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“Prove it.”
“I’m trying.”
“Get me out of here.”
“Pretend to suck me, and I’ll do my best.”
She fought me until I let her go just enough to look me in the eyes. She stared at me for the longest moment. She dove into the wreckage of my soul. “Help me,” she breathed. “Please...”
I didn’t reply.
I didn’t want to lie that I might not be able to.
I sucked in a breath as her hands slid up my thighs and went to the waistband of my boxer-briefs.
My hands landed automatically on her shoulders to stop her.
I didn’t want her touching me, regardless of what I just said.
She could be a real fairy with pixie dust and love potions, and I wouldn’t be able to get hard. I wouldn’t be able to come.
I was as flaccid as I’d ever been.
But how much could the people behind the mirror see?
Would they be able to see my nakedness or know that this was a sham?
Glancing around the room as subtly as I could, I searched for other mirrors.
My heart sank as I glanced into the canopy of the four poster.
Not a mirror.
Cameras.
Red-blinking, recording cameras angled right at my fucking crotch.
Shit.
My stomach roiled.
My heart pounded.
My hands fell off the girl’s shoulders as I surrendered yet again to another version of torture.
She looked up from my lap, her gaze burning with fear, her eyebrows pinched together. “So I just pretend...?”
“I-I—” My voice cracked. I swallowed hard. “I don’t think that will be enough.”
Hate hardened her face. “If you’re playing me, I’ll fucking—”
“Quiet,” I seethed. “Just...free me and angle over my cock. Don’t do anything more.”
She cursed under her breath.
I waited for her to fight me.
My brain whirred with a new plan to prevent us from being hurt tonight, but she finally obeyed and shifted higher on her knees.
