The words wrap around me and squeeze. I feel them in my spine, in my belly, in the heat that suddenly coils between my legs.
“Whatever I want.”
The words swirl inside me like smoke, thick and heavy, and before I can stop myself, my eyes flutter shut. It’s involuntary—a reaction to images conjuring themselves behind my eyelids of all the ways he would use me: his mouth between my thighs, his hands pinning me down.
I don’t even know him.
And yet every cell in my body hums with the thought of being undone by him.
I’m not stupid. I know manipulation when I see it.
But damn—when it comes wrapped in a face like that, with a voice like his, in a deal that reads like seduction, how do you tell the difference?
How do you want to?
My mouth parts slightly, but no sound comes out. I don’t trust myself to speak—not when I’m still tasting his thumb, still trying to slow my racing heart.
This man is dangerous.
Because part of me, a part I haven’t met until now, wants to be used by him.
And to use him back.
His fingers slide back to rest along my jaw.
My eyes are still closed when I feel his breath right against my ear. “Cunning little thing like you wouldn’t pass this up.”
The words are so close, so intimate, I feel them graze the side of my neck.
My eyes snap open. I turn my head slowly, pulse hammering in my throat. “You’re manipulating me.”
It’s not a question. It’s a fact.
Dominic watches me as his lips twist into a wicked smile. A quiet acknowledgment that, yes—he is. And I’m letting him.
My gaze drops to his lips. Full, symmetrical, sculpted. I wonder what those lips could do. What kind of sounds he could pull from me. What I could pull from him. What it would feel like to taste them.
The thought sends another bolt of heat through me.
I force my gaze back up. My heart is beating too loud, my lungs too shallow. “What if I say no?” I ask, trying to steady my voice.
His eyes lock on mine, and I see the flicker of disapproval at my question. “Nothing,” he says simply. “You go back to your life. I go back to mine. And we never see each other again.”
A small, sharp flare of something sparks in my chest—disappointment, frustration, possession. I don’t know. But I don’t like it.
The idea of not seeing him again settles like a bruise in my stomach. I don’t want to go back to before knowing him, before this thrill that’s been fuel in my veins since the club.
I want more of it. Of him. More of the game he’s inviting me to play, even if I’m not sure what the game is.
I lick my lips slowly, then bite the bottom one on purpose. His eyes flick down and stay there, darkening instantly. I release my lip, fighting back a smile. Gotcha.
“I have conditions,” I say softly.
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
“If this is nothing but a mutually beneficial arrangement…” I let the words hang there, letting him feel the power shift as I take it, “…then your team will be hearing about my conditions.” Not you.
I watch the change happen in real time. Something in his jaw tenses; his eyes lose the spark from a moment ago before they narrow.
