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“Please—”
“Do it!”
A brief flash of anger shoots through me. Why does he have to be so fucking persistent? Why can’t he just accept my lies like everyone else does?
He puts more of his weight on my throat, trying to force me to panic. And I know that I should. I’m naked, lying on my back on the floor while a ruthless mafia prince has his boot on my throat. Any normal person would have panicked. But all I can think about is the four moves I would use to get out of this while also snapping his neck.
“Touch yourself.”
I’m yanked out of my murderous thoughts by his unexpected demand. He eases the pressure on my throat slightly.
“What?” I blurt out.
He jerks his chin towards my pussy. “Touch yourself.” Then his eyes harden even more as he locks them on me again. “Or fight back.”
If I didn’t need to keep up the pretense, I would’ve snorted and rolled my eyes. I know exactly what he’s doing. Direct threats obviously didn’t work. So now, he’s trying to humiliate me instead. But he has no idea who he’s dealing with.
I keep my eyes on his as I slide my right hand down to my pussy. His boot is still on my throat, so I can’t see what I’m doing. Not that I need to. With my gaze locked on Rico’s now utterly stunned face, I start stroking my clit.
He blinks, as if he hadn’t actually expected me to do it.
Then he flicks a glance down at my hand, and another emotion surges up in his eyes. Something like hunger. Or maybe jealousy.
Closing my eyes, I continue stroking my clit.
I only make it three more seconds before the boot disappears from my throat. I let out a yelp and snap my eyes open as Rico yanks me up from the floor. The sound of naked flesh hitting stone echoes through the large shower room as Rico shoves me up against the wall. His left hand locks around my throat, trapping me there, as he closes the distance between us.
“Fine,” he says, and there is a roughness to his voice now. “If you don’t want to fight back, then at least tell me to stop.”
His brown eyes, now burning with fire, sear into mine as he puts his right hand on the side of my ribs. It’s warm against my chilled skin. Especially compared to the cold stone wall behind my back.
I stare back at him, my mind still trying to catch up, as he slowly starts sliding his hand down to my hip.
“Tell me to stop,” he says.
A ripple of pleasure courses through me as he caresses my hipbone.
His eyes remain locked firmly on mine. “Tell me to stop and I will.”
My skin prickles as he traces his fingers gently down my thigh.
“Tell me to stop.” This time, it’s an order. A command to do as he fucking says and tell him to stop.
I don’t.
While I try to tell myself that it’s because I can’t reveal who I really am, I know that it’s complete bullshit. Telling him to stop wouldn’t reveal any of my true skills. It wouldn’t even ruin my fake identity as Isabella Johnson. Begging him to stop would even be perfectly in line with what she would do. So it has nothing to do with my need to keep up any sort of pretense.
The real reason why I’m not telling him to stop is because I don’twanthim to stop.
Desperation bleeds into his eyes. “Tell me to stop.” A plea this time. As if he knows that if we don’t stop now, it will ruin us both.
But I don’t tell him to stop.
And he doesn’t stop either.
His fingers skim the inside of my thigh. My heart thumps in my chest as he trails them higher. He keeps his other hand around my throat, pinning me to the wall with effortless strength.
A gasp rips from my lungs as his knuckles brush against my pussy.
