Fuck.
What was I thinking? How could I be so stupid?
Of course, he wasn’t going to let me walk out. And now, here I am, caught in my underwear, held under his lethal gaze.
His callous fingers trail down my body, while I am gripped in his hold, breathing against the harsh oak, biting my lip. His hand pauses at my hip, lightly stroking my bruise, before he moves down to my arse.
“You are so fuckable, little dove.” He draws circles on my skin, making me twitch on my feet. The nervous movements only push me closer to him as he cages me in. “And now that you have presented yourself to me like this, maybe I will take the pleasure of fucking you tonight.”
“You won’t,” I say with unwavering confidence.
“Is that so?” He lets out a dark chuckle. “Are you mistaking me for one of those posh twats who worship the ground you walk on? I’m not your fucking prince charming, princess.”
“No—you’re the devil,” I spit. “But you won’t fuck me until I ask you to.”
I’m not going to pretend I understand why he wants me, what this toxic obsession is, or what his motivations are.
But I know this.
He has had plenty of opportunities to cross this line. He’s inmy bedroom every night while I lie unconscious, unable to defend myself. But he doesn’t. Because it’s not about a fuck for him. He can get that anytime with anyone. Girls melt into puddles, opening their legs for him as soon as he enters a room. No—he doesn’tjustwant to fuck me. He wants more. He wants my will. He wants me to surrender myself to him.
As if.He can keep dreaming.
“No?” He cocks an eyebrow and grabs my breast over the bra. I gasp as he strokes and squeezes the red lace until my nipple pops out. “Is that Etheridge pride or faith in your king?”
“I’m not one of your Fort girls,” I breathe out. “And you’re not my fucking king.”
An animalistic roar rips from his throat as his fingers dig inside my panties and begin circling my opening. I press my lips together, but my body reacts to his touch as a reflex. Before I can stop it, I grind into his hand.
“Not your fucking king, huh?” He grins. “Tell that to your dripping cunt that doesn’t give a fuck about my moral compass.”
He shoves two fingers inside my wet pussy. My knees buckle at the impact. My mouth opens, not for words, but in pleasure, as he slides his fingers in and out of me in excruciatingly slow motions, making deliberate, erotic pops with every thrust—the only sound in the room, proving his point.
“How does it feel, proud princess? How does it feel when your cunt clenches around my fingers?” he grunts, his fingers digging deeper inside me, while mine scrape the wooden door. “Fuck. I forgot how fucking tight you are. Maybe I should wake you up at night and start stretching out your virgin pussy. Make you ready to take my cock.”
Damn it.I have literally had dreams about him doing that. As embarrassing as that is to admit, even to myself.
Why do all my ethics collapse at the feet of this maddening person?
With a yank at the back of my hair, he pulls my head to his hard chest. My eyes roll back. Moans I can no longer hold back pour out of me in a string of unrecognizable sounds as he continues to thrust in and out of me.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, princess?” he whispers in my ear and grabs my breast with his other hand, twisting my hard nipple. I purse my lips, suppressing another embarrassing sound as he digs deeper still. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
His fingers thrust all the way in. Until I can feel the graze of his knuckles, my legs squirming around him.
I gasp when he hits that secret spot I wish he hadn’t found so easily.
“Stop,” I plead, my hand flying to his thigh, clenching, begging. “It's too much.”
He doesn’t. He scissors his fingers inside me, relentlessly fucking me, fixated on bending me to his will. Every time I get close, he slows, then starts tormenting me again.
“Oh God,” I beg. “Please…”
“You want to come, princess?” he asks and hits my spot again and again. Pleasure pools inside my core—so intense— I can’t fight it.
“Yesss.”
“Let’s try this again, then, shall we?” he whispers. “Who do you belong to?”
