Romance

The Paper Swan by Leylah Attar

I was still peering out of the stateroom window when Damian came in. He stopped in his tracks when he saw me. For one full, glorious second, he wasn’t in control. His gaze swept the length of my legs, over the hip-hugging shorts, and lingered on the swell of my breasts under the scandalous top. Ha! He wasn’t immune after all. He caught the smug look on my face before I could wipe it off, and his eyes narrowed.

Shit.

I took one step back for each one he took forward, until I was jammed up between him and the wall.

God, he was intense. And deliberate. And he could say things with his eyes that made my knees tremble. One side of his face was bruised and distorted from where I’d hit him. He grasped both my wrists in one hand and pinned them above me. Every part of me felt flush with the heat emanating from his body, even though that was the only point of contact. He hooked a finger in the ‘V’ of my blouse, tracing the dangerously low cleavage. His touch was so soft, it was barely discernible.

“Skye?” He seemed hypnotized by the rapid rise and fall of my chest. “Don’t play with scorpions unless you intend to get stung. We’re harsh and predatory and full of venom.” He tore off a strip and bound my wrists. Then he used the hanging trail like a leash and led me to bed.

“You’ve been trying to get a rise out of me for days. Now that you have my attention, what are you going to do?” He leaned forward, so close that I fell back onto the mattress, trying to get away from him. “Or is it that you want me to do all the work so your pampered pussy gets a taste of the other side, but you can tell yourself you didn’t have a choice?” He crawled up over me, slowly, until we were nose to nose.

I felt like hell was about to consume me. I could hear the men outside, gearing up to fill the tanks. Would they hear the sound of my screams?

“Would you like me to invite them in?” Damian secured my wrists to the bed post. “Do you really think you’d be safer with them instead of me?” He tore off another strip, giving me the chance to scream or yell or shout for help. When I didn’t, he tied it around my mouth.

He sank back on his heels, kneeling between my legs, and ran a finger from my neck to the front clasp of my bra. I stopped breathing. He moved on, trailing over my stomach, until he got to the band of my shorts. He toyed with the tab, enjoying the start-stop effect it had on my heart.

“Such a frightened little bird,” he said. “You should know better than to provoke me.”

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