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“This is fucked up,” I whisper, rocking against him, seeking more.
“Yeah, but it feels good, doesn’t it?” He chuckles darkly, licking the shell of my ear before biting down hard.
“Fuck,” I breathe, pleasure firing off around my body.
“Tell me how you did it,” he coaxes, somehow applying even more pressure to my clit. He’s like a freaking magician. He hasn’t even touched me yet, not really, and I’m already so close.
This is not good.
Not good at all.
But I can’t stop.
“I already told you… I don’t know what— ah, God, Theo. That feels—”
A growl of frustration vibrates deep in his throat as he pulls away enough to shove his hand between us. “Fuck, you’re soaked.” He rips my underwear aside and spears two fingers inside me so quickly, I’m stunned.
“Now, this is how it’s going to go,” he drawls, staring at me with eyes as black as night. “I’m going to fuck you with my fingers and I’m not going to stop, until you tell me the truth.”
He says it like it’s a threat.
Like his fingers don’t feel good inside me. Thick and long and curled in a way that tells me all I need to know about Theo Ashworth’s experience with the female anatomy.
“I already told you,” I sass, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“We’ll see.” He smirks, rolling his thumb expertly over my clit as he sinks his fingers deeper.
I melt, trying desperately to smother the moan building inside me. But it feels so good. He doesn’t kiss me, but he watches me the entire time, his hungry gaze darting from my eyes to my mouth and back again.
Theo might be trying to unravel me, but I see how difficult it is for him to restrain himself too.
It shouldn’t matter but it does, it gives me a strange sense of satisfaction knowing that I affect him as much as he clearly affects me.
“Tell me the truth, Raine.”
“I don’t know— ah,” I cry out as he pushes another finger inside me, stretching me. Filling me.
Jesus. He’s good at this.
Too freaking good.
“You were saying?” Victory dances in his eyes and I can’t resist taking the bait.
It’s always been my downfall so why should this be any different.
“From where I’m standing, the only person losing here is you.”
“How do you figure?” He practically pants the words, his expression growing darker and hungrier by the second, the sexual energy and hatred crackling between us a toxic, heady combination.
“Because you’re assuming I don’t like this.”
He falters.
Mr. Entitled Rich Boy himself actually falters.
“Cat got your tongue, Teddy?”
“Shut up, just shut the fuck up.” The air shifts, his touch becoming cold and clinical as my words sink in.
