbled at. Her heartbeat seemed to lodge right behind her clit, the throb becoming a desperate thing.

That urgency was so unfamiliar and unnerving. Guys didn’t do this to her. Orgasms had always been such hard work. A battle. She thought the night in the shower had been a fluke, but he wasn’t even inside her yet and she was ready to detonate.

“Please…” The pressure was building. She only needed the barest shift of his mouth and she would go over.

His tongue slid inside her channel and she moaned, losing her balance for a second. He held her in place, keeping her from slipping to the floor, and fucked her with his tongue. She clenched her threaded hands, the overwhelming need for release making her feel frantic, edgy. Starved.

Just when she thought she wouldn’t be able to hold back anymore, he pulled away, planting a kiss on the back of her thigh. “Heels down.”

She let her feet relax and melted against the counter, her heart pounding like she’d run miles on the treadmill. She didn’t dare get up or look back though. She didn’t want that belt again; she only wanted him.

She listened to him walk back into the living room, the pull of a drawer, then the sound of a crinkling foil as his steps got closer again. A condom. He palmed her hip. “Last chance to back out.”

“Don’t need it, sir.” I just need you. Right. Now.

He slid two fingers inside her and her muscles clamped around them. He made a pleased sound under his breath. “Tell me what you want me to do to you, Charli.”

She winced. Why couldn’t he make this easy? Any other guy would see prone girl on counter, naked and willing, and would get right to it. But no. Not Grant. “Sir…”

“Beg me for it, freckles,” he said, something dangerous and enticing in his voice, a pied piper’s tune. “I’m not like other guys. I have no problem walking away unsatisfied to prove a point. So make me believe you don’t want me to do that.”

She bit her bottom lip, her inner feminist urging her to tell him just that—that she didn’t need him. She could walk away, too. Hell, most of the guys she’d slept with had left her unsatisfied. She was used to it. But another deeper, quieter part of her whispered for her to let go and give in, to get her reward for surviving him. She swallowed hard and opened her eyes, staring hard at the fine pattern of the granite, wishing she could turn around and see his face. “Please, sir. I want you to take me. I need you to.”

“Mmm, good girl.” His body pressed against the backs of her thighs and she could tell he was still wearing his jeans. “Stretch out your arms.”

She did as she was told and laid her cheek against the counter. He grabbed her arms and guided them behind her back. The soft leather that he’d hit her with now looped around her wrists. He cinched the belt with a clink, binding her arms. Then, he kicked her heels apart with his booted foot.

She only had a second to realize how at his mercy she was before he was sliding inside her. Hot and thick and every bit as toe curling as she’d imagined. Every muscle in her body seemed to contract at the sweet invasion. A low moan drifted off her lips as he eased in, stretching her and taking his time burying himself inside her.

“Fuck,” he murmured under his breath. His hand gripped her shoulder, as if he was trying to hold on to something within himself. “Am I hurting you? You’re, God…you feel so…”

The fit was snug, her tissues tender, no doubt from her long bout of celibacy, but pain was definitely not how she would describe it. Fantastically intense was more like it. “No, sir. Feels…amazing.”

At her words, she felt the tension in his grip ease a bit, and he canted his hips back, dragging himself almost all the way out then pushing deep again. Sensation went through her like ripples over the water. He groaned. “You’re right about that.”

She wiggled beneath him, an involuntary movement, her body craving more than the slow-and-sensual approach.

“Why so squirmy, beautiful?” he teased. “Not a fan of nice and easy?”

“Not right now…sir.”

“Dirty girl. Hard and fast it is, then.” His easy rhythm dialed up, and soon she was sliding back and forth across the counter, her skin slippery with sweat and highly sensitized, and the belt pressing into her tender wrists. The sound of his thighs hitting the back of hers and their shared moans supplied an erotic soundtrack she knew would haunt her fantasies.

His free hand wrapped around the front of her hip and found her swollen clit. She bucked against him, but he held her in place with ease. His fingers slid along the slick tissues and pinched gently, winding the tension inside her into a tight, glowing ball. Her breath caught in her throat.

“That’s right. Give me your pleasure. Come for me, darlin’.”