Then I break.
“Touch me.”
He shakes his head.“No.”
My heart trips.“Royal…”
“You don’t ask.You beg.”
I tremble against the wall, chain rattling faintly against my wrist where he locked me earlier.
His forehead presses to mine.
“Beg for what you want,” he whispers.
My voice breaks.“Touch me, Royal.Please.”
“Where?”
“Touch my pussy, Royal.Please.”
He inhales sharply, like the plea cuts him.
His hand moves.
Slow.
Dangerous.
Wicked.
His fingers slip beneath the fabric of my shorts, finding heat, slickness, need.His groan hits my mouth like he won.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes.“You are soaked for me.”
I choke on a sound.
He circles slow, deliberate, pushing me to the edge with expert cruelty.
“This,” he growls.“This pussy is mine.Nobody else touches you like this.Nobody else gets you shaking like this.Nobody else gets to hear the sounds you make when you break.Not anymore.Never again.”
I grip his shoulders.
I can barely think.
“Royal…”
“Say you’re mine.”
“No,” I gasp.
His touch stops.
Agony.
“Say it,” he growls.
“I’m… not…” I can’t say it.I already gave myself to someone else.Though, I don’t even want to think the name.
