His eyes darken, a flash of hunger that makes my stomach flip. “Better.”
He doesn’t move, just holds me there in that unbearable silence, my pulse loud in my ears.
“Dare twelve,” he murmurs, crouching down until his mouth hovers close, his breath fanning over my lips. “Tell me what you’d do if I unzipped my pants right now.”
I gasp, heat flooding me, but he doesn’t break eye contact. Doesn’t let me look away.
My throat is dry. My voice is faint. “I’d… take you in my mouth.”
His nostrils flare. He chuckles, low and dangerous. “God, you’re shameless.”
His thumb slips into my mouth now, pressing my tongue down, making my lips close around it like the filthy promise I just made. My cheeks burn, humiliation sparking hotter than ever, but my body betrays me—I moan around his thumb.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
He pulls his thumb free, dragging it over my chin, leaving me wet and wanting.
Then he straightens, towering over me again. “Dare thirteen…” His smirk is wicked, cruel. “Stay there. Don’t move. Don’t touch yourself. Don’t speak. Just kneel until I decide you’ve earned the next one.”
He turns, walking toward his office like he didn’t just set me on fire and leave me choking in the smoke.
And I stay there.
Shaking.
Burning.
Waiting.
Because it’s a game.
And I’m already losing.
Good Girl
She’s still kneeling.
I can feel it, even with my back turned, even with the office door closed between us. My house is silent except for the pulse I swear carries from her body to mine.
It should make me furious—her obedience, her weakness, the way she’s letting me script her every breath. But it doesn’t.
It makes me hard.
I pace behind the desk, hands braced against the wood, fighting the need clawing up my spine. She isn’t mine. She shouldn’t even be here. She’s Kate’s friend, for Christ’s sake. Off-limits. Untouchable.
So why does it feel like I’ve already touched her everywhere?
I told her to stay. And I know she is. I can picture it—the way her knees must ache against the carpet, the way her chest must be rising and falling too fast, her lips swollen from sucking my thumb like a slut who was born to kneel.
I’m not supposed to want this. Not again.
But I do.
I move to the side window, drawing the curtain just enough to look out. My reflection stares back at me—cold eyes, jaw sethard, hair falling over my forehead in a mess I should care enough to fix.
Except I can’t stop thinking about her.
About how much longer I can let her wait before she breaks.
