Like he was cataloging every tremor, every flush of humiliation coloring my skin.
"Not even close."
His gaze burned over me, dark and hungry, like he was memorizing every inch of skin I’d just bared for him. My pulse hammered in my throat, shame and something worse—something hot and traitorous—twisting low in my stomach.
"Spread your legs."
The command was rough, a growl that scraped along my nerves. My face flushed, heat crawling up my neck, but I clenched my jaw and didn’t move. Not at first.
His voice dropped lower, darker. "Either you can do it." A pause. A threat wrapped in velvet. "Or I can."
I swallowed hard. My legs trembled as I forced them apart, the cool air hitting places no one had ever seen before him. My breath hitched, humiliation burning through me like acid.
Gideon exhaled sharply, almost a groan. His eyes locked between my thighs, and the sound he made—low, approving—sent an unwanted shiver down my spine.
"Fuck, Belle." His voice was rough, almost reverent. "Look at you. So pretty. So fucking perfect."
I hated it. Hated the way his words made my skin prickle. Hated the way my body reacted, heat pooling where his gaze lingered. Hated that part of me—some sick, traitorous part—liked the way he looked at me. Like I was something rare. Something his.
His fingers twitched at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to reach out. "You’re dripping for me," he murmured, voice thick. "Even when you hate me, your body knows who it belongs to."
I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. "I don’t?—"
"Don't fucking speak." He cut me off, stepping closer. The heat of him radiated against my bare skin, making me ache in ways I refused to name. His breath ghosted over my collarbone, then lower, until his lips brushed the shell of my ear. "Your cunt doesn’t lie, Belle. It’s wet for me. Always wet for me."
A whimper clawed its way up my throat before I could stop it. His chuckle was dark, satisfied, as he pulled back just enough to see my face.
"Good girl," he murmured, like I’d done something worth praising. Like I hadn’t just sold myself piece by piece. Like I wasn’t drowning in the wreckage of my own defiance.
His fingers tightened on my jaw, forcing my gaze to his. The heat in his eyes burned through me, searing away every last scrap of resistance. I could see it there—the promise of endless nights like this if I didn’t obey. The threat of something darker if I fought.
My breath came in sharp, uneven gasps. The air between us felt charged, electric, like the moment before a storm breaks. His thumb brushed my lower lip, rough and possessive.
"Now, Belle," he murmured, voice a dark velvet command. "Touch yourself. Let me see how you like it."
I hesitated, my body trembling with humiliation and something worse—something hot and aching that made my fingers twitch with the need to obey. My face burned, but I couldn’t look away from him. Couldn’t pretend this wasn’t happening.
"I want to watch yourself play with your body," he continued. "I want to see how you make yourself come. And when you do come, you'll scream my name so you know who's making you feel like this. And if you don't… if you don't, I'll make you do it again and again until you do. Do you understand?"
I clenched my teeth together, praying the tears wouldn't come.
"I need to hear you say it," he said.
"I understand," I snapped.
He smirked. "Then begin."
Slowly, my hand drifted down between my legs. The first brush of my fingers against myself sent a jolt through my body, sharp and unwanted. A whimper escaped my lips before I could stop it.
Gideon’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening as he watched. "That’s it," he murmured, voice rough. "Just like that. Show me how you make yourself feel good."
I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, but my fingers kept moving, circling, teasing, my body betraying me with every shuddering breath. The pleasure coiled tight inside me, shame and need twisting together until I couldn’t tell them apart.
His hand slid from my jaw to my throat, not squeezing, just holding me there—trapped between his body and the wall, his gaze burning into me as my fingers worked faster, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Look at you," he growled, his voice thick with something raw. "So fucking beautiful when you’re like this. When you’re mine."
I wanted to scream at him, to tell him I’d never be his. But my body arched into my own touch, my hips rolling against my fingers as the pleasure built, relentless and overwhelming. My cheeks flushed, my skin slick with sweat, my entire world narrowing to the heat between my legs and the man watching me with dark, hungry eyes.
