“Of course I didn’t have to,” Grant said as they made their way down a long hallway, “but tonight I don’t want to share you. I just want you all to myself.” Finally, he gestured toward a door. “This is us.”
The suite was beautiful and spacious. The large sitting room with overstuffed couches and chairs arranged around a fireplace opened onto a porch that overlooked the water. A bowl piled high with fresh fruit sat on the coffee table. Italian marble covered every surface in the bathroom, and a massive four-poster king bed dominated the bedroom. “This is amazing, Grant.”
He came up behind where she stood in the doorway to the bedroom. His hands circled her wrists. “If I wasn’t so hungry, I’d have half a mind to handcuff you to that headboard for the rest of the night and have my way with you.”
Alexa leaned back against him. “You don’t need handcuffs to have your way with me,” she said, putting a lightness in her tone she didn’t quite feel. Grant had always made comments about not wanting to share her and wanting them to be alone, but suddenly it felt different. Less sexy than controlling. Less about desire and more about ownership.
“You know what? You’re right.” He grasped her by the shoulders and manhandled her into the bathroom.
Laughing, Alexa worked to keep from tripping in the high wedges. “What are we doing?”
“Getting what you wouldn’t give me yesterday morning,” he said, pushing her in front of one of the sinks in the long vanity. Confused, Alexa could hardly keep up with the rush of his movements. And then he was flipping up her skirt and tugging at her panties and pushing her upper body down with a palm planted in the center of her back.
She braced her hands on the marble. “Grant—”
“Been thinking about this,” he gritted out. “I need it, Alexa. Just like this. Give it to me.”
The blunt head of his erection pushed against her core, driving into her. Or trying to. She wasn’t ready and her body wasn’t opening for him. He pushed harder. As hot as his urgency and need were, the friction was uncomfortable and his words were confusing.
Grant smacked her ass, once, twice, and the sound reverberated within the room. “Let me in, goddamnit.” He surged forward, penetrating her.
On a whimper, she pulled away, or tried to, but she couldn’t move much with the way he had her pinned against the sink. If he’d just give her body a chance to respond. “Grant, wait—”
“Be still,” he said roughly, his hand pushing her down harder. He withdrew, and she heard him spit. And then he was right back inside her again. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” Her fingers clenched and unclenched against the smooth surface of the counter, and she let out a moan at the burning friction. Her thoughts were a confusing, conflicting whirl, her heart raced in what felt a lot like fight or flight, and she almost perceived the moment as if she were watching what was happening rather than experiencing it.
What was happening?
Finally, her body provided the slickness that eased the way, but the soreness didn’t fade. “There it is,” he groaned, palm still holding her down.
He tugged hard at the tie of her dress around her neck, the falling material exposing her breasts, and then his hand fisted in her hair, forcing her head back and her gaze to the mirror. “I put you together. I can mess you up, too,” he said, meeting the reflection of her gaze. A cold sweat broke out across her body, making her dress cling. “So fucking hot.” He slapped her ass again. Hard. The sting made her cry out.
But otherwise, Alexa was . . . frozen. She couldn’t talk. Despite the emotions blowing up inside her, she couldn’t cry. She couldn’t even make sense of what they were doing, exactly. It had started out kinda hot, but it was also . . . scary. She liked rough sex and she loved a man who took command in the bedroom, but why was that the only way they ever came together anymore? And why did this feel like something else?
Like . . . punishment.
Like control.
Like he was showing her who had it. And that she didn’t.
Except that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? She liked it rough. She liked hair pulling and spanking and being restrained and having it hard and fast. Exactly what this was, and what they’d done many times. And Grant was her fiancé. They were getting married. She loved him.
Hand tight in her hair, he drove into her again and again, his expression harsh, his pace fast and frenzied, her hips and thighs knocking into the front of the counter each time. She could already tell that she’d be bruised. And sore. Despite the fact that she was wet, arousal wasn’t a part of this for her. Shouldn’t it have been?