Page 65 of Forbidden Fate

This is Robin Bellamy refusing to surrender to her circumstances.

But Christ.

What a transaction.

Her hands are in my hair, her mouth hot beneath mine, her body arching under me.

Sex is always good, even when it’s bad. Even when it’s paid for. Even when it’s empty.

But this isn’t empty.

She’s responsive beneath me, but she seemed more herself in the cell. In that filthy room, with danger breathing down both our necks, she was furious and reckless and fully present. She hated me. Wanted me. Fought me. Dared me.

Here, in this clean bed, with her hair spread over the pillow and her body offered up on a platter, part of her is somewhere else.

I break the kiss.

She glares at me. “Don’t.”

I go still. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t treat me like I’m fragile.”

“I’m not.”

She steels her gaze. “Yes, you are.”

I look down at her.

Her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes are bright. Her lips are swollen from my mouth. She looks alive and angry. Fragile? Not a chance.

“I’m treating you like you were imprisoned a few hours ago,” I say.

She scoffs. “I don’t need reminding.”

She moves beneath me, impatient, trying to drag me back into heat and away from whatever softness she thinks might ruin this.

She doesn’t want soft? She doesn’t want to be treated like she’s fragile?

She doesn’t know what she’s in for.

I catch her wrists before I can think better of it and pin them lightly above her head.

She looks up at me, breathing hard. Not afraid. Not the way I expect. Not the way I dread.

“That’s it,” she says. “Get rough.”

My stomach drops. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

I shake my head. “Robin⁠—”

“Don’t you dare tell me what I want.”