His grip tightened, and he asked with a challenge, “Can you?”
“I’m your wife, not your property.” And neitherwas by choice, I’d have loved to remind him.
“Ah, poor naïve little you.” He laughed in my face, his breath, nothing like mine, all minty fresh, thanks to the mint fading into his tongue. “You’re both my wife and my property, and you’re pathetically stupid if you think otherwise. I own you. You were a gift for me,not Woodrow. Me. And there’s nothing you can do about that.”
Hell’s fingers brushed the skin of my leg, thanks to my dress having somehow been hiked up. I couldn’t remember him doing that.
Another hiccup wandered through my lips.
“I can do whatever I like to you.” His mouth was closer; his words tickled my neck, and they felt good. “You can kick; you can scream,” he told me, but at this moment, I felt like I’d do neither. “But you won't win.” His words became a soft purr. “And I won’t stop when you beg me to.” He pulled back, his lips moving close to mine upon his retreat.
I found myself edging forward, even as he pulled away. “You already know that, Jolie.”
He shoved me back and my head hit the cubicle wall, and within seconds, my underwear was down my legs and clutched tightly in his hand, right next to my face.
He kicked my legs wider, and I tumbled in the heels he’d put on my feet.
“I’ll remind you only once more; you are mine. My girl. My wife. My fucking property. And this, this is mine.”
He slapped my pussy, and I jumped, startled by the sting of his fingers.
“Mine. And I don’t want it fucking dripping for anyone else. Do you understand?”
I could barely nod, as his fingers, again, collided with my sensitive skin.
A murmur of breath slipped through before I sealed my mouth shut, choosing to breathe through my nose, which had me inhaling my own scent.
He pulled the string between my legs and took the tampon from inside me, flinging it into the trash can in the corner of the small cubicle.
Startled by a noise from the main space of the restroom, I looked out into the open as the door swung shut, and a man stepped into my view. Of course, it had to be the one I was flirting with tonight.
Hell pivoted me around, still in his arms, still exposed. The man’s eyes fixed on me, his breathing hiking as his gaze dropped. Hell’s lips lifted, allowing the stare.
“What would you say if I told you to touch her there?” I didn’t even hear him, too shocked by the situation, and my brain too fogged by alcohol.
The blond man’s eyes lifted to Hell’s, as if he was asking permission.
“She wouldn’t want you to, not really.” My chest rose. “Do you want him to touch you here?” he asked me. For the first time, he asked me, but I knew there was only one answer to give.
One acceptable answer.
A single finger dipped inside my folds and pushed its way inside me.
I shook my head as my internal muscles clutched and pulled him in deeper. My body betraying me again.
“Whose pussy is this?” Hell asked, enjoying my body’s response to him.
“Mine,” I breathed.
“Wrong, little doll. Have you forgotten already? It's mine. Not one part of you has belonged to you since we first met.”
He pumped once, twice. His breath on my neck again, the feeling too close to bliss. I leaned into it. Into him.
“Yours,” I murmured in my drunken state, not even caring that the man was still watching. Feeling no shame or embarrassment for any reason other than that the alcohol had me wanting this.
He pulled his finger out, and cupped me hard, in front of the man in the fancy suit, who still had his eyes on me. “Get the fuck out of here. Unless you want to stay to watch me fuck my wife.” He brought his fingers to his lips, not caring about the faint blood stains on them, and he sucked.
Hell released his belt and unbuttoned himself.
