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and tell him to get the hell away
    from her, but his deep voice, his demanding words spoke to the loneliest part of her soul and she felt as if she’d been sunk neck-deep in quicksand.
    “Pull them down now,” he repeated, his voice commanding. Clearly he expected her to comply. This
    was so wrong. God dammit, it was wrong. And yet her body felt alive for the first time ever.
    She reached for the waistband of her pajama bottoms and she slowly shimmied the soft cotton over
    her hips. The material fell to her ankles and she stepped out of it, never taking her gaze off his determined face.
    “Good girl,” he murmured and she raised her hand to slap him for his condescending comment. He
    caught her wrist and pressed it against the wall. “You don’t want to do that.”
    She closed her eyes in surrender and he released her hand.
    His dominant actions, his powerful words, were truly soothing her weary soul, despite the fact her
    head was demanding she run away from him. Ty Ransome was the one man who could be her complete
    and utter downfall, yet rather than escape, she found herself relishing every touch, every word he offered.
    How many times had she dreamed of a moment just like this? How many nights had she lain alone in her
    bed praying for a man to take over for her? Take all her fears and worries and insecurities and simply claim her.
    He reached over to the desk by her bed and pulled out the chair, dragging it to where they stood. Then he gripped her thigh firmly, lifting it. “Place your foot on the chair.”
    She did as he said, gasping when he gripped her knee and spread her legs farther apart. “Stay there
    and don’t take your leg down,” he ordered.
    She obeyed, slightly embarrassed by the fact she was so wet her juices were practically running down
    her leg.
    “What a pretty pussy you have.” He brushed a finger through the curls surrounding her clit.
    “I don’t want you to touch me and I don’t like the way you’re talking to me.” She gasped for the breath to tell her lie.
    He laughed at her comment and she saw red.
    “Liar, liar, pants on fire,” he taunted. “Or should I say pussy on fire? There’s a pool of juices here that tell me you love the way I’m talking to you.”
    She cursed her body’s betrayal and lowered her leg. “I want you to leave. I want you to get out of this guest house.”
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    He studied her face as she spoke, and she could feel the unbearable heat in her cheeks. No doubt she
    was blushing as red as a beet. One of the curses of being a natural redhead.
    “Put your foot back on the chair,” he demanded, his voice soft, but firm.
    “Are you listening to me?” She was aware how shrill and panicked her voice sounded. She was a
    modern woman. She wasn’t supposed to be turned on by his demands, encouraging his caveman behavior.
    “I’m listening to your body, not your words. I’m not going to punish you for disobeying me, Gwen,
    but if your foot isn’t on that chair in five seconds, I can assure you, you won’t like the result.”
    Fear and curiosity warred inside her. Fear of loving what he was about to do. Curiosity over what his
    punishment would be.
    Shit. Her thinking was screwed up. She should be afraid of the damn punishment, not curious.
    Her thoughts were in such a jumble she didn’t realize he was lifting her leg for her until her foot hit the seat of the chair. Then he bent down and retrieved her pajama pants. Grasping her hands, he pulled them behind her back, quickly and efficiently using her pants to tie her hands. Her heart raced with
    excitement and desire when she realized she was bound tightly enough that escape was impossible. “We’re definitely going to have to work on your inability to follow simple commands.”
    Her pussy clenched at his words and she leaned her head against the wall, closing her eyes tightly,
    praying it would help her shut out the overwhelming needs coursing through her. Why did