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“You weren’t exactly here at the time,” I counter, through gritted teeth.
“Well, I didn’t expect to be so sorely missed,” he smiles. He’s no different in the daylight. It could be Sunday morning, and Salvatore would still smile like a sinner. Like there’s never been a truly happy thought behind those black eyes.
“Listening comprehension wasn’t your strong suit in school, was it?” I ask. Somehow the space between us seems to be disappearing. He backs me up to the window nook until I fall back against the seat.
“Is that what you want to know about? My school days?” he asks, as he takes my knees and spreads them apart. I freeze as I’m opened up for him, my pussy on full display in the sunlight falling through the window. “I can already tell what yours were like,” he says, as if it’s written there on my cunt. “The perfect little student. Good grades. Private tutors. Excelled in all your extra-curriculars, didn’t you?”
I don’t know how he would know any of that, and it frustrates me that he isn’t off the mark by a single centimeter.
“Are you trying to humiliate me because I was good at school? That’s a new one.”
I try to close my legs, but his hands rend them open again. Heat throbs in my belly as he forces me open. My lips open around a voiceless sound.
“It’s not about school,” he says, sliding his fingers against my pussy. “Girls like you just thrive there. And they tell you it’s because you’re so smart and clever. Gifted. Maybe you are, maybe you’re not. Doesn’t matter. You just want the attention. The praise. You want someone to pat you on your cunt and say, ‘that’s my good girl.’ You’ve been good for me, haven’t you? You haven’t touched yourself without my permission?”
He shouldn’t know that—but he does—and I shouldn’t play into his games by shaking my head no—but I do.
“Touch yourself,” he commands.
My pride despairs as my hand obeys.
If I’m trapped here with only Salvatore’s perverted little games to entertain myself with, why not play them? Why not run my fingers between my legs and feel my own wet arousal?
When I’m not forward enough, Sal’s huge hand cups mine and drags my hand against my pussy until my hips lift. The tips of my fingers squelch as he curls them against my pussy, stroking the heel of my palm up against my clit. His grip on my hand is feather-light. I could break it if I wanted, but I don’t, rolling my hips up into my own touch.
My own fingers aren’t enough like this.
The pleasure from last night lingers like the first hit of a drug, and I want to chase that dragon so badly.
“Are you going to be good for me, Contessa?”
My jaw clenches. “It’s Tessa,” I tell him again, my own name throwing me out of the fantasy. No one calls me Contessa, not even my father. His knuckle brushes against my clit. I ache to grind into it, but when I try, he only replaces it with my own fingers.
“Answer me.”
I nod.
“Use your voice,” he says, the words firmer, a command that I feel in my stomach.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Have you ever given yourself an orgasm before?”
I shake my head before I remember the rules—his rules.
“No,” I say instead.
“Because you haven’t tried, or because you tried and failed?”
My body stretches out against the waves of soft gray fur, fingers circling my clit—an agonizing tease.
“I’ve tried…”
His hand falls away. The distance between us is sudden and cold against my overheated skin. My body temperature has spiked as if he set a fever off inside me. Salvatore sprawls out on the edge of the bed, props himself up on one arm and watches me with my hand hanging limp between my legs.
“Touch yourself,” he says, making himself comfortable.
I stare at him, unsure.
