You Are Mine (25 page)

Wherever that was.

Eva swallowed. “Yes.”

The hunger in his eyes flared. “I need you to respect the word as much as I do. Don't use it to test me or because you don't like something. I'll give you one free pass with it, but if you start using it to control me or just for kicks, I'll stop this and send you home.”

The blood roared in her veins, her heartbeat deafening in her ears. “I understand.”

Zac pushed open the door and stood aside. “Then go in.”

She hesitated a moment, making herself look at him
,
not really sure what she was even looking for. Maybe some sign that the Zac she'd come to know over the past seven years was there. Protective, gentle. Kind.

But if he was, she couldn't find him.

There was no gentleness in those amber eyes, in that dark, harshly attractive face. Only hunger, iron will. A man with the soul of a predator. A predator who'd gone too long without food.

Eva looked away, took a breath and walked into the room.

Behind her the door closed, Zac moving past her over to the couch. He said nothing, taking off his suit jacket and hanging it neatly over the arm of a chair. Then he began unfastening the cuffs of his black business shirt, his movements practiced and deft.

She found herself watching him, mesmerized as he rolled up his sleeves, exposing bronze skin, muscled forearms, and the bold colors of one of his tattoos. Another reminder of what he was at heart. A warrior. A killer.

A mercenary who demanded his payment from her and yet made sure the room was warm and there was a fire leaping in the hearth.

He did always like to make sure she wasn't cold.

You do trust him.

A tension inside her eased.

Zac straightened and abruptly his golden eyes pinned her to the spot, bright as a solar flare. “Take your clothes off.”

A perverse part of her, the part that refused to lie down and surrender, wanted to argue or refuse, yet she found her hands moving to obey the order anyway, pulling her T-shirt up and over her head then off.

He put his hand out. “Give your clothing to me.”

She handed him the T-shirt, frowning as he folded it up neatly and put it on the armchair. What the hell was he doing?

“The rest,” he said curtly. “I'm only going to ask you to do something once, angel. And if you don't do as you're told, there will be consequences.”

It would be stupid to push him now, and yet that perverse part of her wanted to. See what kind of consequences he meant.

But she was still too uncertain, still too afraid. So instead, she bent and began undoing the laces of her Docs, taking her socks and boots off before handing them to him one by one, waiting while he arranged them neatly beside the armchair. Her jeans followed, so that soon she was standing there wearing only the lingerie he'd bought for her.

Her hands went to the front clasp of her bra, her fingers trembling.

“Wait,” Zac ordered, prowling closer.

She stilled, her heart kicking insider her chest as he closed the distance, coming to stand in front of her.

He pushed her hands aside, reaching for the clasp and undoing it himself. She couldn't breathe, a wave of heat washing through her as his fingers brushed her skin and the silk cups fell away from her breasts, baring her. Goose bumps rose everywhere as Zac pushed the straps from her shoulders, taking the bra off completely. He stepped back, folding the silk carefully in his big hands, looking at her.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “You're beautiful, angel. Now stay there, exactly like that.”

Turning, he went to put the bra with her other clothes before coming back to stand in front of her once more.

Ice congealed in her veins, warring with a heat that seemed to burn up from underneath it, a contradiction that made no sense to her at all.

The look on Zac's face didn't help. The sheer intensity of that focus unnerved her. Confused her. Made her afraid at what he could see in her.

You like it too. You want to be known by him.

The breath went out of her at that thought. Then he suddenly dropped to his knees, making her almost forget to breathe back in again. His hands rose to the waistband of those flimsy, lacy silver panties, and he began to ease them down. Slowly. So goddamned slowly.

She trembled, fixing her gaze on the wall across the room, unable to bring herself to look down at him. She could feel him drag the material down over her thighs and the backs of her knees, right down to her ankles, his hands gently urging her to step out of the fabric.

Then she was naked. Completely naked.

She wasn't used to it. She got naked only in the shower and for a few brief moments while getting dressed.

