She looks like sin waiting to happen.And I’m so fucking tired of pretending I’m stronger than I am.Her eyes drag down the front of me, slowly, deliberately.
“You’re breathing hard,” she murmurs.“You run here?”
“No.”My voice is low, wrong, frayed.“I came straight back.”
“You always do.”She says it like a fact.Like an accusation.Like she knows exactly what I’m about to do.
I take one step closer.She takes none.Smart girl.Or stupid.
Hard to tell with Becki.
“You keep pushing,” I tell her.
“You keep letting me.”
She tilts her head, studying me with those mismatched eyes that see way too fucking much.
My pulse hits hard.My cock hits harder.And she sees it.Her gaze flicks lower, slow enough to light gasoline inside me.
“You like knowing what you do to me.”
She doesn’t flinch.
“Maybe I do.”
The chain between us rattles softly as she shifts, thighs parting a little too wide for innocence.
I shouldn’t look.I fucking look.Something breaks loose inside me.
I drag my chair from the corner, harsh scrape, sharp reminder of everything I shouldn’t want, and plant it in front of her, knees almost touching her knees.
“Spread your legs,” I order.
Her breath catches.
Not fear.
Heat.
She obeys, thighs trembling just enough to kill me.
“Royal…”
A whisper.
A warning.
A plea.
I sit.
I unzip my jeans.
Slow.
Her mouth parts.
No sound comes out.
