Sweet Revenge: Kissing My Ex's Uncle

He dragged her through the water until she was directly in front of him, her body forced to tilt back, her face turned up to his. His eyes were black holes, swallowing the dim light of the room. They burned with an intensity that felt like it was physically searing her skin. "Horace," she choked out, the name a plea, a prayer, a surrender. Hearing his own name seemed to do something to him. The raw violence in his gaze didn't disappear, but it shifted, condensing into something darker, more focused. More possessive. His hand moved from her ankle to her chin, his fingers clamping down like a steel trap. It wasn't a caress. It was a claim. "So you do know who I am," he rasped, his voice a low threat. "Then you know I'm not my pathetic nephew." Tears streamed from her eyes, mixing with the water on her face. The last dregs of the drug left her body weak, her limbs heavy and unresponsive. She had no fight left. She tried to push against his chest, a feeble, desperate gesture. "Please," she sobbed. "I want to go home." He laughed, a cold, humorless sound. "You broke into my suite. You threw yourself in my pool. You kissed me," he paused, leaning closer, his breath a hot ghost against her lips, "and you called me another man's name. You don't get to go home." In one fluid, brutal motion, he hooked an arm under her knees and lifted her from the water. She was nothing against his strength. A doll. She hung in his arms, soaked and shivering, the ruined dress clinging to her like a second skin. Water dripped from them, pooling on the priceless Persian rug as he strode from the pool area into the cavernous bedroom. The city lights of Manhattan glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, indifferent witnesses. He tossed her onto the massive bed. The silk sheets were cool against her overheated skin. She landed with a soft thud and immediately tried to scramble away, to crawl to the other side. His foot came down on the hem of her wet dress, pinning her in place. She froze, her heart hammering against her ribs so hard she thought it might break. Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and undid his tie, pulling the silk strip from his collar with a soft hiss. His eyes never left hers. They were dark, stormy, full of a terrifying promise. "Since he didn't want you," he said, his voice dangerously soft, "I'll be happy to take his place." "No," she whispered, shaking her head, the movement frantic. "No, please, don't." Her pleas were meaningless. Her resistance was a joke. He was a force of nature, and she was just a girl who had been foolish enough to get caught in the storm. He came down over her, his body a heavy, suffocating weight. He blocked out the light, the city, the world. There was only him. His scent of cedar and smoke and pool water. His terrifying strength. A strange, horrifying mix of pain and sensation shot through her. She couldn't tell if she was hot or cold, if the shivers wracking her body were from fear or the drug or him. She bit down on her own lip, hard. The sharp, coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. It was the only thing that felt real. Outside, the city glowed, a million tiny lights forming a beautiful, cruel backdrop to the ugliest moment of her life. Every touch was a brand, a mark of ownership. A punishment. Her vision blurred, the glittering lights of the skyline smearing into streaks. Her consciousness, battered by the drug, the betrayal, and now this, began to fray at the edges. She closed her eyes, a final act of surrender. She let the darkness, the humiliation, the sheer, crushing weight of it all, pull her under. As her consciousness frayed, the punishing rhythm of his movements ceased. He stared down at her pale, tear-streaked face, and the cold fury in his eyes was slowly replaced by a dark, aching possessiveness. Only then did his arms wrap around her, pulling her tightly against his chest, holding her as if she were a treasure he had just stolen and would never, ever let go.