Chapter 5 Bad girl

EMMA

“Fuck it.”

The words left my mouth in a shaky whisper, and then I was moving. I dropped to my knees beside the bed and dragged out the small bag I had shoved underneath the first night I arrived. My hands were already trembling when I found the vibrator. I didn’t bother with lights. I climbed back onto the mattress, pushed my shorts and panties down just far enough, and pressed the cool silicone against my skin.

I was embarrassingly, ridiculously worked up. The second the vibration started, a broken sound escaped before I could stop it. I clapped my free hand over my mouth and bit down on the side of my finger, trying to stay quiet.

Rhys’s voice from earlier still echoed in my head, but I shoved it away. He didn’t own me. He didn’t own a single thing about me.

I closed my eyes and let myself get lost in the moment. In my head, it was his hand. Then it was his mouth. Then, without my permission, the fantasy shifted, and suddenly there were more hands. Tristan’s careful fingers.

The image was so vivid that my back arched off the bed. I was close. So close. My thighs began to tremble as the tension built, leaving me breathless and desperate to let go.

A strong hand wrapped around my wrist and tore the vibrator away.

My eyes flew open.

Rhys stood over me, fully dressed, his eyes black with hunger and something darker. He looked at the toy in his hand, then at me, then back at my face. The muscle in his jaw flexed hard.

He gritted his teeth.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice low and lethal, “can any man make you lose control this easily? A few words from Tristan in the kitchen and you’re up here losing all control with a toy?”

“What? How did you even—”

He didn’t let me finish. He tossed the vibrator onto the sheets, grabbed me by the hips, and hauled me up and over his shoulder like I weighed nothing.

The air left my lungs in a startled rush. I started hitting his back with both fists.

“Put me down, Rhys! What the fuck?”

His large hand came down hard on my ass, the sharp smack echoing in the quiet room. I gasped, more startled than anything.

“Quiet,” he ordered. “Or I’ll give you something to really cry about.”

I twisted enough to look behind us as he carried me out into the hallway. For a split second, I could have sworn I saw a broad shadow near the end of the corridor, but then we turned a corner, and it was gone.

Rhys took a set of stairs I had never used, down one level, and kicked open a door.

His room was dark. He dumped me onto the mattress hard enough that I bounced. Before I could scramble away, he was over me, one hand at my throat, the other pinning my wrist above my head.

“How badly do you want to come?” he asked, his voice pure gravel.

I swallowed, my pulse racing beneath his hand.

“I need it. Please.”

“Then beg.”

The word hung between us. Pride and desperation warred for half a second before desperation won.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please let me come. I’ll do whatever you want, just please, Rhys.”

A dark, satisfied sound left his chest. He released my throat, pushed my shirt up, and lowered his head without another word.

His attention left me struggling to hold on to the last scraps of my composure. I gripped the sheets, my breath catching as he took his time, seemingly determined to make me forget every thought that wasn’t about him.

I was already so close. My thighs started shaking within seconds.

And then he stopped.

I let out a broken, furious sob.

“No, don’t!”

He ignored me, picked up the vibrator I had brought, switched it on, and brought it back into play. The sudden sensation dragged another helpless sound out of me. He watched my face the entire time, his eyes locked on mine, while he took his time teasing me.

When I finally thought I couldn’t take another second of it, he pulled away again.

“Rhys!”

“Not yet.”

He did it again. Each time I thought he might finally let me have what I wanted, he stopped, leaving me frustrated and breathless. He seemed to know exactly when I was reaching my limit, and somehow, that only made the waiting worse.

By the fifth time, I was crying in earnest, tears sliding into my hair, my legs trembling beneath me. My voice had gone hoarse from begging.

“Please, please, I’ll be good. I won’t touch myself again. Just let me come, please. I can’t—”

He switched the vibrator off and set it aside.

Then he gently cleaned me with a tissue from the nightstand while I lay there, still crying in frustrated, oversensitive little hitches. The unexpected tenderness only confused me more.

When he finished, he stretched out beside me and pulled me against his chest, one hand stroking slowly up and down my back.

“Bad girls who don’t listen don’t get to come,” he murmured against my hair. “You needed the reminder.”

I hated him.

I hated how desperately I was still clinging to his shirt. I hated the way my body had quieted the second he started stroking my back, like it recognised him as safety even while I was still furious with him.

After a long minute, he slipped two fingers under my chin and lifted my face.

For the first time since the club, he kissed me on the mouth. Slowly, deeply, and with a gentleness I hadn’t expected from him.

I made a helpless sound against his lips.

The kiss left me even more confused than before. It was as though he could push me to the edge of frustration one moment and hold me like something precious the next.

He could wreck my composure and still make me feel claimed.

When he finally pulled back, I was shaking for an entirely different reason.

“Please, Rhys,” I whispered, my voice wrecked. “I’m begging. Please. I need you.”

Something raw flashed through his eyes. He sat up, reached behind his head, and dragged his shirt off in one motion. I watched the muscles in his stomach flex as he reached for his belt.

A sharp knock sounded at the door.

Three hard, deliberate raps.

Rhys froze. The entire room seemed to stop breathing with him.

We both stared at the locked door.

Who could it be?