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Charles chuckled, his attention on his own slave. A handsome male jewel with a dark blond Mohawk. “Yeah, me too.”
Ily shifted on my lap, trying to get comfortable.
I groaned involuntarily as she rubbed against my throbbing dick. My hand seized her breast; my forehead crashed against her spine. “Keep doing that, and I’ll have you as an entrée, not dessert.”
She froze.
I rolled her nipple around in my fingers.
The urge to take her overwhelmed every useless sense.
She made me so fucking hard and hyper-fucking-sensitive.
Was this what all men felt when it came to lust?
How had I been missing out on this all my life?
Why was my brain so toxic that I got hard in a room full of men and slaves? Why did my body come alive while fondling a girl I didn’t know—a girl who didn’t have a choice—all while the threat of death hung over us?
Life would be so much simpler if I was normal…
My hips shot up on their own accord, driving my erection against her ass.
She made me want too badly, crave too darkly.
She gasped and tipped forward. Her hands landed on my knees, holding on with sharp nails.
Every muscle in my legs seized as blackness dripped over my mind.
In true society, this would never happen. In the real world, I would never be able to take out my dick, tell her to bend over, and fuck her on the table in front of everyone.
But in this one…
Christ, it wasn’t just encouraged, it was expected, and that…that messed me up on my most basic, primordial level.
Do it…
Give the order…
You know you want to.
“Get the fuck off me.” I shoved her away with trembling hands.
It was either remove myself from temptation or give in.
And no fucking way would I give in.
I’m better than this.
I’m good.
She tripped off me, swaying a little as I caught her wrist and spun her to face me.
Too many eyes watching. Too many men waiting.
I couldn’t ask how she was or what’d happened to her while I’d thrown up in the shower then passed out in a catatonic fugue.
All I could do was cling to my self-control and keep fighting.
