Page 97 of Twisted Proposal

"Fuck you," I said, closing my eyes. There was no way to hide my desire in them, and I refused to give him the satisfaction.

"Oh, someone is definitely getting fucked," he said with a dark laugh.

Artem picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, the sudden movement forcing the air from my lungs.

"Put me down," I screamed and kicked wildly, hoping to nail him in the gut or the balls or something. I didn't care where.

He slapped my ass hard enough that between the sharp sting and the way his shoulder dug into my stomach, I couldn't catch my breath. Not until he dropped me in the middle of an enormous bed covered only in black silk sheets.

I tried to scramble away, but he pinned me down. His hand grabbed my throat as he straddled me, pushing his weight down on my hips, keeping me pinned to the bed. The silk sheets slid beneath me, cool against my heated skin.

"This wasn't how I wanted this to happen," he said as he pulled his belt from his pants with the now unmistakablewhooshof Italian leather sliding against a fine woolen suit. "But I'm still going to enjoy putting you in your place."

"My place isn't for you to determine," I said, still fighting him with everything I had.

There was no possibility I could ever win, but I refused to give up. I refused to go quietly. If he wanted me, if he was going to keep me in this cage, I was going to make it a living hell for him.

It didn't matter how much I enjoyed the way he fucked me; it didn't matter that every time he touched me, my blood roared in my ears and it became harder to breathe.

He still didn't get to make these choices for me.

Just because I wanted him didn't mean I was going to make this easy for him.

He grabbed my wrists in one hand and looped his belt around them, pulling it tight then securing it to the metal bed frame. The leather bit into my skin, not enough to break it, but enough to remind me that I was trapped.

Instinctively, my fingers wrapped around it and I tried to pull, but it wasn't going anywhere, and I couldn't loosen it around my wrists.

Artem moved back on the bed, getting off of me to look at his handiwork. He ran his thumb over his lips as he smirked down at me. I had never wanted to hit someone in the face more in my life.

"You look good like this, like a wild animal trapped, fighting the inevitable.”

He ran his hands down my body, over my clothes, cupping my breasts for a moment before sliding down to the waist of my pants, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

My blouse surrendered to his tug, the tucked-in hem pulling free of my pants, the delicate fabric no match against his grip as he easily ripped it in half, exposing my body to him and the cool air of the room.

The simple but incredibly masculine, dominating act sent a thrill through me I couldn't ignore. My nipples hardened beneath my bra, betraying me.

He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a knife, and flicked it open. It was only a few inches long but looked wickedly sharp as it shone under the light the metal surface caught and reflected.

"I should punish you," he said.

He ran the blade from my collarbone down over the swell of my breast. I could feel how sharp it was, but he didn't cut me. I knew he wasn't going to.

That wasn't his game. He wasn't going to hurt me; he was trying to scare me into submission. There was no way Artem would really hurt me. He wanted to keep me too badly. No one wanted to play with a scarred doll.

I wasn't going to give in that easily.

"What's wrong, baby?" I taunted. "The only way you can get a woman in your bed is to tie her there?"

He huffed out a quick laugh before running the sharp point down my sternum to the middle of my bra and then with one quick clean slice cut through the stretched lace.

The bra cups fell to the sides, exposing my breasts, allowing him to run the flat of the blade over my bare nipple, the edge pressing into my skin.

There was no danger of me being cut, but the proximity of the sharp edge was still an illicit thrill; the icy coldness of the metal against my heated flesh still sent shivers through me.

That cocky bastard knew it, too. He knew exactly what he was doing.

I could glare at him all I wanted. I could swear at him, call him names and degrade him, but it didn't change the way my body responded to him.