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“You’re putting yourself in dangerous situations,” Cyril warns. “Just by the way you act. What happens when I give you something to deliver, and you ask what it is, only to find out it’s something that scares you?”
“Like drugs?” I supply, going back to my earlier argument. “I really am the worst drug mule–”
“Quiet.” I hate the way I stop talking when he says that one word. His voice is just barely above a whisper, and I blink at him, waiting for him to go on. “For the last time, I don’t mean drugs. I’m not a drug dealer, and neither are my boys. Don’t bring it up to them or me anymore.”
“Why?” I ask, unable to help myself.
“Because both Isaac and Arlo have beenhurtby people on drugs before. I don’t need you bringing it up to their faces like you’re taunting them with it,” Cyril explains, which surprises me.
“…Oh.” I hadn’t expected the honesty, and I squirm against the wall at my back. The result is Cyril pressing me harder against it, his leg riding higher between my thighs. “Okay,okay. I won’t say it again,” I mutter. “But in a compromise, can you move yourleg?”
“I don’t compromise,” Cyril replies and leans more onto his leg so that he can grind his thigh between the apex of mine.
In response, I go up on my tiptoes, but it’s hard not to want more of the friction that’s making me flush.
“You made yourpoint,” I yelp, surprised when he follows me up and pins me in a much less comfortable position. I scramble for balance but finally, have to admit that he has me here until he wants to let go.
I really hope that’s soon.
“Did I?” His grin curves over his lips, but there’s no kindness in it. “I’m not sure. Are you going to ask again when I give you something to deliver?”
I should keep my mouth shut and shake my head. I should really do whatever it takes to get him off of me so that I can go home.
But I, Arista Verlice, don’t do the smart thing. No, I nod my head fervently.
“Umm.” I’ve never heard someone so confused or incredulous before. “I think you misunderstood.” He lets my feet go to the ground and loosens his grip on my neck like I can’t answer because he’s choking me. “Iaskedif you were going to keep sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“I know,” I assure him, eyes wide and earnest as I grip his wrist in my hands. “And I nodded. Like, yes.” I do it again, just to drive the point home.
Promptly after, I wonder if he’s going to kill me. The look on his face flits from disbelieving, to mildly impressed, back to disbelieving, and he looks away for a moment with a snort. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or you’re serious,” he says at last.
“I’m not very good at jokes unless they’re mean,” I admit, shrugging my shoulders. “Or puns. I like bad puns–”
He moves until he’s crowding against me, his body pressed flush to mine and his hand trapping both of mine above my hair.
“If you want to be punished so badly by me, all you have to do isask, Wendy,” Cyril purrs, face only inches from mine. I can feel his words as his lips brush mine, and all I can think is that this is not the response I was expecting. Instead of answering, I twist my arms in his grip, but it’s just as unbreakable as it had been around my throat.
“Because I’ll gladly take you home right now and show you what I think of yourmouth.” Without warning, he strokes a hand down my cheek, and when I open my mouth to tell him what I think of his words, or maybe just mumble incoherently, he slips his thumb into my mouth and presses it against my tongue.
“I don’t really need you to say anything,” Cyril assures me. “So close yourmouth.” He doesn’t move his thumb, however, and so I’m forced to close my lips around his finger as he slowly slides it back to my teeth and slowly pushes it back in. He repeats the motion, and I consider biting him for it.
“Do it,” Cyril invites. “I know you want to. Bite me. Don’t you want to get some satisfaction for how hard I bityouearlier?” For all of his bravado, the huskiness of his voice shows me that this isn’t all lost on him, either. He’s just as interested as I am.
More so, judging by his actions.
I don’t bite him, even though I want to. I meet his eyes and don’t do it because hetoldme to, and I’m still working on teaching all of them that I’m not a dog to be trained.
Finally, his thumb slides out of my mouth, but before I can say anything, it’s replaced with his mouth. His hand goes to my throat to hold me in place, and with me pressed against the wall, all I can do is let him take what he wants.
And it’s starting to feel like he wants alot.
His tongue sweeps over mine, finding every part of the space between my lips and exploring it like he has the right to.
Finally, he pulls back, and just like before, his teeth find my lower lip with the threat of a bite.
I suck in a breath, fingers clenching into fists because I know it’sreallygoing to hurt this time. It’ll bleed again, I know, and the pain of having the wound reopened will be–
He releases the pressure of his teeth without biting down, his eyes flickering with amusement, and instead licks over the small wound he’d created a few hours ago.
