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“You know I did,” she bites back. “We both heard it, but thank you for making this so much more humiliating!”
One day very soon, I will smack that sass right out of her with my hand on her bare ass.
“Tone!” I reprimand sharply. “Did you piss yourself, girl? Or did you wet your panties for me?”
Her head snaps up at my words, our eyes meeting through the two mirrors.
Even from this angle, I see her eyes well with tears and her lips tremble.
“You watched?” she breathes. The statement sounds more like a question as disbelief fills her face.
The look is quickly followed by outrage.
She takes one last swipe at the material, balls up the now damp tissue, and tosses it into the toilet.
She straightens fully again, and because the mirror is directly in front of her, or maybe it’s that she can feel my gaze eating up every inch of her, her hard gaze finds mine again. Her expression tells me she can’t believe I’m still watching.
I am not bashful.
“You can glare all you want, little one, it won’t change shit,” I tell her.
I watch as she pulls her panties up, hiding herself from me. Her jeans quickly follow.
“It will if I kick you in the nuts,” she mumbles under her breath, but the words are spelled out for me as I watch her lips move.
Sassy. I smirk.Something that will need to be trained out of her sooner rather than later.
She takes a moment to close her eyes and take a deep breath, probably to gather more patience as my little one looks ready to blow.
But it doesn’t matter because, like I told her, it won’t change shit. Nothing will. She could throw the world’s biggest tantrum, and the only thing it will do is make my cock harder as I imagine doling out her punishment.
Nothing and no one can stop what’s happening between us, nor what will come.
Stepping up to the sinks, she reaches out and squirts some soap out of the dispenser into her hands.
“At least they have soap in here.” She’s talking to herself, trying to defuse the tension. Her body screams her discomfort. “I didn’t think men washed their hands.”
My lips twitch with the need to poke at her. “They don’t . . . That’s why there’s plenty left,” I tease her, something that is foreign to me. I’m glad I did, as the smile she gives me is blinding. Her cheeks dimple as her mouth spreads wide, and a small chuckle escapes her.
And for that one second, she looks at me like I’m normal. The way she’d look at anyone else she was interested in. Maybe even the little dickhead outside.
Seconds later, our moods sour.
Hers, because her mind reminds her that she is supposed to fight this, and mine, because I want to kill her boyfriend now, not later.
Clearing her throat, she says, “I should go,” with a nod to the door behind me.
I stare as she tosses the used paper towel in the bin, and with her head down, she walks toward me with hesitant steps. No, not toward me. My sweet girl thinks she can make it to the door behind me without getting too close.
And because I like to play with my prey, that’s exactly what I do.
I tilt my head and watch her; the way her eyes peek at me right before she takes her next step, the pause she does after taking said step, and the way she takes a deep breath as she passes me. Because despite being scared, she feels the need to take some part of me inside her, even if it is just my smell.
And the thrill that gives me is like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
I turn my head to keep her in view, my body frozen until her small hand touches the door. I spring toward her, my hand slamming against the wood of the door, forcing it closed.
“What . . .” The words get lodged in her throat. “What are you doing?”
