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As if sensing that I’m baiting her, Fiona clamps her mouth shut, jerking her head against my hold. Her arms dangle at her sides, fists curling into themselves, the internalized anger making her entire body shudder with the effort it takes to resist.
“What would you have done if it wasn’t Chelsea fucking your father? If you’d succeeded in hurting her, and it turned out she’s not even the one at fault?” I squeeze her jaw, but she doesn’t answer me, nostrils flaring as she struggles.
“Cat got your tongue, princess? I asked a fucking question.”
Shifting forward, I move into her body, letting them mold naturally together. My cock stiffens against the curve of her ass, its pulse so prominent I can feel it in my fucking throat, and I know she feels it when she sucks in a small breath of air, barely audible.
But I hear it.
“I wasn’t... I just wanted to scare her.”
“That it? Just wanted to see if you could make her piss herself?” Bending, I glide my nose along her bare shoulder, inhaling the scent of her perfume mixed with sweat.
Evidence of her own fear, her own arousal, fills my lungs, making my chest cramp with desire.
“Are you sure you weren’t curious to see if you could actually go through with it? To see if the violence inside of you is the same kind present in your bloodline?”
“No,” she says, voice firm. “That wasn’t it at all.”
Humming, I bring my lips to her ear, grazing the soft shell. “I don’t believe you.”