And when you were taken to Him.

Her throat closed. The only time she'd been naked in front of someone else had been at The House. With The Man. It had terrified her at first then and it was no less terrifying now, even though earlier Zac had watched her put on that lingerie he'd just taken off. Because now it wasn't a faceless stranger, this was someone she knew. Someone she'd known for years, and somehow that was even scarier.

What did he see when he looked at her? Did he see a scared, broken little girl? A girl who could disappear from the streets of New York without a single soul to notice she was gone?

Of course no one noticed. Nobody cared about you. Nobody loved you.

Like that was something she didn't know.

Eva kept her gaze fixed on the wood-paneled library wall, her vision blurring, her hands in fists at her sides. She didn't care what he saw. It didn't matter to her, she wouldn't let it.

Yet she still trembled as she felt him run his palms up the backs of her calves, her knees, her thighs. His fingers were warm, caressing as he cupped her butt, squeezing gently.

He made a deep, soft, approving sound. Then he buried his face between her thighs.

The sensation that knifed through her was like a shock from a cattle prod, a sharp, hot jolt. She froze completely, a choked gasp escaping her, all her muscles locking.

He ignored her reaction, nuzzling her, palms squeezing her, his breath warm against her sex. “Christ, you smell bloody delicious.” His voice was roughened. “I knew you would.”

The pressure of his hands and the press of his body against her legs put her off balance, and she reached out, grabbing onto his shoulders instinctively to keep herself upright. But that was another unexpected assault on her senses. The heat of him, the powerful flex and release of muscle beneath the cotton of his shirt. Strong, God, he was so strong. And she was so fragile and small next to him.

Insignificant, you mean.

She swallowed, shivering, the tremor before a major earthquake.

He must have noticed because he shifted back all of a sudden, lifting his head. And she was caught in the depths of his eyes like a dragonfly in amber. “Did I say you could touch me?”

“N-no.”

Her hands slipped from his shoulders as he rose in a smooth, fluid movement. Looking down at her. “Touching me is a privilege you have to earn, angel. Now, go sit down in that armchair.”

“Jesus, seriously?” She couldn't help herself, feeling cold and exposed, the way she had sometimes when she'd been on the streets. A sixteen-year-old alone and at the mercy of the city, where she'd had to keep fighting in order to merely survive.

His hand came out unexpectedly, taking her chin and gripping her hard, tilting her head back, and the full force of his dominance hit her like a slap to the face.

Nothing of the perfect British gentleman mask he wore remained. It had gone. Completely. And what was painfully clear was just how much of himself he'd been holding back.

She was almost flattened by the intensity of him. By the strength of his will bearing down on her like a freight train.

“I will not repeat myself,” he said quietly, forcefully. “This once you get a pass, but next time, you
will
suffer those consequences. Now do as you're told and go and sit down.”

And something inside Eva woke up. As if it had been waiting all along for him to reveal himself.

She'd caught glimpses of this man, the man he'd been hiding from her. But this was the first time she felt a part of herself rise in response. Wanting to meet that will of his, test it. Match it.

This time it wasn't fear that moved her through, but heat.

It was electric. Intense. She was transfixed.

He must have noticed too, because the corner of his mouth lifted slightly, an acknowledgment. He released her but didn't move, and she knew he was waiting for her to obey him.

As if her body was already his to command, she was turning before she was even conscious of it, going wordlessly over to the armchair and sitting down in it, the soft leather cool beneath her bare skin.

She felt strange. Hot and cold and scared and fiercely excited all at once.

Zac went over to the cabinet where he kept his wine and her tea, opening a drawer and taking something out of it. Then he turned and came back over to where she sat, standing in front of her.

Her breath caught. She didn't want to look up at him, though that humming, newly awoken part of her wanted to. Meet his burning gold eyes. Match her will to his.

Something black was dangled in front of her.

A blindfold.

And it felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.

