Without another word, Chase Walker raised his hand and changed the game again.
CHAPTER 8
AMANDA WOKE UP the next morning in Chase’s ginormous bed alone. All snuggled within his zillion-thread-count cotton sheets and his downy comforters.
She knew she wasn’t free of him. He was located somewhere inside the penthouse apartment. She sat up, pulling the bedding with her, unconsciously reclaiming her modesty and remembered the night before.
Last night was hot and steamy and wild, she thought.
And kinky.
Amanda Cole was not kinky. She was gracious and refined. She wasn’t a prude, but she shied away from the fethishy stuff. Last night was all evidence to the contrary, however. And this wasn’t about toe-sucking or him wanting to drink something out of her shoe. What he did to her actually hurt, enough to make her cry. And that almost seemed like the least of her worries.
The whole episode only lasted about two minutes. A tiny span of time that opened up a floodgate of more feelings than she thought a person could have. She fought him as hard as she could for that first minute, so incensed by what he was doing, but there was no way to match his strength. Chase said nothing as she struggled, simply kept to his word and saw to his task. With uncanny expert precision, he maneuvered around her squirming and kicking to connect with his target every time, using just enough force to remind her of exactly where she was. But as soon as she stopped trying to escape, worn out from all the thrashing, his as well as her own, he began to scold her, something about soap and her mouth. The words were all jumbled in her mind. But she couldn’t forget the same crisp, authoritative tone that continued since he informed her of his intention. It was curt, resolved, and disappointed, definitely disappointed. It demanded her attention, and she found herself getting caught up in it. The more he scolded, the worse she felt. The absence of his generous loving affection cut into her like a knife.
Then they seemed to combine, the pain of his voice with the sting of his hand, and she gave over to it all. It was like she had risen out of her body and was watching it all take place from the ceiling. And whether it was from the ceiling or nothing more than a picture in her mind, she was able to see his handsome face, a mask of determination and control. It was strangely comforting. It matched the look he got when he kissed her, and when he made love to her. Which meant it was a look that was erotic as hell.
It was too many feelings all at once, vying for space in her brain. Pain, shock, frustration, disappointment, love, trust, eroticism, control. Control. She crashed back down to the floor, and once again it was the only thing she could see.
It was then that Amanda really started to cry.
As soon as he recognized her tears for what they were, Chase stopped. He waited a moment, caught his own breath. Then he helped her to stand and stood up next to her. All traces of fury in him had vanished. He almost appeared serene. He certainly didn’t look like he wanted to hurt her any further or force himself on her in any way. He took a few steps back to give her some space, crossed his arms over his chest, and watched, waiting to see what she would do next.
Although her dress fell back down, her panties pooled at her feet. She could feel them around her ankles. She wanted to reach back and try to rub at the burn, but refused to give him the satisfaction of letting him know just how well he’d done the job, as if there were any question. Embarrassment tried to cram its way into her skull. There was just no room for anger. And she didn’t want to be angry with him anyway, she wanted his laughing, loving voice back. If she didn’t hear it, and soon, the absence of it would be more than she could bear. The longer it continued, his silence created an expanding void that grew bigger and she didn’t have the strength to climb out of. She didn’t know how she would be able to stand one more second of it. She swiped at her nose with the back of her hand and choked on a sob the only word she could think of, part question, part exclamation, and all distress signal. “Chase.”
And then he was there, scooping her up and holding her close against his chest. He went back to the corner of his bed, only this time to sit her on his lap. She bit back the wince while he held back a smirk and he settled her more comfortably against him. He held her quietly as she cried incoherent, random words, trying to make sense of it all.
When her last tear was shed and the last word babbled, he kissed her. It was tender, conciliatory, but by no means remorseful. With each kiss, she wanted to coax the words out of him, words to explain, words to forgive. Only he wouldn’t say them. He adoringly hummed and hushed but his mouth was far too busy doing other things. Instead, he tumbled her backward onto the bed and helped her work through each of the feelings that were bottled up inside her, one by one. As each feeling exploded out of her body with the force of a line drive coming off a fastball, he caught it, made it his own, and joined her in it. He matched her emotion for emotion, and it was manic and chaotic and euphoric. . . .
Amanda vigorously shook her head. She could never be accused of being a delicate flower, but last night went beyond aggressive sex. And her feminist school of thought was, if you let a guy hit you once, it’s like giving him permission to make you his punching bag. This felt different and only added to the confusion.
Where had this man come from? This was not the completely gallant gentleman who politely pulled out her chairs, opened all her doors, and held her hand. Who took chivalry to a whole new level. The Chase from last night was forceful, intent on overpowering her and refusing to stop.
Had she even said stop?
No, she hadn’t. She fought and she swore and called him every name she could think of. She even made up a few. It had become an accelerating battle of words and wills until it was clear who was going to come out the victor. But at no time did she tell him to stop. At one point early on, she actually sank her teeth into his side, a decision she could probably thank any lingering soreness for. The resulting volley of sharper swats was a stark reminder of just how much restraint and control he wielded over her. How helpless and completely at his mercy she was. The mind-blowing sex afterward was born of the adrenaline created from the whole experience. It was wrong for him to take that sort of advantage of her. It was even more wrong that she let him. And there was no way to rationalize how, through it all, there was this out-of-body element that she had never felt before. It was feral, hedonistic, and uninhibited.
One of his bathrobes was lying across a corner of the bed. Was he being thoughtful, presumptuous, or just plain lazy? Amanda pondered, standing up. She slipped on the heavy terry cloth. It was completely dry; he hadn’t used it. She settled on thoughtful while tying it at the waist and pulling up the extra material to ensure she wouldn’t step on it when she walked. She tiptoed down the hallway, the same hallway that only hours ago he’d tried to drag her down, peeking into open doors for any sign of him. She encountered his cleaning lady in his memorabilia room, an entire room full of trophies and other dedications to his greatness. Lena was a stout Latino grandmother with a ready smile whom security picked up every morning at five A.M. and drove home at the end of each day since she was hired three years ago. She politely directed Amanda to the kitchen at the opposite end of the hall. Chase’s magnetism started creeping up on her as she got closer and hit her full force before she made it to the entranceway. She drew in her breath and held it. She thought she was ready to face him. She was wrong.