“Please.”
“See? Manners are more than just fancy houses in England.”
I blinked twice as fast.
His thumb brushed over my clit.
My hips bucked, a whine left the collum of my throat, a rush of everything beautiful flitted throughout my body.
“You do the right things and say the right things you get all the right things.” He moved his thumb close to my clit, but did not touch it and he waited. “You want all the right things?”
“I do!”
“Then don’t leave me.”
I winced.
“Say you’re going to stay with me.”
“I can’t—”
“Say you’re not going to try to stab me and run away.”
“I can’t—”
He pulled his thumb away. “Say it.”
The frustration built and built. “Go back—”
“Say you’re not going to leave me.”
“But—”
“You can do it.”
“I—”
“You’re going to stay here for three full days where you are safe and warm and clean and well-fed and looked after.”
Squirming with need, I was thumping to be touched. I pulled my own hand down to release the pressure of the build-up.
“Uh, uh!” He snatched my hand, the action making a splash in the water. “What did I tell you?”
I opened my eyes, hunching down into my shoulders as he smacked my hand.
“I told you, Princess.” He threw my hand back up to my chest. “Who touches you?”
I swallowed hard, glaring into his dark sunglasses, watching his lips contort into anger.
He grabbed my throat.
Yes.
I lost a breath.
Keeping his hand locked around my jugular he did not squeeze my throat, only rested it there with a promise of violence. He brought his face close to mine so that my sight was consumed with only him.
“Who touches you?” he bit out.
