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"Let me go," she reached with her own hand, covering his and trying to pull it away.
"I asked," he gritted his teeth, split between excitement at her obvious fearlessness and anger at her foolish display of bravery. "What the fuck are you wearing?"
"It's none of your business," she continued, stunning him even further as she dug her nails into his flesh, the pain hitting him like the best of drugs.
"And that's where you're wrong pet," he gave her a wide smile before he pulled at her top, the flimsy material giving way and tearing.
Her eyes widened, her mouth opening but no sound coming out.
"Everything you do is my business," he continued, pulling at other sides of the material until he peeled most of it from her body, leaving her only in her modest bra.
Her reaction was delayed as she brought her arms to her chest to shield herself, raising her head to give him a deadly stare—one filled with a mix of hurt and insolence.
She might be smaller, weaker, more inferior to him. But at that moment, she looked so determined, she might as well have believed she could take him onandwin.
Excitement thrummed in his blood as he regarded her like that, so on the verge of losing control. Because that was acceptable—thatwas the final goal.
The loss of her control.
His was out of the question. But hecravedhers in a way he craved little else, because by losing control she would finally show himeverything—all those hidden facets.
"Change back into your normal clothes," he barked the order, taking her previous dress from her bag and flinging it at her.
She shook her head, her lower lip between her teeth as she remained rooted to the spot, cradling the material of the dress to her chest.
"Change!" His voice thundered, making her jump back and bump into the sink counter.
"You can't tell me what to do," she said softly.
"I can and I will, pet," his lips tipped into a sinister smile.
Bracing himself against the counter, he caged her in, leaning in until his breath was her breath, his eyes fixed on hers.
"You offend me," he started in a low voice. A shiver went down her back at those words before she stiffened. "You offend my eyes with your pitiful attempts at flaunting your body."
"I'm not…"
"You're not what? Trying to get someone to fuck you? You think I didn't see how you were batting your lashes at that man? How you were inviting him to compliment you?"
"When did you?" she blinked, looking confused.
"You might try," he chuckled. "But do you really think anyone would want you for anything more than a fuck?"
Her eyes widened and she blanched, his words hitting her hard—just as he'd intended.
"But you're not good for that either, are you?"
"Why are you here, Michele? Why are you doing this?"
"Because you offend me with your fucking existence," he told her in a steely tone, his nostrils flared as he took her in—the fact that though shocked, she was still so composed, so fucking dignified.
And him?
He was close to his boiling point.
"You offend me with your fucking hideous clothes. You offend me with your body. Do you think I want to see that?" he spat at her, pulling her arms down to reveal her torso. "Do you think anyone wants to see your ugly body and your gross pale skin?"
She blinked back tears, his insults hitting the mark.
