“Youthinkhe wronged you, but you had nothing to do with what happened between him and me. You’re like a spoiled little child who didn’t get his way, and now—”
I stepped closer, but she held her ground. Regardless, I could see the pulse in her throat.
“You will take off your clothing, then you will get on the bed, and you will spread your fucking legs,” I said. “Now.”
Something moved across her face.
“No.”
“I won’t tell you again.”
She glared at me. “You don’t command me to do anything.”
“I’m your fucking king, so whatever I tell you is your law.”
“You are nothing and no one to me.”
I took the small step that separated us and reached out to grip the line of her linen shift. I watched as her breath caught, and then I pulled. The linen tore clean down the middle.
One pull. That was all it took.
She didn’t scream, and she didn’t flinch back. She just stood there, breathing, with the ruined fabric falling away from her body and her eyes locked on my face like she was daring me to look down.
I looked down.
Her breasts were round and full, her nipples hardening the instant the cool air touched them. I watched the slow tightening, the flush of color at the tips. I reached out and brushed my thumb across one. She made no sound, but her breath changed.
I did it again, but this time slower.
“You can tell me whatever you want,” I said on a chuckle. “You can stand there and call me a tyrant and all the rest of it.” I brushed the pad of my thumb across her nipple once more and watched it peak harder. “But your body tells me something else entirely… just as it always has.”
Her jaw was tight, and her eyes were furious, but her nipples were hard enough to cut glass.
I took her hand and noticed that she didn’t pull away. She also didn’t fight me as I drew her hand forward and pressed her palm flat against the swell of my cock, which was straining against the fabric of my braies. I heard her breath catch, and I felt her fingers go still against the weight and heat of me.
Her eyes dropped. Just briefly. Then they came back up again.
“There,” I said.
Her mouth pressed into a line, but she didn’t speak.
“Now.” I kept her hand where it was, kept my thumb moving in small, deliberate circles against her breast. “You will tell me where Lance touched you.”
Nothing.
“You will tell me how he fucked you, whether he was rough or kind.” I reached down to palm her cunt over the fabric that separated me from her. She was warm between her thighs. I leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I am rough.”
I felt her hand close more tightly over my cock, and her breathing hitched. Even so, she looked at a point past my shoulder and set her jaw.
“Tell me how many times he fucked you.”
She still refused to respond. All she would give me was just that infuriating stillness, that refusal to give me anything, not even the satisfaction of watching her break. Her fingers were warm against me, but they were unmoving, and that stillness was somehow worse than if she’d fought.
I moved my hand over the hem of her waistline, down the line of her stomach, and between her thighs. The I brought my fingers to the lips of her cunt. Once I felt the obvious wetness there, I smiled. “You’re soaking for me.”
“My body works against my mind,” she said, the words sounding angry as her free hand fisted at her side.
I slipped a finger inside her. “Mmm. This is mine, just as you are mine.”
