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So, so fucking close to opening my fly and shifting her on my lap. Of commanding her to sink over my length and take it.
If it hadn’t been for her tears—
Goddammit.
Had she cried because she’d been faking her desire?
Maybe every allegiance she’d given me was false, and she played me as cleverly as she played everyone else?
Every feeling I had for her. Every hope I entertained. Every emotion she dragged out of me could be the worst kind of fantasy.
Why the hell did I think a girl I’d trapped and trafficked could ever be on my side? Why did I even think she’d trust me…like me?
Like me?
Fuck, Ri.
What an idiotic thing to believe.
She didn’t like me.
She was using me.
To keep her safe.
To keep her away from everyone else.
Her little stunt had nothing to do with what existed between us and everything to do with our performance.
I rubbed my fingers together, cursing the powder of her dried arousal.
If she pretended so expertly, why was she drenched?
My heart wrenched in my chest.
Because of him. Peter.
The jewel she seemed to share a bond with. The way she’d sucked in that delicate little gasp when he appeared on stage. The way she squirmed on the floor as he fucked a fellow slave.
She can’t stand you.
She hates you.
And for good fucking reason.
I yanked on the leash binding her to me. “Faster.”
The sooner we got this over with, the sooner I could send Q the coordinates so I could get the hell away from her.
Her hands and knees shuffled over the deck, her white negligee hanging low and revealing swinging breasts.
Jesus Christ, it wasn’t fair.
For the thousandth time, I wanted to scream at the sky ‘Why her?’
Why was she different?
Why did she have the power to make my cock weep with a single look or drive me into insanity with a single gasp?
