Page 48 of Blood We Steal

I didn’t.

I’d run from everything, hid my entire life. The one time I hadn’t had landed me here. Not the best proof of concept, but just like something in Rubin snapped, something in me did too.

He waited, expectant, certain I would fold. For only the second time, I didn’t. His lips thinned into a cruel sneer and he stared at me, his anger a living thing between us.

And then he wasn’t angry. He was cold.

That was worse.

He walked to the couch, ornate, expensive, and as out of place here as I was, and turned to face me. Casually, he opened his pants and let his cock hang, hard and heavy, his sac full underneath it.

It was difficult to believe that had been inside me, that I craved it now, but it had and I did.

He sat on the couch, his arms spread wide, then locked his eyes on me.

“Take off your shirt, Simone.”

He could have been asking for last month’s take or how the investments were doing for as interested as he seemed. But those black eyes burned fire.

I opened my shirt one button at a time. It would never be white again, probably wouldn’t ever be clean again either. But still I held onto it, refusing to wear the jail uniform, that pride rearing its head again.

I folded my shirt neatly and laid it on the floor beside me.

“Bra,” he said, his voice so disinterested, he may as well have yawned.

But those eyes still burned.

I complied and laid the folded bra on top of my shirt. Did the same with my shoes and socks, then pants.

Then I stood there, nipples pebbling under his glare, and watched him watch me.

I’d swallowed his cum before he ever saw me fully naked. Maybe I wasn’t as boring as I thought.

He looked at me with a disinterest that would have shattered me a few days ago, made me wonder if my dimpled thighs, my belly, the breasts that had never been perky, the body I’d learned to love was wanting.

But when I looked at his cock, the crown slick with precum, I knew it wasn’t. He might hate the person who lived inside this body, but he desired the body itself.

“Come sit on my cock, Simone.”

I blinked, the boredom in his voice so at odds with his filthy words.

But I didn’t let him say them again.

I went to him and started to brace myself on the couch.

“Other way. I don’t need to see your face.”

“How?” I asked, my mind skipping over the insult and straight to logistics.

“Figure it out.”

Dickhead.

I kept that thought to myself and turned around, too pissed to be mortified by Rubin looking at my ass.

Then touching it, kneading my cheeks in his hands before he pulled me open and looked down. The rush of cool air made me shiver, but the heat of Rubin’s gaze killed that.

He kept me open as I awkwardly settled over him, my clit trapped against his shaft.