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I repeated his name until he was squirming. I didn’t question anything as my entire body burned. I didn’t worry about what tomorrow would bring, or how I would feel in the morning. All I wanted was for him to keep looking at me like that.

“Fuck,” he breathed, leaning back just enough for me to see his cock tented beneath his sweats. His chest heaved, and his legs spread as he palmed himself, exposing the hard lines at his hips and the trail of hair leading to his groin.

“Let me see you,” I repeated.

“Does seeing my cock make your pussy wet?” he implored. “Does the thought of me filling you with my cum make your pussy ache for me?”

I nodded, biting my lip, and increased the speed of my fingers. Tight pressure tingled at the base of my spine. I cried softly and closed my eyes, rocking and rolling my hips until I hit the spot I liked. I was so fucking close.

“Slow down,” he growled beneath his breath. “Eyes on me. I’m not ready for you to cum yet.”

I almost groaned at the untimely demand, yet my hands stalled, my eyes flying open. He fisted his cock, long and thick, and slowly stroked himself. Once. Twice. A bead of pre-cum trailed down his length, mixing with…

My eyes rounded.

He’d tossed the linen on his palm aside, and blood coated his hand as he stroked from base to tip. His lips curved into a smug smirk. Logically, I shouldn’t like that, and yet I was absolutely feral for it. I wanted more.

“You like it when you’re told what to do, don’t you?” He stroked himself again. “Again. Slower this time. I need to see how your cunt weeps for me. Can you do that?”

I nodded and did as he said, sparking my arousal once more. I circled a finger over my clit until that familiar, aching pressure coiled again. He grunted, his strokes growing faster. I teased myself, each stroke of my fingers leaving a breathy moan to fall from my lips.

I moaned again.

And again.

“Fuck your fingers,” he grunted.

Everything picked up; my speed, my breathing, my pulse.

My other hand skated down my thigh again, and I dug my fingers into my skin before plunging them inside. I clenched around them, my clit throbbing, and my back arched off the bed.

But it wasn’t what I wanted.

I didn’t want my fingers; I wanted him inside me. Stretching me. Ruining me. And I fucking hated him for it.

“Good girl. That’s it,” he breathed. “Keep fucking your fingers.”

His brows creased, his lips parting on a feral moan as I fucked myself into oblivion. His abs constricted, the veins bulging on his forearms, both hands working his length. His hair fell forward, framing his sweat-dotted temples.

The rough, wet sound of his hands on his cock had my climax clawing at my spine, and I couldn’t hold it any longer. With harsh intensity, I convulsed and cried out, my toes curling, my muscles clenching hard as my orgasm tore from me. Manic grunted and cursed as he came, spilling over his stomach.

A few seconds ticked by when I finally managed to slow my breathing, yet our gazes remained locked. Like time stood still, and we were too shocked to say anything.

What the hell just happened?

The high of my climax slowly faded, my breath evening out as the heat of it all settled like warm syrup beneath my skin. I practically melted into the comforter.

Manic tucked himself away and rose from his chair.

I held my breath as he walked toward the bed, and for a moment, it looked like he wanted to touch me. I thought he might, but as he stopped inches away, he trailed his fingers through the cum on his veined stomach.

He tilted his head, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, then said, “Open your mouth.”

I blinked, and he extended two glistening fingers. Before I could question the insanity of the demand, I wrapped my lips around them and held his gaze. I swirled my tongue over his fingers.

He tasted like every sin I ran from—heady and warm and full of false promises. I was ravaged by it.

His eyes darkened as I pulled away and licked my lips, like he saw something I didn’t. Manic exhaled, then turned sharply and exited my room without another word.