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He merely stares. His gaze holds mine and oh, god, every cell in my body seems to come alive. Every nerve-ending is pulsing and ready, open to absorb every last drop of his presence, his taste, his scent, his presence. The more time I spend with him, the more I want him. The more he treats me like I’m an irritant, the more I can’t stop myself from thinking of him. The more he reveals how depraved he is, the more I’m attracted to him. Surely, something is wrong with me that I find everything that he says and does only adds to his magnetism. I must be a masochist.
And I cannot show just how much I’m affected by him. If I do, he’ll lose any shred of respect he has for me. If I reveal just how much he’s succeeded in unbalancing me, he’ll only push his advantage.And would that be so bad? Would it be so terrible to lose the last dregs of my individuality and give in to him completely? To subsume myself in him and forget about the past and what I did to him? To redefine our relationship, once and for all? And then what?
He’ll walk away from me, and I’ll be left with nothing.No, I can’t give in to him. Not now. Not ever.I must hold out and wait until some of his anger fades. If that means he continues to use me as he has in the past few days, so be it.I’ll share my body with him, but my heart? No way. I’ll hold onto the part of me that’s still me and not share that with him. Not unless he proves himself worthy of it.
I lock my fingers together, then tip up my chin.
"H-how did you get access to my apartment?"
"You don’t get to ask the questions."
"You do realize it’s an infringement on my privacy to do so?"
His mouth curls. "Areyougoing to tell me what’s right and wrong?"
My stomach trembles. My guts twist like someone’s tied them up in a cat’s cradle.
"Do you have to keep bringing up the past? Can’t you forgive—"
"Unhook your seatbelt."
"Wh-what?" I blink.
"You deaf, woman? Unhook your belt, or I’ll do it for you." He begins to reach over, and I spring into action. I press the release button, and my belt loosens.
He swipes out his arm, curls his fingers around my nape, then pulls me down so my head is in his lap.
"What are you doing?" I gasp.
"Punishing you for going against my explicit instruction not to talk to that journalist."
"That’s my job. It’s what I do best."
His gaze narrows. "And he was looking at you like you were a piece of flesh. Which you are, but no one gets to misuse you like that, except me."
"But—"
"Unzip me."
I stiffen. "You’re joking, right?"
"Do I look like I’m joking?" His grip tightens in my hair. My scalp tingles. Pinpricks of heat shudder down my spine, and a heavy throbbing drums between my thighs.
Asshole.I lower the zipper on his jeans, and his cock springs free. It’s big and thick and already swollen with a bead of pre-cum oozing from the tip.
"Take it; take all of it in."
My pussy clenches. I wrap my fingers about the base, then draw it into my mouth.
His entire body shudders. A feeling not unlike power courses through my veins. My toes curl. I’m giving him a blowjob. I don’t want to do it. Yet, I can’t help but be turned on.How can I be so turned on?Probably because he hasn’t let me come. That has to be the only explanation why my thigh muscles clench, why my nipples are so tight they seem to stab through my blouse, and why I squeeze my legs together as I lower my head and close my mouth around him.
His entire body stiffens. His muscles become an impenetrable mass of granite. I lick up the underside of his shaft, and he curses, "Fuck, Sparrow."
Now, a thrill of power courses through my veins. He might be holding my hair, but I’m the one with his balls in my grasp. Literally. And my touch affects him. He’s not impervious to me. He may be trying to punish me, but I have power over him, too. I cup his balls and his thigh muscles jump. His belly turns to iron. I pull back, then tilt my head and take him down my throat.
"Jesus, fuck!" He pulls on my hair, and the pinpricks of pain stutter down my spine. Moisture blooms in my core. I massage his balls and hum around the column of his cock.
A growl rips from his chest. The next second, he thrusts up and into my mouth, stabbing down the column of my throat. I gag. The breath whooshes out of him. He wraps the fingers of his free hand around my throat. "Look at me."
