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Now I know all pussies were not created equal, nor were all mouths.
I tilt my head at her. “Why are you laughing? You know it’s true just as well as I do. Is that what this is about? You’re pouting because you realize that you belong to me in every single way?”
She slams a hand on the table, but she startles neither of us. “I’m not pouting. I just—you’re…” The breath she exhales then is explosive. “I hate you. I hate you so much. I hate this. I hate what you’re doing to me. I hate all of it!”
I let her throw her tantrum, grinning all the while. The more she says the word hate the less it sounds like hate and the more it sounds like something else. Something a bit more impactful.
It’s only when she’s finished going on and on about how much she hates me that I say, “Liar.” The lone word is enough to trip her up, and I watch as she stands, jerking her chair back with the sudden movement. “What? I only speak the truth, love. One of us has to. Everything you just said is a lie—or are you going to try telling me it was all true?”
What she says next makes me grin harder, mostly because it’s so out of the blue and spoken so seriously that she might just mean it: “I wish I could kill you.” Such anger, such fierce fury radiating from her.
God, it’s becoming increasingly difficult resisting the impulse to bend her over this table and fuck her raw.
“Go ahead,” I say, stunning her into silence as I reach for the gun I always keep on my person—when you’re me, you never know when it might come in handy. I lay the shiny pistol on the table in front of me. “Here’s your chance. You want to kill me? Then do it. Take the gun, aim it at my head, and pull the trigger.”
Of course, if she does that, then she’ll never see her brother again. We both know it. Then again, we also both know that she’d never actually pull the trigger. She says she hates me, that she wants to kill me, but it’s all lies.
Thea glares at me from across the table, not moving a muscle. She’s probably debating whether or not she should even bother, or if it’s some kind of trick that’ll get her locked up in her room again.
Seconds pass, and something changes inside her. She straightens herself out, storms around the table, and heads right for me. Her hand grabs the gun and she points it right at my face. If I was a lesser man, I might recoil, might’ve blink as she tries to prove herself and her hatred for me, but I’m Silus fucking McLean, so the only thing I do is watch her with a smirk on my face.
“If you’re actually going to do it,” I tell her, “it might be worthwhile to take the safety off.”
“Oh. Shit.” She lowers the gun and fumbles with the safety. Before I know it, the gun is once again lifted, its barrel pointed directly at my face. The way she breathes, so hard like she can’t fill her lungs enough, tells me just how riled up she is.
Maybe a teeny, tiny part of her wants to kill me. Thea wants to be able to pull that trigger, but as she stands there, aiming it at me, my death at her fingertips, it must dawn on her: she can’t. Whatever fire inside that wants her to shoot me also won’t let her go through with it.
Her arm trembles, and all she can mutter is the word, “Fuck.”
I slowly turn toward her and stand, and as I do so I set a hand on the gun and lower it. She lets it go and I set it on the table as my other hand snakes around her waist. “Did you really think you could shoot me?” I ask, my amusement plain. “Come on. We both know you were never going to shoot me, love, but I do give you kudos for trying. You’re sexy when you’re angry, you know that?”
Instead of letting her answer, I move her so that she’s pinned between my body and the table. It’s not some cheap knockoff; the thing is made of real wood, so it’ll do. I hoist her up and set her ass on the edge of the table, spreading her legs on either side of me. She wears leggings tonight, so tight they leave nothing to the imagination.
One hand curls around her throat while the other reaches for my gun, which I then hold between us. Her gaze is split between the shiny metal and my face, her pupils dilated in what I can safely assume is desire.
She wants me, and she hates that she wants me.
“Let me give you a tip,” I say, waving the gun between us to show it off. “Only put your finger on the trigger when you’re ready to pull it… otherwise, well, accidents might just happen. Take, for instance, my finger right now. See how it’s avoiding the trigger? It doesn’t mean the gun is safe—one second is all it would take for me to move my finger to that trigger and pull it. Tell me, Thea, do you think I’d shoot you?”
Thea doesn’t answer, but she does glare up at me with a defiance I want to inhale.
“No,” I carry on, “I wouldn’t. I can’t even aim it at you… but you should respect a weapon like this.” As I say it, I lower the gun between her legs, flipping it so that its muzzle points down to the floor and the long, smooth side of the barrel leans against her apex through her leggings.
She gasps when I push the gun against her harder, and I lean my top half down as I whisper, “I would never shoot you, but this gun is a part of me, and like the rest of me, you will learn to respect it.”
I start moving the barrel of the gun against her, and she shivers and tries to stop me by grabbing the wrist between her legs, but she’s not strong enough. Thea can’t stop me. All she can do is sit there and take it.
As the seconds tick by, as I watch the expression on Thea’s face change from shock to resistance to surrender, my cock turns to steel in my pants. How could it not get hard while I watch her close her eyes and give in? Knowing she’s getting off on my gun… it’s fucking sexy as hell.
She might try to deny it, but this girl is mine no matter how you look at it. She’s fucking mine. I’ll keep reminding her of it as much as I have to until it sinks in.
Thea moans, throwing her head back as much as she can with my other hand still curled around her throat. Her eyes are closed, her lips parted. Her chest heaves against her shirt, her perky tits pressing against the fabric in a way that begs to be released. It’s an erotic sight, watching her come undone on my pistol.
“How does it feel?” I ask her, the words coming out ragged. “Do you still hate me, Thea?” The only thing she can do in response is moan again, which gives me a certain type of satisfaction nothing else in this world could.
I pick up the pace with the gun between her legs, and she starts to rock her hips along with it, grinding her clit on the metal, a slave to her baser instincts. She went from attempted murder to desperately needing to get off—and I wouldn’t have it any other way. This girl will keep me on my toes, just as I’ll keep her on hers.
I watch as her breath hitches, her face flushes. Her body tenses, and I know she’s so very close to coming. “That’s right,” I croon over her. “You’re going to come for me, for my gun. You’re going to lose it, and when you do, I want to hear you.”
