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Her mouth snaps shut.
“Close the door,” I say.
She glances over her shoulder to find that it’s open a tiny crack. When she walks to the door to close it, I add, “Turn the lock.”
Phoenix’s shoulders stiffen, but she obeys.
I open the desk drawer and pull out a small toy box and a wad of napkins. According to her timetable, I have three hours, which I intend to use wisely.
She turns around, her eyes flashing. “Deflate that thing, right now.”
“You’re in no position to give orders.” I pick up the remote.
“Please.”
“I want you to stay away from that blond idiot with the guitar.”
Her brows draw together. “Veer?”
“Is that what he calls himself?” I wave the remote. “He had his arm around your waist like you were his property.”
She wrinkles her nose. “He’s not even a friend.”
“He wants to be more,” I snap. “And he’s a terrible influence.”
“Jealous?” She cocks her hip to one side.
I tap a button on the remote, and smile at the quiet hiss of air. Phoenix’s eyes widen, and her hand claps over her crotch.
“What did I tell you?” I ask.
“To stay away from Veer Bestlasson,” she says, her voice trembling.
I give her a nod of satisfaction. “Sit with your quiet friend, Charlotte.”
Phoenix breathes hard, her thighs rubbing together as though she’s trying to stimulate her clit. The sight of her looking so needy makes all thoughts of soon-to-be-hostages vanish.
“Come here,” I say.
She takes a step toward the desk, but I hold out my palm in a motion for her to stop.
“Crawl.”
Her features pinch.
“And do it with less of an attitude if you ever want to climax.”
All the defiance melts from her features, leaving her glaring at me with a delicious mix of desperation and hunger. Phoenix drops her satchel to the floor with a heavy thud and then she drops to her hands and knees.
My cock may as well have its own remote because it swells at the sight of her on all fours. Picking up the toy box and napkins, I rise from my desk chair and walk around the rug to the leather sofa.
“Over here.” I pat its sturdy arm.
Phoenix drapes herself across the sofa, the angle making her skirt ride up toward her waist. The barest trace of pink peeks out from the tops of her thighs, which is an improvement from the darker bruises.
Making a mental note to stock more arnica gel, I sit beside her on the coffee table and open the box, revealing a pack of three condoms and a sterling silver plug with a crystal jewel. Unlike its heavy-duty rubber equivalent, this piece of intimate jewelry is designed for longer-term use.
I deflate the buttplug with the remote, letting the air out from between her ass cheeks, making her flinch.
