He wants me to beg.
He smirks, pushing the cup a little closer. “Go on. You want it. All you gotta do is take it.”
I jerk on the chains that keep me down, and it only makes me more furious.
“If you ask nicely, I’ll give it to you.”
“Fuck you,” I spit back.
He pauses and licks his lips. “All you had to do was ask nicely.”
“Does asking nicely bring me the heads of the people who wronged me?”
“No. But you can’t do everything by yourself.”
“Yes, I can.”
“All right … Take the water then.”
I lunge forward again, but the cuffs hold me back.
Goddammit.
“What are you waiting for? Take the water. You’re thirsty, right?”
“You don’t want me to take it.”
“Yes, I do. I want you to have the water.” He swallows. “Desperately.”
For a moment, all we do is stare at each other, and I can feel the heat radiating off both of us. If he didn’t have me chained up here, I would’ve long choked the life out of him and then made him beg for my pussy.
But that’s exactly why I’m in this position to begin with.
He picks up the cup again. “Ask,” he says. “And I’ll help you.”
He wantsmeto be the one to beg.
“Please,” I grit.
The smile that forms on his face is insufferable. He leans over the table with the cup in his hands and grabs my chin to part my lips and dribble it into my mouth himself.
When he’s done, he gloats. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
I spit the water at his face.
All of it.
Droplets run down his neck, into his shirt so the fabric sticks to his abs, and my God, is it a sight to behold.
He throws the cup at the wall and grabs me by the throat. “You.”
I smirk. “How does it feel to be obsessed?”
His jaw tightens. “I am not—”
“You and I are the same,” I interject. “You just don’t want to admit it.”
“I’m not a fucking murderer,” he says.
