His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 155: Olive's Pov

And then he pulled his hand away.

I actually whimpered at the loss, my eyes flying open to find him watching me with an expression that was equal parts fury and lust.

"Bedroom," he commanded. "Now."

I should've argued. Should've told him he didn't get to order me around.

But my body was already moving, already heading toward my bedroom on shaking legs while he followed close behind.

I'd barely made it through the doorway when his hands were on me again, spinning me around and pulling me against him.

"This dress," he said, his fingers finding the zipper at the back. "The one you wore for him."

He dragged the zipper down with agonizing slowness.

"I fucking hate it."

The dress fell to the floor in a pool of black fabric.

I stood there in just my underwear and heels, feeling exposed and vulnerable under his gaze as he took me in.

"But this," he said, his eyes darkening as they raked over my body. "This is mine."

He walked me backward until the back of my knees hit the bed.

I sat down automatically, looking up at him standing over me, and the power dynamic shift made something clench low in my belly.

"Do you trust me?" he asked suddenly.

The question caught me off guard. "What?"

"Do. You. Trust. Me." He repeated each word carefully, his eyes locked on mine.

Did I trust him?

After everything—after the lies and the secrets and the arrangement that was supposed to be fake but turned into something terrifyingly real— and after Judy revelation…did I trust Zane Mercer?

"Yes," I whispered, and meant it.

Something shifted in his expression. Softened just slightly.

Then he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor.

My mouth went dry at the sight of him. I'd seen him shirtless before—that first meeting his huge carage, felt like a lifetime ago—but I'd never gotten used to it.

The defined muscles. The tattoos winding up his arm. The scar above his ribs that I'd traced with my fingers and never asked about.

He was beautiful in the most dangerous way possible.

"Hands above your head," he said.

I blinked. "What?"

"You heard me." His voice left no room for argument. "Hands above your head. Now."

My heart was pounding as I slowly raised my arms, laying back on the bed and stretching my hands toward the headboard.

Zane pulled something from his pocket—his belt—and my breath caught as I realized what he was about to do.

"Wait—"

"Do you trust me?" he asked again, and there was something almost gentle in his voice despite the fury still burning in his eyes.

I swallowed hard. "Yes."

"Then let me do this." He climbed onto the bed, straddling my hips, and I felt the hard length of him press against me through his jeans. "Let me show you what it means to be mine."

He took my wrists in one hand, holding them together as he looped the belt around them and secured it to the headboard.

Not tight enough to hurt. But tight enough that I couldn't get free.

I was completely at his mercy.

And fuck, that shouldn't turn me on as much as it did.

"Pull on it," he commanded.

I did, testing the restraint. The belt held firm.

"Good girl," he murmured, and the praise made heat flood through me.

He climbed off the bed and stood there for a moment, just looking at me—spread out beneath him, hands bound, wearing nothing but my underwear.

"Beautiful," he said quietly. "You're so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at you."

Then his hands were on me again, sliding up my legs, pushing my thighs apart.

"I'm going to make you forget his name," he said, his fingers hooking into the sides of my underwear. "Forget his face. Forget everything about tonight except the way I make you feel."

He pulled my underwear down my legs and dropped them on the floor.

Then he knelt between my thighs and looked up at me.

"And you're not going to come," he said with dark promise, "until you beg me for it."

Before I could respond, his mouth was on me.