He looks down at me, too. At my pink sex, on display right in front of him.
Like there’s a part of me still fighting to get away from him, the heels of my feet press into the edge of the counter—and my legs are one bad move away from pushing me back from him.
They don’t.
And I stay exposed.
Samick’s jade, shadowy eyes are fixed on it. For a heartbeat, two, he just stares at my slit.
The wetness is there. I feel it.
He probably sees it.
Then, a shadow slashes along his jaw again, and he drags his stare up my body, over my naval, my breasts, to my face.
He moves in closer, closing the slight gap between us, my thighs spreading more. And his cock grazes over my inner thigh, until it lands on the apex—and there, it tenses.
My defeated breath is muffled by the gag.
I slump.
The wall is hard against the back of my head. But I hardly feel it over the aching inside of me. A need that’s getting stronger and stronger.
Bet he feels it, too. Mybubble.
My hunger. My unwillingness to feel it. The battle inside of me.
But ultimately, right in front of him, I surrender.
Knees bent, heels digging into the edge of the counter, hands flat, and slumped against the wall.
Something dark stirs in him at the sight of me.
He looks at me from beneath his lashes, his hand running up my inner thigh, guiding my legs even further apart.
And I think of a beast about to devour prey.
His other hand fists the base of his cock, long and smooth, and frightening.
My breath pins to my throat.
I might be wet—but wet enough forthat?
Samick answers my worry. He presses the tip at my entrance, and his words come out low, “It will not hurt.”
If I don’t fight.
I’m not reassured.
A weight comes down on my insides, pushing my heart down to my gut—
And Samick nudges in.
Just a bit.
Just the tip.
As if predicting my sudden tension, all my muscles clamping at once, his hand on the apex of my thigh shifts, and his thumb grazes over my clit.
