Page 26 of Blood We Steal

I squirmed, anxious for him to excavate something else.

One second, I was staring into Rubin’s eyes, his fingers a heavy weight on my wrist.

The next, Rubin had turned me and I found myself face down on the warden’s desk.

My breath came out in a little umph, and it was only instinct that had me use my free hand to brace myself against the desk. The wood was smooth against my palm and cheek, the contrast with Rubin’s tight grip only making the wood feel that much cooler, that much smoother, Rubin’s fingers that much more dangerous.

My breath fogged the surface of the desk, a film of white over the rich cherry veneer. The wood grain told me this was real, not the prefabricated junk I’d seen elsewhere. I wondered how much the warden had spent on it.

Not the most important question all things considered, but there was the puzzle of the warden’s taste in decor, which I might have a shot at unraveling, or the puzzle of Rubin, and what he was doing behind me. That, I didn’t have a hope in hell of figuring out, mostly because I didn’t want to.

My heart beat at the same rate as my breath, the cold surface warm now. My wrist throbbed in Rubin’s grip. The rest of my body was on fire.

Because Rubin was behind me, calculating, studying. Deciding. The fear was one thing. The desire something else. Them together was intoxicating.

He kicked my legs apart and stepped into the gap. The press of his muscular thigh against my soft one was distracting in a way I had no framework for, and I was torn between shame and need. Rubin rested his hands on my waist for a moment that was both too long and not nearly long enough.

Then he dragged my jeans and underwear down in one pull and left them bunched around my knees, leaving me bare to him.

I pressed my cheek harder against the desk, trying to imagine what he saw, and worse, wondering what he thought. My curves drew looks that ranged from admiration to disgust. Where would Rubin fall? I was too scared to look back and find out. Reminded myself of what this was—and what it wasn’t.

His voice broke my anxiety-riddled thoughts. “No pretty things under the boring clothes. You wear plain, ugly ones. Why?”

“They do the job.” My cheek was still on the wood, my eyes slammed shut.

“You’re shaking.” His voice dropped, went almost soft, the mocking attempt at kindness just the right amount of cruelty he’d been looking for. “Why?”

“Because I think you’ll change your mind.”

“About killing you, or fucking you?”

“Yes.”

He laughed. “You know I don’t change my mind, Simone.”

He pushed a finger into me before I could brace for it, then pulled it out. “You’re tight. And wet. And shivering.”

He circled my clit and then pumped a finger into me while his other hand squeezed my ass. “Is this a part of the game, too? The whore plays the virgin and tames the big bad wolf?”

He pulled his finger out and left me clenching on nothing, and then the blunt head of his cock was there instead, hot and thick and heavier than his fingers by a mile.

I turned my head and looked back at him. Had his cock not been pressed against my hole and my ass flush with his uniform, I wouldn’t have believed this was happening.

There was something in his eyes, though, there and gone so fast I could have missed it.

But I hadn’t, just like I didn’t miss the anger that flared in its place.

The dare.

Could I take it?

Would I?

“Yes.”

The word was barely a whisper, one that was lost on Rubin’s grunt as he pushed in.

It hurt. He was too big and my body locked down and tried to keep him out, and he came in anyway, slow, forcing me open around him. He fed his cock into me inch by inch and made me take every one of them.