“Not yet,” he growls, eyes wild. “You don’t get to finish until I decide.”
His grip pins my wrist above my head, my own fingers slick against my palm, denying what they started. His eyes don’t blink, don’t soften, just burn down through me like fire.
“You thought I’d let you cum without me?” His voice is a growl laced with satisfaction. “You’re mine to break, Brooklyn. Not yours.”
My chest heaves against him, lungs tight, body trembling like a bowstring ready to snap.
He leans in, lips brushing my ear. “Dare nine. Say something you’ve never admitted to anyone.”
I shake my head hard, trying to turn away. “No.”
“Yes.” His hand fists tighter in my hair, jerking me still. “Confess, or I’ll knock on Kate’s door right now and let her see exactly what her little friend is doing with her daddy in the hallway.”
My stomach twists. “You wouldn’t.”
His smirk is feral. “Try me.”
The words claw out of me, small and broken. “I—” My throat seizes. Shame gnaws through me. “I like it when you ruin me.”
He freezes for a beat. Then his laugh rumbles, dark and devastating. “Of course you do.” His mouth drags along my jaw, almost a kiss, but not quite. “That’s why you keep crawling back to me.”
I want to scream. I want to melt. I want to claw his eyes out and beg him to fuck me until I can’t stand.
He doesn’t let up. His thumb drags over my lip, slow, obscene, like he’s testing how close I am to shattering.
“Dare ten.” His tone sharpens like a blade. “Kneel.”
My eyes widen. “Dean…”
“Kneel.”
The hallway feels tighter, smaller, my skin hot and raw. But my knees buckle anyway, the carpet burning as they hit the floor. He stands over me like a shadow, looking down at me with hunger and victory in his eyes.
“Pretty girl,” he murmurs. His hand tangles in my hair again, forcing me to look up at him. “You look right where you belong.”
My heart slams. The ache between my thighs is unbearable. “You said dares,” I whisper. “Not orders.”
His grin cuts deep, merciless. “Tell me this doesn’t feel like both.”
The carpet scrapes my knees, the burn only making me more aware of how helpless I look like this—kneeling in front of him, in his hallway, his hand curled tight in my hair.
I hate it feels right.
He tilts his head, studying me like prey that’s already tangled in his snare. His thumb drags across my bottom lip again, slow, pressing until my mouth parts. He doesn’t move it inside, doesn’t push further. Just lets the tension coil.
“Dare eleven.” His voice is gravel, low and intimate. “Beg me to let you stay here. On your knees. In my house.”
The words slice through me. My pride twists, hot and sharp, but the ache between my thighs begs louder than my dignity.
I swallow hard. “Dean…”
His grip tightens, jerking my head back just enough for my throat to bare. His smirk is a knife. “Don’t stall. Beg.”
Heat crawls down my neck, shame wrapping around me like chains. My lips tremble, but I force the words out. “Please… let me stay.”
He hums, pleased but unsatisfied. “Not good enough.” His knuckles graze my cheek, tender in a way that makes me shiver. “Try again, Brooklyn. Convince me.”
My chest heaves. My voice cracks. “Please, Dean. Please let me stay here—on my knees. Please don’t send me away.”
