Page 73 of Break the Ice

We scurry out of the dining room to a dozen-odd watchful stares. I pretend I notice none of them.

Rafe tugs me toward the back of the huge upscale restaurant ’til we’re pushing doors open into the kitchens. His hold’s so tight it makes me wince.

Just one sign he’s pissed. More pissed than I’ve ever encountered him.

A pulse of excitement beats through me. A sense of thrill I can’t begin to make sense of.

I’ve made my play. I’ve knocked him off his game by exploiting his intense jealousy and possessiveness.

It’s his turn to up the ante.

Rafe shoves open the swinging doors of the pastry section of the kitchen, then barks at everyone inside. “Get the fuck out!”

They scurry off without question.

He brings me up to the nearest counter and slams my hands palm side down.

“Rafe, what are you—ugh!”

He kicks my legs apart and braces me against the counter using his hard, muscular body. He bends close enough to kiss the spot behind my ear, his breath feathering down my neck. His hand clamps around my throat. “Clever move, Sugar. But let’s get one thing straight. I’m the only one that gets to see what the inside of that little uptight cunt looks like. Is that understood?”

“I was doing what I was told. Being your whore,” I choke out, my throat tight.

He gives a warning squeeze. “You are my whore, aren’t you? Which is what makes you so much fun to play with. We still haven’t addressed the matter of those attacks you arranged.”

I writhe under him, pressed up against the kitchen counter. Ultimately, it’s all useless struggling—I’m caged in under him with no means of escape. He reminds me of this as he gropes my bare pussy.

He rumbles out a growl at the moisture he finds. I’m biting down on my lip to hold in a moan. His fingers are rough and probing, running along the seam of my pussy, then dipping inside. I slide my hips in tune with his fingers, jutting back and forth.

My pussy throbs harder. So does my heart in my chest.

Pulses of pleasure start up, blipping through every part of me.

Rafe nips at my ear and clenches my throat. He pumps his fingers in knuckle deep. His erection swells behind me. Layers of clothes might separate us, but the heat that’s filling the air is no less hot.

It’s the raw masculinity Rafe exudes. The dominance in his rough touch and the bite of his arrogant taunts. All he has to do is put his calloused hands on me and I’m like an addict seeking my next fix. The pleasure he alone gives me, even if I curse myself out the moment it’s over.

“You were bad, Sugar,” he whispers into my ear. “And when filthy little sluts are bad, they’re punished.”

I take in another strained breath as he pins me against the counter and reaches for something with the hand that had been wrapped around my throat. The glint of a sharp and silver object flashes in my periphery.

A second later, I feel something hard and straight prodding at my entrance.

The heat burning me up, suddenly chills. Icy needles prick my spine as I go still, and my heart slams into my chest.

“That’s not… it better not be?—”

“Shhhh, Sugar,” he whispers, kissing my cheek. He’s flipped the kitchen knife over, the hilt pointed up, the blade pressed against the palm of his hand.

I’m frozen with shock, my heart thudding away, as the hilt of the knife slides into me. Rafe’s fingers spread me farther apart and then he begins slow, gentle thrusts. His lips skim over the skin behind my ear, the hilt of the knife making me shudder.

It feels so twisted, so unbelievably wrong.

The smooth, stiff surface feels heavy and intrusive ’til it’s sliding back out and my pussy throbs away. I roll my lips together to prevent the moan that slips out anyway.

My whole body tenses up as pleasure builds.

No.