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“What, princess?” he mocked. “You don’t like my orders? Or is it that you don’t like taking them?”
I flashed my eyes up at him. “You lied.”
“I didn’t.” He put his hand against my shoulder and pushed me back to the wall, just like he had had me in the elevator. He slid his hand down my dress, pressing against my hip bone before slipping his hand underneath again.
A shudder ran down my spine, but I tried not to move. Not to speak. This was just the game we were playing in the elevator. He pressed his fingertips against my inner thigh and then dragged his knuckles up. I was already so wet my juices were streaming down my leg.
“You don’t get to come,” he said.
I shook my head. “Then you don’t get to touch my pussy.”
He ducked his head, anger curling his lip. “You. Do not. Get to. Come.”
I put my hands against his chest, trying to push him back, but I couldn’t move him. “Then what do I get out of it?”
He curled his finger and ran the knuckle down the side of my face. “Is me not enough?”
“No.”
He worked his jaw, like he was thinking, and he finally said, “Fine, princess. You get something and then I get something. A little tit-for-tat.”
My heartbeat ran wild to the point it might explode from my chest, splattering blood across me and him. It might finally wipe that fucking challenging smile off his face. If he wanted me to cower to him like the bunnies, the bastard had another thing coming.
I wouldn’t lower myself like that, but who the fuck was I kidding? If a whore was what enjoyed fucking, I was indeed a whore. Every part of me, and worse... even the word made my pussy clench.
“Fine,” I muttered through clenched teeth, unable to deny that I needed to be full of him. That I craved the rough fuck he promised.
Sas bent toward me, the fluorescent light creating a halo around his head. He was anything but an angel, but the orgasm I might have after all this teasing would surely send me straight to heaven.
Or hell.
Shit. I would walk through both if it meant I got to come.
“Besides an orgasm, what do you want?” he asked.
So much.
“Everything,” I breathed.
Where was Graff when I needed him? He had been there last time, and I just expected him to be here now and always.
“Your name,” I said.
He jerked his head back like I had slapped him. He probably would’ve taken the blow better than the ask for his name. Papà knew it, maybe. He’d called him Simeon before, but that didn’t come from Sas.
“My name?” he asked like the word tasted bitter.
His pink tongue darted out, and I wanted it on my pussy.
“Yes,” I said, straightening up, denying myself now. “I know it isn’t Sas. Or Sasquatch.”
“So you don’t like Sasquatch?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely-not.”
“It’s fitting, though. Yeah? Because I’m tall?”
“Because it says you’re a monster.”
