And he's enjoying every second of it.
I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to beg, plead, whatever he wants.
Instead, I do the only thing I can do.
I slump against him, my body trembling with unfulfilled desire, a sob of frustration caught in my throat.
I can’t do this.
He just chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through me.
The bastard.
"Something wrong, Erica?" His voice is a low, teasing murmur against my ear.
I lift my head, glaring at him, my eyes wet with unshed tears.
"You know damn well what's wrong," I snap, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. "You're doing this on purpose."
"Doing what?" he asks, his voice a low, innocent purr that's anything but.
"This!" I gesture between us, my movements clumsy with frustration. "You. You're not letting me... you're not..."
I trail off, unable to finish the sentence, unable to admit the shameful truth out loud.
That my body won't let me come without him telling me to.
That I need him to take control. That I want him to.
To dominate me. Fully and completely.
"I'm not doing anything," he says, his voice a low, calm murmur that only infuriates me more. "I'm right here. I'm letting you do whatever you want. You're the one in control, remember?"
That’s a lie, and he knows it. He’s in complete control.
He’s got me exactly where he wants me.
Frustrated. Desperate. On the verge of begging.
Eager to.
"Just tell me what you want." It sounds so damn reasonable when he says it like that.
Just tell him that I want him to fuck me.
To make me come. To order me to come for him.
It’s so simple.
And so damn hard.
My pride, the last bastion of my old self, is warring with this new, desperate need.
"I don't know," I snap back, a bitter resentment lacing my tone. "You tell me."
He just chuckles again, the sound a deep, throaty rumble against my ear.
A fresh wave of humiliation washes over me, hot and suffocating.
