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“It’s none of your business what happens to my fucking foot,” I yell back.
Thankfully, the café’s so loud no one can hear me.
Wait, why am I thankful for that exactly? I should want to be able to scream for help when I’m locked away with this guy. He’s used to getting his way, entitled to the extreme, and I have exactly no idea of what his limits are—if he has any.
“None of my business?” he repeats.
“Yes. I’m none of your business, Camden. How many times do I have to say it?” I don’t understand why he doesn’t get this simple fact through his thick skull.
We’re nothing. There’s no “we” at all. He’s my best friend’s husband’s friend, and that’s it. He might have shoved his dick in my mouth once, but that doesn’t count when I had no say in the matter.
“Okay.”
His reply takes me aback.
His action doesn’t.
Camden grasps my waist and lifts me to the countertop between the sinks. Before I can react, he moves between my legs, parting them, and leans in over me.
“What—”
His crotch’s leveled right at the apex of my thighs, and presses forward, grinding into me. I lose my ability to formulate any words as tendrils of heat suddenly ignite my core—all I manage is a long, low whine.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Camden whispers in my left ear, “I want this, princess.” I’m wearing a denim skirt today, and he takes full advantage, hooking his fingers right there, through my panties, pulling them aside.
Oh, god. Oh god, oh god, yes.
Wait, no.
Oh, no.
I try to close my legs, but his body is firmly lodged between them—the harder I squeeze them shut, the more he presses to me. I start to push against his chest, but he totally ignores me, running his finger along my folds.
His thumb reaches my clit and rubs it in slow circles. “I want it to be mine to play with, mine to fuck into oblivion,” he whispers, like I’m not fighting him.
His free hand runs along my bare arm, while the other continues between my legs.
“And no one gets to harm what’s mine. Not even you.”
“No one but you, right?” I snipe.
I abandon thrashing against his chest. It’s not doing anything. His torso is made of iron, and heavier than a tank. Besides, I get the distinct impression that he likes when I fight. It’s certainly not deterring him.
“No one but me,” he echoes in agreement.
He lowers his mouth to my shoulder and kisses it, ever so lightly. I wish I could repress the flutter in my stomach, the tingle running all over my skin. But I can’t. I want more.
I should stop it. I should scream until he fucks the hell off. But he presses another kiss on my skin, closer to my collarbone, then my neck.
My core’s on fire, and I’m trembling with need.
“Stop.” I’m proud I manage to say the word. I’d like to think I’m sneering, but I’m too busy feeling, and moaning, and losing my mind to be sure.
He grins against my jawline. “You’re going to have to sound a little more convincing if you want me to listen, princess.”
His thumb runs over my mouth. I remember the last time he did that. I remember what happened afterwards.
I grasp his wrist. “Stop it,” I say, firmly this time. “I have a boyfriend.”
