I catch my lower lip between my teeth. “What are you thinking?”
His ominous answer comes seconds after he grabs my wrists and hauls me to my feet. “I’m thinking about teaching you a lesson, Your Foolishness.”
CHAPTER 3
GRIFFIN SPINS ME AND PUSHES ME UP AGAINST THE WALL. He holds my wrists above my head in one hand, pulling so that my arms are almost fully extended. His other hand palms my naked bottom, its scorching heat a shocking contrast to the cool stone against my front. My nipples pebble against the smooth surface. One of Griffin’s splayed fingers dips into my cleft, sending a lightning bolt of desire through me. I might like this lesson.
His hand leaves my body, though. Cool air rushes in to chill my backside, and goose bumps shiver across my lower back. I wait, a thrilling riot of sensations and emotions heightening my anticipation. What will he do to me? If it’s anything like usual, I’m all in.
Without warning, Griffin smacks my ass so hard I yelp and shoot forward against the wall. The sting is hot and sharp, inside and out.
“Ow!” I glare at him over my shoulder. “Did you just spank me?”
“Yes.” He glares back. Smack! “Twice.”
I gasp. “Griffin!”
“The second time was for kissing pages when you were twelve,” he growls. “The first time was for driving me insane.”
I kick back, but my foot barely connects. He’s too damn fast. “You’ll pay for this,” I grind out, stomping on his toes. Twice. My bare foot doesn’t appear to faze him through the thick leather of his boot. “I swear you’ll pay.”
“If I pay, I’d better be buying a bride.”
“Argh! You’re impossible!”
Griffin leans in to me, asking gruffly against my cheek, “Where do you belong?”
“What?” My backside smarts. I liked it better when spanking was a metaphor.
Excitement still surges through me, along with a surprising rush of eagerness when Griffin palms my bottom again. His long fingers delve further toward my core, cupping me completely. I stop struggling, craving his next touch more than I crave air. He gently rocks his fingers through my folds, and my forehead drops against the wall. I moan in total surrender, growing wet for him after only a few strokes.
Griffin’s broad front presses against my back. He pushes my hair aside with his face, and then his lips brush the sensitive spot below my ear. I feel his teeth, his tongue, and then his amazing mouth trails lightly over my nape, sending hot little shivers down my spine and arms. He nuzzles and kisses, his breath increasingly ragged against my neck. My blood turns molten. Reckless and ready for anything, I press backward into his arousal and grind my hips.
His free hand slides around my hip to my lower abdomen, holding me tightly as he presses me harder against him. “Where do you belong?” Griffin asks again, his question a gravelly rumble against my neck.
A smile curves my lips. I understand the rules now. I’m ready to play.
I pull on my wrists as hard as I can. Griffin tightens his grip, sending a thrill of danger and excitement through me. Rough and low, he says my name as he lifts his hand from my stomach. Between our bodies, I feel him work his belt free. A moment later, his pants drop, and his metal buckle hits the floor. One-handed, he rips his tunic over his head, leaving it dangling from the arm still holding me against the wall.
His bare torso touches my bare back, the contact scalding. Need burns through me. I lean back into Griffin’s powerful body and rub myself against him. Crisp hair tickles the backs of my thighs. I want to touch him, but Griffin is in complete control. I can only feel, and wait, and crave, and the newness and unpredictability of his rough play drive my desire to Olympian heights.
Griffin’s free hand comes around me again, grazing up my front until his knuckles skim the undersides of my breasts. Lightning sizzles under my skin, streaking straight to where I long for him to fill me. He touches my breasts—cupping, circling, teasing, squeezing—and my head falls back against his chest. I make breathless sounds, panting. He brushes the callused pad of his thumb over one sensitive peak. Back and forth. He does the same to the other, and I press my legs together, my tightening nerves restless for friction. Griffin tugs on my nipple. Need pulses at the apex of my thighs, and my legs start to quiver.
“You’re going to torture me, aren’t you?” I ask.
His voice is an erotic promise in my ear. “You have no idea.”
Griffin’s warm breath whispers over my neck. My wrists are a little sore and my arms are starting to ache, but the dull pain only accentuates the pleasure and exhilaration storming the rest of my body. Heady sensations spiral through me. Desire flares hotter with Griffin’s every touch. I shudder when he rubs his rough palm in a slow circle just below my navel. He’s barely even touched me where I really want him, but the mounting tension between my legs already has me tumbling toward release.
“Griffin.”
“Cat?”
“Touch me.”
“I am touching you.”
Pleasure and frustration dance around each other inside of me, intense, unlikely partners. I flex my fingers. They’re going numb. “Touch me lower. Touch me where I need you.”
His hand slides down. I can feel the heat of his fingers, poised to bring me a shattering orgasm. My sex throbs, each needy beat bringing me closer. I groan, and the husky sound is loud in the room that’s quiet except for our harsh breathing and the popping of the torch.