"It's exactly what you're doing. You stopped because you assumed I was just going along with it. Because you couldn't imagine—"
"I stopped because I wanted to fuck you on that counter."
My brain whites out.
"I wanted to spread your legs and put my mouth on you until you screamed." His head tilts again. That smile is back. Something darker underneath. "I wanted to find out what you taste like when you come. I wanted to bury my cock in you and watch your face when I—"
"Then why didn't you."
The words fall out. I didn't mean to say them.
His smile freezes.
"Why didn't you." I'm standing now.
When did I stand?
"You wanted it. I wanted it. Why did you—"
"Because wanting isn't the same as choosing." His voice is tight. "Because you've spent your whole life letting powerful men take what they want from you. Because I couldn't tell if you wanted me or if you just wanted someone, anyone, who wasn't going to hurt you."
"And you get to make that call?"
"Someone has to."
"Not you." I step closer. "Not without asking me. Not without—"
"You would have said yes."
"So?"
"So I needed the yes to mean something." His jaw is tight. His hands are fists. And—
He's hard.
Straining against his trousers, obvious even in the dim light. And he's not hiding it, not adjusting, just standing there with that wrong smile while his cock makes it very clear how he feels about this argument.
"You're enjoying this," I hear myself say.
His eyes lock onto mine.
"You're standing there getting hard because I'm yelling at you."
"Yes."
No shame. No excuse.
"That's—" I don't have words. "That's fucked up."
"Yes." Still smiling. "It is."
"I'm telling you you're wrong and it's turning you on."
"Everything you do turns me on." He says it like it's obvious. Like it's boring. "You breathing turns me on. Yousleeping turns me on. You standing there getting angry at me is—" He laughs. Short. Rough. "It's the best I've felt in centuries. Keep going."
"You're insane."
"Still yes."
