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A feral gleam shines in the depth of his gaze. “Prove it.”
“W-what?”
He steps out of the shower, his muscled chest glistening with droplets of water that travel down his abs, over the V-line, and down to his still very hard and very unsatisfied cock.
There’s a tattoo on his right pec, a script that’s too small for me to read.
“Prove you’re not disgusted with me.”
“Why should I?” I try to keep my attention on his face no matter how tempting the other view is.
“Because I’m challenging you to prove it, Nicole.”
My muscles lock at those words. He’s challenging me.
Such a low damn blow. He knows I don’t cower in front of a challenge, don’t look the other way from it.
In fact, our whole fucked-up relationship, or lack thereof, was because I couldn’t say no to a challenge.
I couldn’t lose.
My feet are floating on air as I approach him, my head held high. I’m a lot of things, but as he said, a coward is not one of them.
The art of pain is an abstract form of vengeance.
That’s what his tattoo says, in bold, neat letters that should belong in a museum.
My heart lunges, thinking about the reason he had this inked on his body.
The reason he’s keeping it with him forever when he doesn’t seem to be a fan of inking his body otherwise.
Once I’m standing in front of him, I reach my hand out and touch his chest. A zap of electricity goes through me at the contact, but I force myself to stare at his eyes.
“There. I’m not disgusted with you.”
“Touching me doesn’t prove anything.” His lashes fall over his light eyes. “Getting on your knees does.”
I bite my lower lip, but it’s to suppress the need to smack him upside the head. He has me where he wants me and he knows it.
“Either suck my cock or get the fuck out, Nicole.”
I fake a smile. “Repeat that nicely and I might.”
“Nicely?”
“Oh, right, you wouldn’t recognize the meaning of that concept even if you were slammed head first with it, so here’s some middle ground. Add a please.”
“Awhat?”
“A please, Daniel. A word people use to ask for something.”
“Not fucking happening.”
“Then I guess you should go back to your solo jerking-off session,” I say sweetly, gliding my palm over his muscles. “It looked kind of violent, so you might want to be careful with that.”
I hesitantly remove my hand and turn to leave, equal parts thankful I dodged a bullet and disappointed that it ends here.
“Please.”
