A Marked Man. Stella Cameron

jeans and panties down together and stepped out of them.

      Her eyes flashed. Repeatedly, she tossed her hair back and he saw a sheen on her shoulders, the tops of her breasts. Annie sweated. He had sensed the instant when she passed over the edge of reason and went willingly to a place the timid avoided. She was intoxicated by the moment, by being with him, naked and longing for possession.

      “Let me hold you,” he said. Even while he wanted to throw her down and sink himself inside her, the warning came that they were beyond any caution. He didn’t want to make her loathe him but if he couldn’t slow this down, that’s what could happen.

      “Fuck me,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Fuck me, you fool. I don’t want to be held.” Her laughter shook and he thought she was crying. She had shocked him into silence.

      He didn’t see her raised hand. Annie slapped his face hard. “Come on, hate me. I’m hateful. Repulsive. You don’t want me, so hurt me.” She slapped him again, and caught the corner of his eye. “Knock me down and leave me.”

      Everything she did and said excited him. And it set off warnings. If this was a sexy game, he wanted to play. If someone had wounded her enough to destroy her confidence, he had to know that.

      “Max!”

      What he did was catch her wrist and hold it while he grabbed for the other. She eluded him each time and landed closed-knuckled punches wherever she found a part of him. After driving a fist into his diaphragm, she reached between his legs again, took hold of his shaft and pumped. She strained downward until he was afraid he’d dislocate the arm he held, and let go. On her knees, Annie drew him into her mouth, reached around to pinch his buttocks and almost released him from her lips before she drove along him again, her mouth hot and wet.

      If he wanted to stop her, he could, in a moment.

      No way would he do that.

      Annie sprang to her feet again. What she felt now approached nothing she had experienced before. The few times she’d been with a man, her role had been that of the victim, debased, hurt—once almost killed. But she had never guessed at her own hunger for sex.

      She shivered. Painted only by a faint glow, the strong lines of his face became terrifying. His features were twisted and he had tensed. He waited as if ready to attack her. Annie heard small sobs from her own throat and started to scuff away from him.