Page 56
“Go fuck yourself. Better yet, go fuck Sasha. I’m sure she doesn’t mind being one of fifty.”
His hand slides to my waistband. I freeze, then thrash. “Don’t you dare—”
He pops the button, and the zipper follows. Cool air hits my skin as he yanks my pants and underwear down in one pull, baring me to the empty room. I kick back, but he takes it, crowds closer, and pins me there with his hips. “All that attitude makes me go insane.”
“I will turn you into a fucking anatomy lesson if you don’t move.”
His palm lands on bare skin, and I think my dick just turned into steel. I choke on a sound I refuse to give him, and he does it again, harder, right over the first mark, then lower, meaner, until my thighs shake.
Fuck him. Fuck his hands. And fuck my traitorous fucking body most of all.
“Whore,” I spit. “That’s all you are. You put your hands on me because you can’t stand not being wanted for five minutes.”
He grinds forward, and the hard line of him fits against my bare ass. He feels big. But surely not bigger than me. God wouldn’t give that insufferable motherfucker a pretty face, a filthy mouth, and a bigger dick. That would be a blatant fucking abuse of power.
“Wanted,” he repeats, amused. “I think you want me more than anyone else, my prince.”
“In your fucking dreams. The only thing I want is to kill you.”
“Mm.” He spanks me again, then rolls his hips into the burn, letting me feel exactly how hard he is. “Then kill me. You’re doing a terrible job so far.”
I wrench my hand free enough to stab backward, but all the knife does is nick his sleeve. Nothing else.
He catches my wrist, slams it to the desk beside my head, and keeps the blade pinned under my own fingers so I have to look at it while he does this.
Then he pushes in again.
Hips flush to my ass.
“Get off me!”
“Say it nicer.”
“Would you kindly fuck off and drop dead? There. I said it nicely. Happy?”
“So adorable.” He laughs against my ear, squeezes the sting he left, and thrusts against me once more, which makes me even harder, and I’m starting to think this level of enthusiasm is medically questionable. Is there a maximum setting of how hard a dick can get? Because I think I’ve broken it.
One hand stays locked over my wrists, the knife trapped useless under my palm. The other leaves my ass only long enough for me to hear him undoing his own belt.
He pulls his length out and brings it right to me, the thick head dragging over the cleft of my ass until it notches against my hole.
I jerk hard. “Don’t you dare—”
He presses forward just enough that I feel the threat of it.
“Dare what?” he murmurs. “This?”
He rolls his hips. The head kisses my hole again, slicker now, dragging, catching, making my whole body seize.
“Kento—don’t—don’t you fucking dare—”
“You told me to go find Sasha.” He pushes again. My hole flutters around nothing, and my breath punches out of me. “So tell me why I shouldn’t put it in you right here instead.”
I kick back, but not necessarily to get away. More so because he said her name, and that makes me violent. He takes it on the hip and crowds closer, grinding the head against my hole in circles.
“Stop thrashing. You’ll hurt yourself on my cock.” He spanks me again, then he shifts, and when the angle changes, I really think he’s going to do it.
“Don’t—don’t you put that in me. I swear—”
