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I didn’t answer, too dumbstruck to think of words. “Answer me, Little Butterfly,” he demanded. “You will always use your words when I ask you a question. Do you understand?”
“Both,” I whispered, the admission hovering between us. “Do you touch your cock and think of me?” I swallowed, knowing that his answer would crush me if it was a no.
“No,” he said, the crushing blow landing. “Because I know that once I start, I’ll never stop coming for you.” The pain in my chest eased, and I lifted my hand to circle my clit with two fingers the way I did when I was alone in my bed at night.
“That’s right, cuore mio. Now tell me why,” he demanded, reaching down to grasp my wrist in his grip when I started to pull away. He guided my hand, made me keep rubbing my clit while he bent forward and glared into my eyes.
“Why what?” I whispered, staring into the eyes of death itself. Of all things dangerous and ready to maim.
Ready to kill.
“Why did you fucking cut yourself?” he asked, applying a firmer pressure with my hand on my clit. I whimpered, coming so close to the edge that I saw stars.
And then he pulled my hand back.
“Scar,” I hissed, glaring up at him as his forehead touched mine. His cock hung heavy between us, his hand still on it as he focused on the answer he needed so desperately that he would manipulate my body to get it.
“Why, Irina?” he growled, holding me steady and giving me just enough room to maneuver feather light touches to the side of where I needed them. It was enough to keep me on the edge, but never enough to send me spiraling into heaven.
“You can’t do this,” I said, moving to shift away from him.
His hand left his shaft, coming to rest on my shoulder and pressing me back into the sofa. “Watch me,” he said, holding me steady when I struggled. With him between my thighs and his hands pinning my shoulder and wrist, there was nowhere to go.
No way to escape his assault on my senses.
“I needed to feel something,” I said, my desperation taking over. It was too much.
“You needed pain?”
“I needed anything, and pain is better than just nothing,” I admitted. He eased his grip on my wrist, letting go of my shoulder and putting his hand back on his cock to stroke it quickly. My fingers went back to my clit, circling and bringing me right back to the brink until his words threw me tumbling into the most intense orgasm of my life.
“Come for me, Little Butterfly,” he murmured, staring down at me intently.
I did, crying out as I arched my back. Scar grunted, groaning low as something wet and sticky covered my stomach and the space just above my pussy. He came, covering me in his release and watching it in fascination.
It seemed to never end, but when it did he touched his fingers to it and spread it into my skin. Then he raised them to my mouth, touching them to my bottom lip.
“Apri la bocca,” he ordered, the sound of his voice ordering me in Italian bringing goosebumps to my skin. Still coming down from the high of my orgasm, I parted my lips and let him slide his fingers into my mouth until the taste of him exploded across my tongue. “Suck.”
I did. I suspected I’d always do what he told me, some part of me wanting to give up control for just a little while.
He drew his fingers back, tucking himself into his pants and working to make it look like nothing had ever happened. “The next time you need to feel something, you come to me, Irina,” he said, snatching my cell off the coffee table. He thrust it at me, leaving me to gape at him as I unlocked the screen and handed it back to him so he could input his number. Then he turned for the door without another word, leaving me to watch him go from the place where he’d used me.
“You can’t fix me, Scar,” I called as he pulled open the front door.
“Watch me,” he growled, disappearing out the door and closing it behind him.
One of these days, I’d stab him. Because what in the actual fuck?
