Yes, he was hard. So fucking hard. But physical control was easy for him and he ignored it. What mattered now, what was balm to his dominant soul, was that he’d showed her who was in charge of what was happening between them. And who would stay in charge. Him. That she’d needed him to be was painfully obvious the moment they’d gotten here and he’d realized, as soon as she’d tried to get into another deflecting conversation, that he’d let it go on too long as it was. She would keep on fighting, keep on hiding behind those walls of hers, keep on protecting herself till hell froze over, and all the patience and care in the world wasn’t going to make her stop. Which meant he’d have to take those walls down himself, whether she wanted it or not. He’d thought waiting for her to step out from behind them had been the right thing to do. The gentlemanly thing. But it hadn’t been. It had only let her keep running longer, harder. Prolonging her pain and entrenching her fear. So he’d had to be cruel.
