Page 74 of The Merger

As soon as I step into the foyer, an arm wraps around my middle and hauls me backward. My back slams against Gannon’s chest, and I giggle as he wraps his other arm around me, too.

I sink against him moments before he lifts me into the air and tosses me easily over his shoulder.

“Gannon!” I yell, laughing. “What are you doing?”

His hand cracks down on my asshard. The contact spreads through me like wildfire, and my moan is instant and loud.

“You had your fun,” he says, carrying me through the house. “Now it’s my turn.”

Chapter Seventeen

Carys

Gannon takes a set of stairs with ease, with one arm cinched over the backs of my legs to hold me in place. His other hand massages the apple of my cheek where he cracked me moments ago. The feeling of his fingertips against my skin frazzles my brain.

“Did you have fun downstairs?” he asks as we breach the landing. His tone is too calm, too controlled. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

“Yeah. It was fun—ah!”

His palm smacks the same spot as before.

I shouldn’t like this. My pussy shouldn’t get wetter every time his palm strikes my ass … but it does. The last time a man tried to spank me, I punched him in the dick and never spoke to him again. But Gannon has done it twice now and I don’t just like it—I love it. Instead of making me feel helpless, I feel powerful. Safe, even.Desired.

He kicks a door, and it swings open. A blast of cool air caresses my naked body, welcoming me inside. Before I can get acclimated to our new surroundings, Gannon throws me onto the center of a giant bed.

My heart flutters wildly as I scramble to sit up. Nerves ripple low in my belly as he disappears into an en suite with a confident swagger that steals my breath. I watch his back muscles ripple with each step and reality hits me like a ton of bricks.

I’m naked on Gannon Fucking Brewer’s bed.

What the fuck is happening?

I pant, my gaze sweeping through the bedroom.

The walls are a deep, moody gray with a trayed ceiling that hosts recessed lighting. A pair of French doors open onto the second-floor patio I saw when I arrived. There’s a single chair and small table in the corner. Otherwise, the room is sparse.

Until he comes in. Suddenly, there’s no room to spare.

His dark eyes settle on mine as he stalks toward me.

“I thought you forgot I was here,” I say, nearly shivering beneath his stare.

He flashes me a sardonic smile but says nothing.

The soft mattress sinks with his weight as he kneels on the bed. I look up at him eagerly, my body trembling with need, but instead of touching me or kissing me, he licks his own lips.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly.

“Depends on what it is. Do I trust you to mind your own business? No.”

He fights a grin.

“But I apparently trust you enough for other things because I drove myself here, took my own clothes off, and allowed you to carry me to what I’m assuming is your bed.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says.

“You do that.”

He snatches my wrists up in one quick movement. They’re tied together with a long, thin piece of fabric and pulled over my head before I can protest. The knot is so tight I gasp.