my legs part.
I forget how to fake,
forget how to lie,
forget how to hide.
All I can do is stand
while his fingers dig the past out of me.
And those eyes?—
cruel, merciless,
fucking patronizing eyes?—
has me chained here.
“There you go, baby,” he whispers,
his finger prowling lower,
riding the damp line,
each stroke pressing heavy
‘til the craving spreads.
“Relax. Open up for me.”
My voice won’t work,
so I close my legs around his hand instead.
Not inside. That part of me’s mine now.
Only I get to decide who enters and when.
But his fingertip teases my opening,
moving in a cruel rhythm he knows I'll submit to.
And he’s right.
A sick, warm shiver rips through my center.
Then his finger sinks in.
His mouth parts with it,
from the power he has over me,
from watching the tremor run through me.
I inch back.
But the cold edge of the desk cuts into the backs of my thighs.
