I grin. “Yes, how was that, anyway?”
“Horrible. Invasive.”
“Good.”
I step away from her and jam my fingertip down on the edge of my desk.
“Sit,” I command.
She stares at me for a second. Then, not looking at me, she quietly walks past me, turns, and leans against the edge of the desk.
“On it,” I growl.
Her muscles flex as she uses her hands to hoist herself up and plant her firm ass on the edge of the desk. She gasps quietly as I drop to one knee. I wrap my hand around her ankle and place her foot firmly on my raised knee.
There’s no reason for me to do this. Iknowshe’s a former addict. I’ve read her file, and I know her preferred injection sites were her feet, since dancers' feet are already so fucked up that no one would ever notice track marks there.
But I need to see with my own eyes. I don’t know why, but I do.
And that’s exactly where I find them: little scars over slightly raised and damaged veins in her feet and between her toes.
“Spread your legs.”
Her eyes snap to mine.
“Now.”
Her mouth thins. “Fine.”
“Not 'fine'.Yes, sir,” I growl.
“Excuse me?”
“Yes, sir.”
She glares at me. “You’re a fucking sadist.”
“Indeed. Now say it.”
She shivers and clears her throat. “Yes,sir,” she mutters.
She spreads her legs. I’m still down on one knee between them as I lean close, my gaze sliding up her inner thighs, looking for more track marks that might not have been mentioned in her file.
I don’t find any. But I stay where I am, staring at the pink lips of her cunt.
“Nowwhat the fuck are you doing,” she grumbles, her face red.
“Looking at your pussy.”
Her eyes widen, her throat working up and down. “Are you…” She looks away. “Are you going to do something to me or not?”
“Right now?” I smile wolfishly as I stand. “Of course not.”
Her brow knits. “Why not?”
“Eager little thing, aren’t you.”
She glares death at me. “I’m noteager. I just want to get it fucking over with. I’m curious why you’re not?—”
