He moved then, forcing her to tighten her legs around his waist to keep from falling as he carried her away from the wall and toward the back of the building. “While you are under my care, and make no mistake, you always will be, it is my job to keep you safe.”
How utterly Daddy of him. “I can keep myself safe.”
“Oh yeah?” His voice was soft, low, and edged with steel. “Is that why you screamed my name while you hung off that roof?”
No. Definitely not.
When she’d been dangling between life and death, the only name she could call out was his. No one else even crossed her mind.
She had known, deep down, that Jaxon would come. He would always come for her. Wasn’t that why he was back in Darling?
Nope. Not going there. “That didn’t mean anything,” she lied.
He answered with another kiss. Her legs wrapped tighter around his hips, and she pressed her body against his.
When she made it back inside, she was having a serious conversation with her body. They had to get on the same page.
Breaking the kiss, he said. “It means everything, naughty girl. When you willfully put yourself in danger, it makes me very unhappy.” He kissed her again, his mouth taking full command of hers before releasing again. “When anyone else makes me unhappy, I punch them.”
“So are you going to punch me? You’d better be careful, I’ll punch you back.”
“No, like I said, that’s what I do when other people make me unhappy. You are not other people.” She was having a hard time keeping track of the conversation. “What about when I make you unhappy?”
“Well, no punching.” His voice dropped even lower. “But I am going to punish you.”
Her clit throbbed in her panties. Her nipples tightened rock hard against his chest. Her breathing stopped completely.
Swallowing hard, she whispered. “Um… no?”
That’s it, be assertive.
His smile was knowing and determined. “Not thinking you get a vote right now, Darkling. You’re taking the rest of the day off.”
CHAPTER NINE
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you that Winnie had your car ready. You were too busy jumping off buildings. That was one of the texts I got, her telling me it was at the coffee shop.” Jaxon said.
Tazzy sat in the passenger seat of her sleek black goth-mobile, feeling utterly out of place. She never let anyone drive her car. Ever. But most people at least asked nicely.
Jaxon hadn’t asked at all. He’d simply led her around to the wrong side, scooped her clean off her feet like she weighed nothing, and deposited her in the seat with one big hand firm on her hip. Then he’d reached across her body, grabbed the seatbelt, and clicked it into place with a decisive snap that still echoed in her ears.
“I’ve seen you drive, babygirl,” he’d rumbled, voice low and final. “You might as well get used to sitting on the side without the steering wheel.”
She’d stayed mad for all of thirty seconds, until he tried to fold his massive frame into the driver’s seat.
The deep, masculine grunts of pure frustration came first. Then came the groans, followed by a string of creative curses that would’ve made a sailor blush. Even with the seat shoved all the way back, hisknees straddled the steering wheel like he was riding a damn pony. His broad shoulders filled the space, and the top of his dark head brushed the ceiling. For some reason, strands of his hair stood up in every direction. Whenever he moved, little sparks crackled through his hair.
Tazzy couldn’t help herself. She kept reaching over, trailing her fingertips lightly down his forearm just to hear the sharp pop when the static jumped from his body to hers. Each tiny shock made him flinch and mutter under his breath.
“Keep it up, little girl. I dare you,” he growled on the third one, eyes narrowed on the winding backroad. “First thing tomorrow, we’re getting you a helmet so you can ride on the back of my bike. Then we’ll see who’s laughing.”
She bit her lip to hide her grin, but the image of big, bad Jaxon crammed into her tiny car like a sardine was too perfect. Served him right for being mean.
Every tiny spark of static she sent jumping from his arm to her fingertips felt like the last thread of control she still owned. Yet she kept doing it on purpose. Little rebellions against the man who’d once owned every piece of her heart… because the alternative was scarier than any spanking he could deliver.
She was terrified that she was already giving in. Half afraid she’d given in the moment he’d scooped her up and buckled her seatbelt like she still belonged to him. If she stopped fighting right now, she’d melt into him completely, and the thought made her stomach flip with equal parts distrust and desperate want.
“You’re not even wearing a stupid seatbelt,” she complained, crossing her arms.