“No.”
“Every night, Kaye,” he growls. “I wanted youevery fucking night. How should I repay that? How should I punish you for that torment?”
His fingers dip lower and I hold my breath as he brushes against my folds. Softly. So goddamn softly. And it’s so close to where I want him and yet far too far away.
“Zane.” I start to turn, to move away from the wall.
He fists my hair and tugs. I cry out, more from shock than from pain, and his hand leaves my aching core to cover my mouth while he bends to growl in my ear. “Hands on the fucking wall, Checkmate.”
Only after I replace them does his grip on my hair loosen. My neck aches, the muscles protesting the sudden strain. Instead of leaning forward again, I allow my head to fall back, pillowed against the crook of his shoulder. My back is bowed, my tits and ass pushed out on display for him, but it feels so good to feel him behind me. His strength holding me.
“That wasn’t very good.” I can see his face now, see him looking down on my body with hunger. The hand that was in my hair skates down my side, stopping on my rib cage. His fingertips flick forward to brush the side of my breast. I shiver as he palms me, testing the weight in his hand. His thumb brushesmy taut nipple and I can’t help it; I moan into his palm. “So responsive and I’ve barely even touched you. Are you going to be good for me?”
I nod, but the world goes hazy white as he plucks the sensitive peak and rolls it between finger and thumb. My knees buckle, but I manage to stay upright and keep my hands in their place. He repeats the movement, this time to my other tit and I can’t stop my hips from grinding against his delicious length just to get some friction.
He groans, “Such a fucking tease.”
“Please, Charade.” I shudder as he rolls his hips, the base of his shaft nearly caressing my clit, just the whisper of sensation. It’s maddening.
“Are you surrendering?”
“Never.”
My shoulder blades hit the wall as he spins me. I almost slip, but his arm is there to catch me, his body shielding mine from the water. His other hand has already gathered my wrists and is dragging them over my head.
“I want to touch you,” I protest.
He dips his head, coasting his lips across mine in a phantom kiss that I feel through my bones.
“Like I wanted to touch you all those years?” His breath tickles my lips, and fuck—is he going to tease me all night?
I don’t have to wonder long. He pushes my legs wider, his eyes pinning me in place as I wait in breathless anticipation to feel the pads of his fingers return to where I want them most. Then he parts me, and I swear I could die at how good it feels, but he’s still not touching me where I need it most.
Two of his fingers trace my labia, in and out, slickly massaging my clit. His breath goes rough, haggard, as he touches me. A choked groan rises in his chest, and the look in his eyes is hot enough to burn.
“So fucking wet,” he rumbles. “All for me. I want to hear you say it. I want you to admit that your pussy is soaking wet and ready for a villain’s cock. For my cock. And then you’re going to beg for it.”
I clench at his words. I’m sure he can feel it, that my whole body is primed for him to pull its secrets from. It should scare me how much I want that, but I’m so tired of worrying about what I should or shouldn’t feel. All that matters is the here and now.
I gasp as one of his fingers breaches my entrance, gently probing at first, and then stretching and spreading my slickness. He adds a second finger and I buck against the wall. He stills, the heel of his palm hovering over me, teasing me, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he gages my reaction.
“Say it.”
I struggle against his grip, desperate to make him move, to end this torture. I try to roll my hips, but he steps into me, his knees digging into my legs to pin me in place. Cursing, I swallow down my frustration, but still can’t bring myself to give him what he wants. Not yet.
“You’re not a villain, Zane.”
It was the wrong thing to say. I know it even before the feral grin spreads across his lips. “Am I not?”
I feel it then, deep within me where his fingers are pressed inside me: tendrils of his power pushing into me.
“Fuck.” I tremble against him, curious and eager and terrified for what he’ll do next.
The feeling of his power coursing inside me never comes, never spreads past the center of my being. Whatever will he is whispering into my body doesn’t reach my mind. I’m not sure he’s doing anything at all until my muscles start to quiver, sending pleasure pulsing through me.
I’m writhing under him now, and I don’t even care. I’d do anything—anything at all to get him moving in me. I can feel my walls practically vibrating around him, and each almost-touch sends a lick of flame up my body. The fire building within me is an inferno of want and I’ll die if he doesn’t let me burn.
“Charade,” I choke out.
