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Pure horror flashes across Willow’s features. The same red tinge I saw as a sign of innocence unfurls on her face. She squeaks, “No, Camdyn!”
“Wrong answer.”
“You said I could say—”
With her thick strands coiled around my fists, I force Willow down onto her face. Head down and ass up, she’s fully presented to me. My hand tightens around Willow’s hair. I pinch her clit, and her moans become muffled.
“I’m the biggest fecking liar ye’ll ever meet in your lifetime, Lo.” I plow my index finger into her hot slit.
Willow squeals angrily into the soft padding. Her cunt involuntarily constricts around my finger. Tight.
Virgin tight.
I flip Willow back over onto her voluptuous ass. “You’re a bigger fecking liar than I am.”
“Wh-what?”
“Why?” I grip Willow’s throat again. “Your pussy crushed my finger. If I try to slide a second into you . . .” She’d grind my bones. I blink at my version of a perfect Christmas.
She trembles out. “We . . . should stop now.”
“Not on your life.” I pick Willow up and carry her into the yacht. Amir said one of the rooms wasn’t active. I told him to record and not livestream. I won’t chance him or those DuPont students viewing my plans for Willow Greene. She’s a virgin, and she’s mine.
