“Uh-huh.”
Hendrix’s caustic derision doesn’t seem to faze Aleksander. “Don’t be a dick by trying to make her feel guilty.”
“Is there something she needs to feel guilty about?”
“No,” I immediately refute, even though I’m feeling the exact opposite.
Never taking his eyes off Aleksander, Hendrix crooks his finger. “Come here, Firefly.”
A faint alarm bell goes up when I can’t get a read on his exact mood, but I go to him without hesitation.
And that is my first mistake. Never underestimate Hendrix Knight.
Gripping the front of the shirt, my feet fly off the floor when I’m hauled out of the bathroom and slammed against the office wall.
“Don’t you fucking move,” he says, but I can’t tell if he’s talking to me or to Aleksander.
And I honestly don’t care. Arousal explodes like a Molotov cocktail, the fucked-up part of my brain craving more of his punishment. Pain and pleasure. They are my addiction, and Hendrix knows just how to play me.
“Let her go. Now,” Aleksander says, his tone laced with menace.
I can’t stop the moan Hendrix pulls out of me when his tongue invades my mouth, his kiss both possessive and dominating.
“Did you know he likes to watch us through the cameras? Watch all the filthy things we do to you. How much you love it and beg for more.”
Wait. What?My startled gaze flies to Aleksander.
“Fuck you,” he snaps, not denying it.
“I’m not the person you want to say that to, am I?” Hendrix bites my lip and licks away the bead of blood that wells.
He snakes his hand under my waistband, and my legs give out when he teases my pussy, his fingers sparking an intensity of pleasure with every stroke of my clit.
“She’s so fucking wet,” he says, bringing his middle finger to his mouth, effectively giving Aleksander the middle finger while sucking my essence like a lollipop.
Heat fires behind Aleksander’s cloud-storm eyes. “Stop.”
Undeterred, Hendrix nips a line up my throat, his breath hot on my cheek when he says, “But that’s not what you really want, is it?”
I’m ashamed of the thrill that races through me when I see the evidence of Aleksander’s arousal straining the fly of his blue jeans.
Hendrix positions himself behind me, his wide palm hot against my stomach. “You think you can take what’s mine, Stepanoff? I fucking dare you.”
I know the beast that lives within the heart of my husband. The twisted one created by Natasha Zephyros. But I don’t sense that animal trying to escape its chains. No. This is different.
Aleksander’s posture goes rigid at Hendrix’s challenge, his fists clenching and unclenching by his sides. He says nothing when Hendrix cups between my legs, then claims me with a deep, sensual kiss that melts every bone in my body.
“You want this, baby girl?” he asks, his voice low in my ear, seeking my permission before taking this any further.
I shouldn’t. God, I shouldn’t. I should tell Hendrix no. That I don’t want this. But I can’t bring myself to utter the words.
My eyes meet Aleksander’s. I’m about to cross a line I won’t be able to come back from. And it terrifies me that I don’t want to cross it—I want to hurl myself over it.
“Yes.”
“Good girl.” His praise sends shivers surging through my body.
Curving a hand under my thigh, he widens my stance. Taking his time, he glides fingertips over my belly chain before slipping them under my yoga pants, and I moan at how good it feels when he sinks two fingers inside me, his thumb doing delicious things to my clit that have my moans growing more desperate. Wanting more, I rock my hips forward, following the movementof his fingers as he fucks me with them, the glorious sensations amplified knowing Aleksander is there. Watching.
