Chapter 11
Scarletta
You are already perfect.
His words sting me for some reason. It's… I can't explain the feeling.
It's almost invasive, thisseeingme.
Almost mean.
I'm already perfect?
I'm not perfect. Not even close. I don't shower. I don't work. I sleep in blanket forts?—
"You will confess every thought you just had out loud.Now."
His command is so absolute, I whimper.
Fuck!
Fuck!
I know better! I mean, he's right I wrote the dam rules, over and over again, story after story, the same fucking rules—and this wasalwaysrule number one!
You will never hide your thoughts from me!
"Now, Scarletta. And if you lie, I'll know. Do you know what your punishment will be?"
I want to say no, but it's not true. I know. Because again, I'm the one who wrote this fucking scene! "You'll stop touching me."
"I'll stop touching you." His voice is quiet. Matter-of-fact. Like he's explaining the weather. His fingertip—just one finger—trails down my front. Right over the peak of my nipple. It pauses there…
Oh god.
He squeezes it. Gentle at first. Then he twists.
I gasp—no, I fuckingchokeon air—and my pussy clenches so hard I nearly come. Right there. Just from that. My thighs go slick and I can feel it, the wetness spreading, humiliating, impossible to hide.
That's how hard my body reacts to his expert touch.
Expert.
Jesus Christ, Scarletta.Expert? What are you, writing purple prose in your head while a stranger twists your nipple?
But it's true. He knows exactly how much pressure. Exactly when to release. Exactly how to make my body betray every single shred of dignity I'm clinging to.
"Is this what you want, Scarletta?"
His voice is closer now. Right against my ear. His breath is warm and I can smell whiskey and something sharper—mint maybe—and underneath that, something male, and clean, and fuck, I shouldn't be cataloging hisscentlike some kind of?—
"To fake your way through this amazing experience?"
Amazing.
He called thisamazing.
I'm naked. Blindfolded. Handcuffed. Standing in a stranger's house after being sold at an auction I didn't know was fake. My nipple is still throbbing where he twisted it, and my clit is screaming, and I haven't been touched—reallytouched—in two years and he thinks I'm going tofakethis?
