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Scorching heat slashes across my cheeks, and I drop my hands. “I’m a virgin, not—not a nun.”
Jameson bites his lip, his eyes closing like I’ve brought him a plate full of his favorite food. “That’s perfect. Get started.”
I imagine the aerial hoop. The stage. The spotlight. I imagine being powerful and mysterious and sexy. I try to forget my bound wrists, and the awkward position of my arms, and that I’m a kidnapee.
You want out of the rope? Make yourself come.
I want out of the rope.
I twist one of my hands in the bindings and find my clit. At the first touch, I have to bite back a gasp. I’m already oversensitive.Why?The answer is Jameson. Jameson toying with me using the remains of my bodysuit. Jameson saying filthy things to me. Jameson calling me agood girl.His good girl, as if…as if that would ever mean anything…
The air on my skin is warm. His eyes burn. I don’twantto be good. I want to be a winged creature, flying away, but if the only freedom to be found is indoing this thing,then I want to be great at it. I arch my back to get more contact and start making slow circles.
I imagine a man holding me in his arms. A man over me in bed. A man’s warm breath on my nape. A man sitting in the audience at The Membership, a possessive pride in his eyes. I imagine performing for one person who knows who I am, who knows what it means to me—
“What are you thinking about, demon girl?” Jameson’s voice slides into my thoughts like it belongs there.
“You,” I breathe. “Oh—not—not you, no, no, no.” I’m already on the edge. It’s true, isn’t it? The man I was picturing wasn’t any man, it was Jameson, and he has no right to be in my thoughts like that. It’s because he’s the only one here. He means nothing to me. All I have to do is escape him.
I don’t know my eyes are closed until he says, “You’re thinking about me watching you.”
My head drops forward, but the shame has changed into a twisted excitement. My wrist aches, and my pussy clenches, and—oh. I wanted this to take longer. I wanted it to be a struggle. Maybe it makes memorepowerful if I can do this even when an evil man is in the room.
“Don’t fight it, demon girl. You’re so close. You’re so beautiful. Come on your fingers, thinking of me.”
I can’t deny it.
Iamthinking of him. And I can’t fight, I can’t, because pleasure washes over me like the song I dance to, spiraling down until it’s concentrated under my fingers. I move them faster, shameless, my breath caught in my throat until I reach the edge and go over.
I do my best to keep the sounds tucked away in the back of my throat, but it’s impossible, because Jameson’s talking again.My gorgeous demon girl. Jesus, that’s pretty. Look at how wet you are. I can’t stop looking at you. I can’t wait until you beg me to fuck that perfect little cunt. Shh. Yes, you will. You’ll beg. You’re so goddamn wet.
It’s even harder to stoptouching myself than it was to start. I pull them away the moment I can and thrusts my wrists toward Jameson, breathing harsh. My legs snap back together.
He rubs a hand over his mouth and gets to his feet.Thishasn’t given him any relief. Jameson comes to me in languid, easy strides. It’s a relief to let my wrists rest in his palm.
My kidnapper unties the rope and lets it drop to the floor.
But he doesn’t let go. He takes my wrists in his fingers and rubs at them, running his fingers over the mild marks left there by the binding. Jameson wears a frown of concentration while he bends them this way, and that, and while…
While I let him.
“What are you looking for?”
He lets my hands fall to my lap. “Damage.”
“I’m fine.”
“I know. I checked.” He goes back to the couch.Studiesme. He’s pretending to be relaxed, but I don’t believe it.Sometension in the air is because he did a kidnapping and then demanded this performance.
But not all of it.
The rush of chemicals through my body, combined with about a thousand conflicting emotions, makes it difficult to think, much less put together a sentence. Starting a conversation has to be better than waiting for him to take the lead.
“My mom would be proud,” I blurt out.Wow, do I wish I could take that back.
Jameson’s eyes narrow, skepticism in every line of his face. “Your mother would be proud of what?”
“Living this long, I bet.” God, I don’t know. She’d be proud that I still had a little fun in the middle of this objectively terrible situation. I think she would. I don’t know. “I’m still alive, but you remind me of Mount Vesuvius.”
