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Another line straight out of a fairy tale.
His cruelest trick is telling the truth—or rather, part of it.
They didn’t matter because they were the ones he willingly went to for his entertainment, for his pleasure, while I was supposed to be the respectable wife. Spoiler: no woman wants to be the boring ball-and-chain, and a second choice for their supposed fiancé.
“Tell me this doesn’t mean a thing, and you can fuck me as hard as you want, right here, right now,” I whisper in his ear.
I feel his chest vibrate as he grunts, and I smirk. I’ve got him. He only gets what he wants if he’s honest, for a change. “You got ruthless, poison.”
“I learnt from the best.”
Less is back on my mouth, hand lifting my leg over his narrow hips, digging the swell of his hard length right at my core through my flimsy clothing and his dress pants.
Oh, god, yes!
It’s not healthy, how much I’ve missed him—the source of so much pain. The worst thing that has ever happened to me.
“It doesn’t mean a thing,” he whispers against my throat. “My name, my rank, my entire fortune. None of it matters as much as the way you kiss me. And I’ll never pretend otherwise.”
I groan in annoyance. “You’re a jerk.”
He chuckles. “Besides, you and I both know I don’t need you to let me fuck you, Ivy. I can just take what’s mine. Pretty sure you prefer it that way, don’t you?”
I might have tried to retort, but his hand has moved from my thighs to my folds, teasing my entrance, so all I can do is clench my teeth to stop myself from moaning.
“You’d much rather make me take you, so you can keep painting me as the villain in your story.” He curves those talented fingers inside me, with an ease fine-tuned by far too much practice, while his thumb teases my clit. “No matter how fucking soaked and desperate you are for me. You want to be able to say you had no choice. You didn’t want it. You don’t want me.”
I bury my head in his shoulder so he can’t watch me, my eyes shut tight, my entire face on fire. His fingers move in and out fast, fucking me with purpose. I know I won’t last long—he’s a damn virtuoso at other things than playing piano.
“Beautiful,” Less says, his hand at the back of my neck moving to push back the curtain of straight black hair falling between us. “But see, the thing is, Ivy, as desperate as I am to feel you come on my fingers, I’m not much for repeating mistakes. Tell me you want to come.”
I don’t. I bite my lip harder.
“Tell me,” Less demands. “Or I stop. You’re so, so very close aren’t you, beautiful? I don’t want to torture you like that, I really don’t. But I will.”
Despite his words, he moves inside me faster, thumb forming slow circles that have my supporting leg shaking, so weak I would have fallen on my ass if he weren’t holding me in place.
So, so, so very close. I feel my insides beginning to quake, when Less, against all logic, proves himself to be a man of his word.
He lets go.
He fuckingstops.
I stare at him in complete disbelief as he takes a couple of steps back, that infuriating smirk he doesn’t tend to show to the outside world firmly in place.
What thehell?
It wasn’t the first time he demanded things of me while we were having sex. He’s asked me to tell him I was enjoying myself. How much I liked having him inside me. Once, he even had the gall to ask if I loved him. I’ve always ignored him, and he’s never, ever just…stopped.
Less brings his middle finger to his lips, tongue starting to wrap around it. “Mmm. Sweet as ever.”
And on that note, he walks out of the hall, whistling the tune he was just playing.
TWENTY-THREE
Less
I grin all the way to my room. Sure, my dick hurts me in a way that makes me want to google if it’s possible to die of blue balls, but it’s worth it to see the complete bafflement in Ivy’s face when I stopped right when she was about to come.
