I shake my head, face burning.
"Even better." His smile is predatory.
He kisses me again, deeper this time, and his hands reach for my shorts. I feel him start to slide them down, and panic flares.
"No, stop." It comes out as a whisper.
He pauses before pulling back to study my face. "Mixed signals, Printsessa. Your mouth says no, but your body's begging me to continue."
Printsessa.Princess.
"I don't know what I want," I admit.
"Yes, you do. You're scared to say it." His hand slides up my thigh, and I gasp.
"I—"Yes. No. Maybe. "I don't know."
“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”
But I can't. I can't form the words because they'd be lies. Because despite everything—the fear, the uncertainty, the voice in my head screaming that this is insane—I don't want him to stop.
"That's what I thought." He strips my shorts down, and then I'm completely bare. Exposed. Vulnerable in a way that terrifies me.
"Tell me you want this," he says, his hand between my thighs now, not touching yet but close enough that I feel the heat of him.
"I..."
I can't say it. Can't admit it out loud.
"Say it, Lila."
"Yes." The word comes out broken. "Yes, I do."
"Good girl." His fingers find me, and I'm mortified by how wet I am. How ready I am for him. "But my father liked to believe he raised a gentleman. You need to beg."
"What?"
His finger circles my clit, barely touching. "Beg me."
"That's not?—"
"Beg me, or I stop."
The bastard. The absolute bastard. I should tell him to go to hell. Should shove him away and run.
Instead, I hear myself say, "Please."
"Please, what?"
"Please, yes, fuck it, yes." The words tumble out, desperate and needy and so far from who I thought I was.
"There she is." His finger slides inside me, and my back arches off the bed. "The real Lila. The one who wants this."
He adds another finger, and I'm gasping, clinging to his shoulders. It feels good. Too good. I'm already so close, and he's barely touched me.
Then he withdraws, and I quietly huff in protest.
"Not yet." He positions himself above me. "Changed your mind?"