No. He couldn't seriously expect her to put that on. He couldn't, not after all the shit she'd been through. Screw him and his fucking Dom crap.

Eva tipped her head back and looked up at him. There was nothing soft or tender in his expression, his face all hard planes and harsh angles.

“Put it on,” he ordered.

Oh, he knew what he was doing, she could see it in his eyes. Saw the dare, the challenge. He knew
exactly
what this blindfold meant for her, and he wasn't going to protect or cajole or seduce her into putting it on. He was ordering her, expecting her to do exactly what he said.

And a realization hit her like a river of snowmelt.

All this time he'd been protecting her, insulating her, and all this time she'd let him. Helping him treat her like she was made out of glass, like she should be protected.

A broken little girl.

But not now. There was no give in him, no softness. No careful protection of her boundaries or her issues. He was treating her like she was tough. Like she could do this. As if there was nothing wrong with her. Like she was a fucking warrior.

Her chest tightened, her throat closed.

Jesus Christ, he'd been right. She didn't need to be sheltered and protected any longer. She needed the goddamned fire.

Eva held his gaze, feeling her spirit shake off the chains that had been binding it for far too long, and snatched the blindfold from his hands. Then before she could second-guess herself, she put it over her eyes and tied it on tightly.

Blackness. Suffocation.

Terror was a hand on her throat, squeezing.

She reached out, trying to find the arms of the chair to anchor herself, feeling like she was sliding down into some dark hole where there was only fear and pain. The memory of hands on her, touching her where she didn't want—

Someone caught her fingers.

Zac.

“Where are you, Eva?” His voice was close, near her ear.

“Here,” she whispered, hoarse with fear. “Your library.”

“And who are you with?”

She focused her attention on the feel of his fingers, how they seemed to wrap around hers entirely, their warmth sending shockwaves over her skin. “You. I'm with you.”

“Damn right. And don't you think of anything but me. Concentrate on my voice, my touch. Think of my hands, my mouth, my cock. You're not his toy to play with tonight, you're mine. Body, heart, mind, and soul. Understand?”

The fierce spirit inside her leapt. “Yes. I understand.” Then, because at her heart she was a warrior, she raised her blindfolded eyes to where she thought he was. “And you're mine tonight too?”

A silence fell and she could almost feel his surprise. Well, good. It was about time she did a bit of shocking herself.

The sound of movement, one of his hands tightening around hers. Strong fingers taking her chin and turning her head, the warmth of his breath near her ear.

“Angel,” he said in that tone, the one that radiated authority and power. “I was never anyone else's.”

His fingers tightened on her chin fractionally. And that was the only warning she got before his mouth covered hers.

The kiss was hard, sure and ruthless, giving her absolutely no quarter.

A shocked sound escaped her and instinctively she tried to pull away from the onslaught, but his hand holding her jaw made that impossible.

His tongue forced its way into her mouth, slick and sinewy and hot, taking exactly what he wanted. Ravaging. Devouring. Making no allowances for the fact that she was inexperienced. That this was, in fact, the first time she'd ever been kissed.

It felt like a bomb had gone off and she'd been knocked flat by the shockwave.

Then right when she'd got herself together enough to respond, he let her go.

Someone was breathing loudly and fast. Her.

“I,” she began hoarsely, her voice stuttering, her heartbeat fast. “I haven't been kissed before.”

“That wasn't a kiss.” His voice came from directly in front of her. “That was a claim.”

A shiver took her, going all the way down her back. Shaking something deep inside her.

His fingers tightened around her hands and she felt some kind of cool fabric beginning to be wrapped around her wrists. “I told you you were mine, angel,” he said levelly. “I meant it.” The fabric pulled tight as if to emphasize his point.

There was a ringing in her ears and she was suddenly acutely aware of the leather of the armchair against the bare skin of her butt, of the warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth. Of Zac's scent, cedar and woodsmoke and musk. Her nipples felt hard, a deep ache between her thighs, and her mouth was full and almost bruised from the kiss.