Page 32 of Elite Metal: Warriors

He frowned at her, liked the way she winced. It wasn’t a wince of fear so much as anticipation and acceptance. Of his needs, and her hunger. “If we don’t discuss it, it’s fair game.”

“Just…don’t hurt me.”

Ah, hell. Her expression, the vulnerability, the fear in her tone tore him up.

“I will never hurt you, Roni.” A vow. He had to touch her then. Had to kiss her. And then, when he did, he couldn’t stop. When he finally pulled back, they were both breathless and shaking. “Are you…ready?”

She gulped. And nodded. The submissive cant to her eyes made his pulse rage. He stood, took a step back, trying like hell to look mean and tough when what he really wanted was to crumple before her.

He sucked in a breath and crossed his arms. Girded his loins, so to speak. It was time to begin.

“Okay, Roni. Strip.”

* * *

Heat flamed through her at his command. One word. Strip.

Her body liquefied. She quivered as she rushed to obey, removing her blouse and bra, her shoes, jeans and panties. A flush crawled up her cheeks as she stood before him, buck naked.

His throat worked, but he kept his distance, surveying her the way a man might study a slab of meat, but there was a sultry tinge to his gaze. He arched a finger in a circle, wordlessly demanding that she turn around so he could see all of her. She did. It made her head spin.

Ah, but that was nothing, nothing to when he touched her. His palm was rough against her skin, warm, calloused. He drew it down her spine and over the curve of her ass, only stalling a moment for a squeeze. He made a noise, something deep in his throat. Something feral.

He turned her again and skimmed over her breasts, pausing to take her tender nipples between his fingers in a tight pinch.

She hissed in a breath.

His gulp rocketed around the silent room.

She could tell he was struggling to contain himself. It was evident in the tremble of his touch.

“Kneel on the bench.” His voice, wreathed with intent and impatience, wobbled.

Sucking in a deep breath, she crossed to the bench—little more than a stool covered in velvet. He positioned her the way he wanted, with her belly over the seat and her ass high. The velvet was soft, but it abraded her hypersensitive nerves.

Hell, this whole scene abraded her nerves.

She was naked. Bare. Splayed before him. Utterly helpless.

Well, not utterly.

At least, not until he pulled her hands behind her and bound them with a length of Velcro.

“Try to get free,” he suggested. Surely it was a suggestion.

No matter how she twisted or turned her wrists, she could not loosen the ties.

He grunted with satisfaction.

She winced as his palm skated over her ass again. She knew what was coming, craved it. Ached for it. And yeah. Fuck yeah. His hand fell.

Once.

Twice.

Three times, four. Again and again in a crazed rhythm, pausing every now and again to heighten her tension. Relentlessly, he covered her, reddened her ass. Awoke her soul.

She loved it, but she couldn’t resist the urge to try to avoid the next smack, which pleased him, judging from his murmurs, his chuckle.