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“I haven’t.”

“Sure, you have. A pretty girl like you.”

I expect mocking laughter, but he withdraws, sliding his cock along my folds instead, bumping across my clit and igniting a shudder of pleasure.

He pauses at my sharp intake of breath, sliding himself down and back up again, the overload of sensation making everything more intense.

A finger presses inside me again, this time gliding smoothly. When he curls his knuckle to increase the friction, his tip nudges my clit again. My muscles tense and my hips thrust, even as I fight to lie still.

“That’s one thing,” he murmurs, repeating the movements again and again, finding a slow, steady rhythm that makes my skin pulse with energy. “Give me something else. Should I play with your tits? Do you like it when I suck your nipples into my mouth? You want me to finger your arse?”

I don’t have answers. I wouldn’t have a clue.

But Kincaid doesn’t mind my lack of input, lowering his head to claim my breast with his tongue, circling my nipple and gently drawing it into his mouth. Teasing at first, then sucking harder, his cock still sliding against my clit, both touches shooting lightning bolts of arousal through me, heat pooling in my lower belly.

He releases my hands, playing with my other nipple, teasing, pinching, grabbing a handful of my breast and squeezing, then using such a featherlight touch it barely registers.

When his mouth comes off me with a pop, he switches sides, and my hand cups the back of his head before I can stop it, fingers plunging into his hair.

“See, you’ll have a much better time when you stop being so stubborn.”

I clench my fingers and twist, trying to hurt him, but he just laughs.

“That’s good. Do it harder. Grab my arse and rub against me.” His finger moves deeper, and I yelp at the sudden pinch of pain. “Oh, Freckles. If that’s too much for you, I’ve got bad news.”

Despite his words, he withdraws to the former position, his thumb moving in the opposite rhythm to his cock, stimulating me in both directions until a soft groan escapes my throat.

Pleasure washes across me until I can’t think, responding mindlessly to his caressing touch, chasing the sensation until my bones melt.

What are you doing?

Panic follows the thought, engulfing me until I twist away, pushing at him, tugging his hair, slapping his face, trying anything to get free while adrenaline rages in my bloodstream.

But even my struggles feel good—the possessive growl as he pins me ignites a tranche of new sensations, building and building until my fight to get free turns into a game with his show of strength the reward I hadn’t known my body was craving.

He pushes his full weight onto my wrists, mouth at my ear. “No more hitting.”

“You could stop. You could prove to me you’re a better person than I think.”

“But I don’t want to stop.” He retreats, eyes searching my face like he’s committing every freckle to memory. “I want to sink so deep inside you’re ruined for any other man.”

I jut my chin. “Then I’ll tell everyone what you did.”

“Threatening the police again, are you?” His eyes dance with mockery.

“Why shouldn’t I threaten you?” I ask. “Jail is where you belong.”

“Because this is the real world, not some movie where everyone’s rooting for the underdog. My uncle will buy me out of trouble. The police budget will balloon with untraceable cash, and the local station will get upgraded equipment, new weapons, new cars.” His laugh is as soft as velvet. “And he’ll never let me forget every cent it costs.”

“Your rich uncle ragging on you is the least you deserve.”

“And what do you think you deserve?”

I can’t answer.

I barely understand the question.

Kincaid’s voice is low and sympathetic and utterly implacable. “Because he’ll kill you, Francesca. At the first sign of trouble, he’ll kill you and he won’t even care. You’d be nothing more than a cost benefit analysis on his spreadsheet and that will never work in your favour.”