No that isn’t right. I feel everything, every touch, every caress, every ounce of his possession.
“Take it off,” He growls, his skin glistening with sweat, his eyes a little feral, hands balled up into tight fists. “Strip for me, Olivia. Right fucking now.”
My hands tremble as I bring them to the buttons on my blouse, popping open each one. But I’m fumbling, my fingers not working the way they should. My pussy throbs, sore with how hard he fucked me against his desk but deliciously clenching, begging for more. Fuck, I need more. More of this unhinged, uncontrolled side of him.
“Too long,” he growls as he snatches forward, hooks his fingers into the blouse and rips down. The buttons pop off, scattering across the room, leaving the blouse open and half tucked into my pencil skirt.
“That was a Valentino,” I try to add bite to my words, but it comes out more like a breath.
“I’ll buy you another one,” His hands turn softer as he pulls out the rest of the blouse from the skirt, “Turn around.”
Slowly, I turn, giving him my back and then his fingers are at the zipper on the back of the skirt, gently tugging it down. Without the tightness around my waist, the skirt slips off my hips, pooling at my feet.
He helps me turn and offers his hand to help me step out of it. Now I’m just left in a torn blouse, a bra and my heels.
“Look at you,” He runs his thumb across his bottom lip, eyes devouring me, “Lose the blouse and the bra,” He orders, “Keep the heels.”
Swallowing, I obey, slipping the blouse off my shoulders and letting it fall to the floor, joining my skirt and then I unhook my bra, exposing me entirely.
“So, you can be a good girl,” He cocks his head, taking me in like I’m something to be bought. He reaches forward, running a finger from the center of my clavicle all the way down, over my sternum, down toward my naval and then lower. His finger stops at the apex of my pussy. “Who does this belong to?”
“Me.” I hiss.
His brow quirks and a smirk pulls on the edge of his mouth, “Does it now?”
“Yes.”
“Is that notmycome dripping down your thighs, kitten?” To prove his point, he leans down slightly, andhis finger runs up my inner thigh, gathering the sticky come to smear it over my skin. “Is it not me leaking from you right now?”
“If I let every man have a little bit of me every time they fucked me, what would be left for me?” My own smile lifts my mouth, a challenge that he bites at so fucking easily.
“No fucking man matters now, Olivia. It does not matter who has been between these legs anymore, it’s just fucking me. I own this cunt, this body. I own your fucking soul, Olivia.”
“For now,” I taunt.
His hand snatches out so suddenly, I gasp, startled, and his fingers wrap around my throat, pressing in hard but not hard enough to choke me. Fuck, if only he’d choke me.
I don’t want soft with him. Soft means feelings, hard means hate. It doesn’t matter that it makes no sense. It’s how I’m dealing with this. I want him, have wanted him, and I am only allowing it with these very clear boundary lines I’m putting in place. Hard, fast and rough.
“That all you got, Malakai?” I taunt, my voice only a little stifled by his hand, “I always knew you were a fake. You put on a big show but you’re weak. Fucking weak, Malakai.”
His fingers tighten and I grin at him.
“Show me the monster,” I challenge, “Show me why I should be afraid of you.”
“Olivia,” He warns.
I laugh, balancing in my heels, furious at myself, furious at him, “Are you scared, Malakai?” I taunt, “Scared you’ve met your match?”
Suddenly he’s pushing me back, my feet barely able to keep up with his long, determined strides until my spine slams against the wall hard enough the painting in the frame beside my head rattles.
“Don’t fucking push me, kitten,” He warns.
“What will you do!?”
Something comes over him, something dark and slightly terrifying. A thrill works through me as the hand around my throat tightens, my own hands flying up to wrap around his wrist.
His knee shoves between my thighs, forcing them apart and my precarious balance becomes even more wobbly with the move.
