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Luca stops what he’s doing. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to look at your face. It makes me want to take a bath in a vat of acid.”
“Look at me,” he repeats. His voice is soft—almost entreating. “Look at me, Lynch. Pretty poison, deadly nightshade. I could be so gentle, I could make you feel so good.”
I open my eyes, shaking my head at his audacity—his sheer unmitigatedarrogance.
“Don’t you fucking get it? I don’t want this from you. I don’t wantanythingfrom you.”
He nods, as if he agrees with me, and then he dips two fingers between my legs. I feel myself clenching around him; I feel how wet and hungry I am, how frustrated I am and how much I need a quick, hard release. But instead of giving me more stimulation, Luca pauses, his fingers stilling against me.
“Then tell me to stop,” he says.
I bite hard into my bottom lip. I want to say no. I want to spit in his face and tell him to go to hell and boot him in the face. But I want to come, too, and so my words remain stuck in my throat.
“Go on, Lynch.” Luca’s eyes are fixed on mine, daring me to look away. His voice is as gentle as the touch of the blade earlier when he ran it across my scars. “Just tell me to stop. Tell me to stop, and I will.”
He works me with his fingers as he speaks, fucking in and out of me, slowly, sensually. Like he’s not a monster and a creep and a limp dick fucker, but my lover, teasing my pleasure out of me. I hate it, and I tremble, a sob of frustration in my throat because I want to come, and I want him to shut up, and I want to punch his face.
And I definitely,definitelydon’t want him to stop, not when his fingers start moving hard and faster, not when his mouth glides wetly against my breasts, not when he drags my nipples between his teeth or sucks at my throat.
“Say no,” he murmurs against my neck, curling his fingers inside me in a gesture that makes my entire body twitch. I swallow back a moan, throat shuddering beneath his lips, and I hear the smirk in his voice when he repeats, “Go on.Say no.”
And I know he wants me to. He’s not just proving to me that I won’t say no—hewantsme to say no because Luca is fucked-up. Because he would enjoy my orgasm so much more if he got to steal it from me.
But maybe I’m fucked up, too, because my entire body is a tightly-sprung coil of pleasure. My breath is a captive animal in my chest, my mouth open in a silent gasp of anticipation as my pleasure builds and crests. I grow completely still, eyes clenched shut.
“My desperate, dirty littleslut,” Luca breathes against the shell of my ear.
I come with a sudden jerk of my hips. I clamp my jaw down, refusing to let so much as a sigh cross my lips. No matter how silent I am, though, Luca’s fingers remain inside me as I clench around him, wetness dripping to pool on the chair between my thighs.
When the ripples of my orgasm finally fade, I slump back in the chair with a short “Fuck.”
Luca slips his fingers out of me with an obscenely wet squelch, and he stands up, raising his fingers, looking at them.
“Disgusting,” he says, tone dripping smug satisfaction.
And with a harsh, mocking laugh, he brushes his fingers across my face from my temple to my jaw, leaving a line of my own wetness across my face and mouth.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, poison.”
26
Uncooperative Anatomy
Luca
In my bathroom, Ilean on the sink and watch myself in the mirror. The reflection presents an image I’m familiar with—a pale, hard face; a long, straight nose; cold grey eyes; a mouth like a marble statue’s. There’s no emotion hiding in any feature, no indication of excitement aside from a slight flush low in my cheeks.
I’m hard for the first time in almost three years; nothing in my face could possibly give that away.
Good. I have no intention of letting Willow know.
I wash my hands and run my shower as hot as it will go. Before taking my clothes off, I make sure the bathroom door is locked. Even though I’ve left Willow half-naked and handcuffed to a chair, I wouldn’t put it past her to make her way in whileI’m showering and exact her revenge while I’m at my most vulnerable.
In the shower, I let the scalding water run down my body for a few minutes before leaning one arm against the shower wall. Facing away from the glass door, I take my cock in my hand tentatively. It’s not fully erect, but it’s hard enough that touching myself sends a shimmer of sensation through me. Not quite pleasure, but at this point, anything is better than the complete numbness I’d experienced so far.
I close my eyes, the hot water running over my face, and browse my mind for a good enough fantasy. I fish for the memory of a girl who was blond and curvy. Bringing her forward in my mind, I try to wrap a chain around her neck, to imagine myself biting bruises along her neck and chest. Build a fantasy out of the memory.
