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Ansel seemed . . . annoyed. Really annoyed. With me.
Why am I in trouble? The only person he should be angry with is Liam . . .
“How did you know we were here?” I asked.
He stomped his cigarette on the wall next to my head before flicking it over his shoulder. “I had a feeling Liam was planning something, but I couldn’t be sure. When Demie started acting weird this morning—weirder than normal—I knew something was up. I’ve been following the van ever since you left the warehouse.”
“But you can’t be here. I thought the whole reason Liam sent me in here was to protect you?”
He made a soft noise deep in his throat. The sound of appreciation penetrated to my core. He dipped his chin so low that his face hovered inches above mine. “Are you saying you’re worried about me, little lass?”
My mind burned with irritation, embarrassment, and a third one I refused to acknowledge. At least it fixed our light problem—my cheeks were so red; I was practically glowing. “I told you not to call me that,” I gritted out. “Are we leaving or not?”
He stared at me in the darkness for a long moment. It felt longer, at least, considering I had one ear listening to the door. I was waiting for the demon bouncer to catch us. At any moment, he would yank open the door to tell us time was up, and immediately recognize Ansel. The demon would turn Ansel in to the orcs upstairs and then give me to them to play with, as a consolation prize.
Actually, how did Ansel sneak in here in the first place?
“Hey, how did you sneak in here without anyone seeing you—” Just as I finished my sentence, he wrapped his hand around my waist and pulled me away from the wall. Away from the door—our only exit. “What are you doing?!” I seethed. I settled my hand on his chest and gave one hard push. Either he didn’t feel my hands, or he didn’t care.
“I paid for a dance, and I’m not leaving until I get my money’s worth.” He sat down on the loveseat and tugged me into his lap, followed by my very unladylikeoomph. His huge arms wrapped tightly around my waist, making escape impossible.
Figuring out how stubborn Ansel was in a short amount of time; I knew trying to reason with him wouldn’t work either. But damned if I didn’t try. “I’m not going to dance for you. I can’t dance! Really. I’m not exaggerating. I physically can’t!” As I sat with my feet hanging over the side of his leg, like he was some sexy Santa Claus and all I wanted for Christmas was a mind-blowing orgasm (the same thing I wanted every year), I motioned to my waist as if he could somehow see for himself that my body wasn't built for dancing.
My skin prickled as he dragged his hand over the swell of my hips to the middle of the waist, where I had pointed. The prickles traveled up my body, settling on my chest. My nipples stood at attention as if he had flicked them himself.
“If you won’t dance, I have other ways to make you move,” he purred in my ear.
Despite every baby hair on my body standing at attention, I snorted. I placed my hands on his chest—I don’t think I’ve felt such firm muscles before—but I didn’t push him away.
“Oh yeah? And how are you planning on doing that?”
His hand moved to his mouth, his finger settling between his tusks as he shushed me.
Wait. Did he just tell me to be quiet—
That was the final straw. I opened my mouth to tell him off but stopped once his hand started to move back down, towards my chest. He dipped two fingers into my cleavage and retrieved the mic I had forgotten was there. He held the tiny gadget between the pad of his fingers for a moment in front of my face.
“Liam,” he said quietly, speaking directly into the mic. “If you can hear me, go home. We’ll meet you at the warehouse. I got it from here.” The mic gave a pitiful, mechanicalcrunchas he broke it between his fingers. He flicked the broken pieces away from him like he was flicking off a bug he found on his sleeve. He angled his chin towards me, giving me his full, unadulterated attention. “Where were we? Ah, that’s right. I was thinking of ways to get you to squirm for me.” His hand roved up my waist, settling underneath my armpit, his thumb curved around the small swell of my breast. If I shifted any more towards him, his finger would be touching the edge of my nipple. He started brushing the pad of his finger against the curve of my breast.
Just move . . . a little . . . closer . . .
“Though what I really should be doing,” he mused to himself, “is thinking of ways to punish you. You need to listen to me. I’m the boss, and when I tell you to do something, I expect you to listen. It’s for your own safety.”
Growing up, I was the perfect student. Every adult I met adored me. But even I could be naughty sometimes. One day in third grade after being dared by my best friend, I tripped the librarian in the hallway. I don’t remember much of that day, except the stern lecture I received from the principal. He pulled me into his office and scolded me in a quiet but direct tone. I had never been talked to in that way before, not even by my parents. Being the people-pleaser I was, every detail of that scolding was burned into my mind, and a memory I visited even today.
Ansel spoke to me in the same tone and manner my principal had that day, but instead of being ashamed or scared, I felt excited. Every nerve-ending in my body was alive and awake and completely focused on him.
His thumb inched a little closer to my nipple and started rubbing lazy circles on the sensitive area.
“Yeah, well, I don’t know why you would punish me. I really didn’t have a choice.” I bit down on a groan as I squirmed a little in his lap. I wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding how his light touch was affecting me; his touch making me feel like I was experiencing a second puberty.
I arched my back a little, so his thumb pressed harder against my skin.
“I don’t know about that,” he mused. I gasped as he playfully bit my shoulder. Pain and pleasure mixed perfectly together. “You might have glamoured them. Just like you glamoured me.”
I was so ready. He had only touched my nipple, only dragged his teeth against my skin, but I was embarrassingly wet for him.
“Well?” I asked. “What are you planning to do with me?”
