My hand dips lower, and teases over her clothes, never quite giving her what she wants. She lets out the smallest, most involuntary whimper, and fuck, it makes me hard.
I chuckle, slow and dark. “Say it, Kitten.”
Her breath hitches.
“Say you want me.”
She swallows hard. “No.”
I press my fingers just a little harder, just enough to make her squirm. “Liar.”
She trembles, caught between fury and need.
My hand moves lower, pressing between her thighs, rubbing slow, and deliberate circles against her clit through the thin fabric of her leggings. The friction is just enough to make her hips jerk involuntarily, her breath turning ragged. I feel her struggle—her body pushing toward the sensation even as her mind fights against it. I drag it out, teasing, and pressing just enough to make her squirm, but never enough to let her fall over the edge.
Her nails dig into my arms. She’s close. Desperate.
“Say it,” I murmur against her skin, nipping at her jaw. “Say you want me.”
She lets out a strangled sound—half a growl, and half a moan—and it’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.
I smirk, my breath ghosting over her lips. “Admit it, and I’ll let you come.”
She’s shaking now, the fight in her dwindling under the weight of her own desire.
I pull back just enough to look her in the eyes. “Say it.”
Her lips part, her breath ragged.
And then, finally—broken, furious, and barely above a whisper—
“I want you.”
Satisfaction surges through me. I yank at the waistband of her leggings, the fabric tearing easily under my grip, exposing her to the cool air. She gasps, her body tensing, but she doesn’t stop me. My fingers slide between her thighs, teasing over her already slick heat, and dip inside just enough to have her trembling. I work her relentlessly, my otherhand gripping her hip, and keeping her locked in place as I drag her closer to the edge. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, her hands gripping at my arms as if she’s torn between pushing me away and pulling me closer. I can feel the anger in her slowly unraveling, replaced with something raw, and something desperate.
She shatters, gasping against me, her body betraying her in every way.
When she finally comes down from her orgasm, she sags against me, her breaths uneven, and her body still trembling from the aftershocks. Her fingers clutch at my shirt, holding on for stability, while her eyes cloud with something she refuses to name.
I grin against her temple, voice dark with amusement. “Good girl.”
I step back, adjusting my cuffs as I leave her standing there, wrecked and shaking in the middle of the dining room. Her breath is still uneven, her body betraying her despite the anger simmering in her eyes.
"I still hate you!" she yells after me, her voice hoarse, filled with frustration and something dangerously close to desperation.
I pause in the doorway and smile.
Hate is just obsession with better posture.
Chapter 30
Glass Walls and Ghosts
Violet
The penthouse feels hollow. Not empty—too curated for that—but stripped of anything that might echo a real life. Like a museum after hours, luxury is preserved exactly as intended. Nothing out of place. Nothing breathing.
What’s left is me. And my thoughts, bouncing back sharper every time they hit.
