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I took my time, slowly rising, then dropped my sweatshirt to the floor. When I bent to pull off my leggings, he stuck his hand out. “Give them to me.”
“Why?”
“Because.” When I didn’t move fast enough, he rolled his eyes. “Because I’m gonna fold them up and put them away,” he deadpanned, then snapped his fingers like the impatient dick he was. “I’m gonna tie you up with them. What the fuck else do you think?”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled, unable to hang on to my irritation as my belly fluttered. I even felt my heartbeat deep in my core, my pussy quite literally throbbing. When I handed over my leggings, he gestured to my underwear. “Them too.”
I slapped the thin cotton into his hands, and it was only then he offered me a satisfied smile, his eyes roving over me. “On the bed, witch.”
“You know,” I said in cool conversation, as if I didn’t feel how slick I was as I crawled onto the mattress, “it’s always the most insecure men who call strong women witches.”
He clamped his hand down on my ankle, so I couldn’t move up any farther, and I peeked over my shoulder at him. He tipped his head to the side, dragging his attention up from where it had been on my ass. “You’re a witch because you’ve put some kind of spell on me with your evil ways.” Then he yanked my ankle toward him, urging me to roll over and lie flat on the bed. He leaned over me as he pushed and prodded my body into the position he wanted, diagonal across his mattress, the comforter and sheet already thrown to the floor. “But I’m happy to prove how very much you enjoy mysecurity.”
“It’s a good thing you have a dick big enough to back up your smack talk.”
He hummed, stretching my arms up above my head. “Told you it was big.”
“I wouldn’t say big. Bigger than average, but notbig.”
He bit the side of my breast, and I gasped. “That’s enough talking for you, I think,” he said and stuffed my underwear into my mouth. Then he grinned, standing back to admire me. “Much better.”
I kicked at him.
“Now, now. Be nice, Novak.”
I cursed at him, but it came out all garbled, and he laughed as he continued his business of tying my hands together with my spandex leggings, cinched tight enough that I flinched when he tugged on it. With my arms straight and above my head, he used the other leg to tie me to the headboard, and when he finished his handwork, he sighed. “Perfect like this. Quiet and at my disposal.” Then he strolled to the corner of the bed and pushed my legs apart. “Now, let’s see about this needy little pussy.”
Holding my thighs open, he wasn’t gentle or sweet. He wasunrelenting.
There was no warm-up.
No kisses to my calves or hips.
No massage of my muscles.
Just hard licks up my center, long sucks on my clit. He dug his fingertips into me when I tried to shift over an inch, and when I reflexively squeezed my legs together, he slapped my inner thigh.
I heaved out a high-pitched sound at the sting and lifted my head. He picked up his head only long enough to tell me, “Your skin looks pretty with my handprint on it,” before putting his mouth back on me, this time adding his fingers.
Softening his tongue, he curled his fingers into me, using gentle, steady pressure until I felt the telltale draw toward the cliff. I whimpered around the godforsaken cotton still in my mouth, inching ever closer to my release, but then he pulled away from me, leaving me tiptoeing over the edge. I cried out, and he levered himself over me, his lips shiny. “What was that?”
I hate you, I tried to say.
He curled his hand around his ear. “Sorry, didn’t quite catch that.”
Fuck you, I mumbled around the now-wet cotton that was sticking to my tongue, and he snickered at my distorted words. Absently twisting one of my nipples between his wet fingers, he lay on the bed next to me. “You know,” he started, scraping his beard over my shoulder, “I was thinking about Professor Landry the other day.”
Professor Landry?I muffled and slammed my head back to the mattress as he droned on about one of our law school professors, all the while teasing my nipples, occasionally sucking on my throat. This son of a bitch was playing me like he’d play his guitar, strumming a chord here or there, nothing in particular. But I was as taut as a bowstring. He only needed to strum a little harder to let me go. Yet he never did.
“Do you remember that?” he asked, and I blinked at him, having stopped listening long ago, too focused on trying to orgasm even as he didn’t help me.
“No? Don’t remember that, huh?” He shrugged and moved between my legs again. “Oh well.”
And he began all over again. Licking and sucking and stroking me, keeping me hovering at the edge of bliss without ever letting me go. I thrashed when he stared up at me, flicking at my clit with infuriatingly languid strokes, like he had all the time in the world. But I guess while he had me tied up like this, he did.
He could do what he wanted with me.
I hated him.
