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Gloria Walton may have won every game she’s ever played, but she’s never played with me.
She sinks back on her heels, uncertainty entering her gaze.
“Take your hands off me,” I say slowly.
She swallows, pulling her hands back from my thighs.
“Atta girl,” I say. “Now put them behind your back.”
“What?” she asks, her voice small now, suddenly meek.My suspicions are instantly aroused. No one flips the switch that fast. She’s still playing, but now she’s playing my game.
I don’t answer her. She heard me.
After a pause, she slowly puts her hands behind her back like a naughty child facing her punishment.Her obedience makes me want to push, to see how far she’ll go, to see if she’ll break as beautifully as she does in my mind.
But I won’t.
“You don’t deserve to touch me,” I say, running my knuckle down the side of her throat, where I can see her pulse racing in the faint light lining her delicate neck.
“And you think you deserve to touch me?” she demands. But she doesn’t pull away, even though I’m barely holding her hair, putting only enough pressure on it for her to feel it. She could twist away if she wanted. She doesn’t, and that makes me wonder what she’s up to, why she’s playing along. This night will probably end in my death anyway, so I have nothing to lose except myself.
I won’t ever lose that again.
“Yes,” I say. I reach for the zipper on her jacket and lower it slowly. I watch her eyes, so filled with uncertainty, even fear. I watch her throat as she swallows, as her pulse increases. I move the zipper until it reaches the bottom, and then I spread her jacket open with my free hand.
“What are you doing?” she whispers.
“You want to know what I’d do to you?” I ask, tugging the top of her t-shirt down. Her bra is pink satin, and I can see the faintest point of her nipple through the lining. My cock throbs hard in my pants, but I refocus on her beautiful, terrible face to center myself.
“What?” she asks.
I pull down the cup of her bra, folding it under her soft, perfect tit. “I would destroy you.”
She shivers, but she doesn’t slap the fuck out of me or scream for Duke. She doesn’t even drop my gaze. “How?” she challenges, but there’s an edge of wariness in her demand.
I run my thumb slowly across the little pink rosebud of her nipple, watching her lips part in a silent gasp, her pupils dilate. “I would take you somewhere else, where no one else could even think about touching you, or seeing you, or hearing you.”
I fold down the right cup of her bra and thumb her other nipple.“I’d spread your legs and make you cum, and cum, and cum until you were sobbing for me to stop, and then I’d make you give me one more. And then one more. And then one more.”
She’s breathing hard, and I leave her tits exposed and move lower, undoing the button of her jeans. I’m ready for her to strike, to scream and tell Duke I’m touching what’s his, so he’ll push me to my death, the way she wants. But she doesn’t move. She lets me undo her button.
“I wouldn’t stop until I used up every single minute of tonight and every single inch of your body. Until you couldn’t speak or walk for a week after I was done with you.”
One rung at a time, I slide her zipper down as I speak.
“So it’s a good thing you don’t want me to.”
“What?” she breathes, clearly not comprehending that she won’t win this round.
I chuckle and pull her zipper back up.
“How would you destroy me?” she blurts out, her voice breathy.
“You want me to, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she admits, rocking her hips forward.
I should stop. I should, but the thought of being this close to hearing Gloria Walton beg for my touch is irresistible. I smirk and lower her zipper again, dipping my fingers inside this time.
