Page 153 of Cruel Demands

I slide my hand down her stomach. At the edge of her underwear, I pause. “Here?”

She glares at me. “You know where.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be apologetic and appreciative I let you back in bed?”

“But you did. And now you have to say it.”

Her fingers tug sharply at my hair. I smile against her skin.

“Touch my pussy,” she says.

The words go through me like a blade. I hook my fingers beneath the fabric and draw it down her legs. She opens for me without instruction. The sight nearly ruins what remains of my control. I settle between her thighs and stroke her once, gently, gathering the wetness already waiting for me. She shudders.

“Still angry?” I ask.

“Yes.”

I stroke her again. Her hips rise. “Very convincing.”

“Shut up.”

I circle her clit slowly with my thumb. Her answer becomes a broken sound. I watch her face as I touch her. Every flicker. Every tightening of her mouth. Every breath she tries and fails to keep quiet. I insert one finger. She contracts around me. My body aches. I add another, moving carefully, preparing her despite the impatient way she pushes against my hand.

I curl my fingers inside her and bring my mouth to her ear. “You are not breakable,” I say. “But you are precious.”

She wraps her arms around my neck. The reaction is small, involuntary, and more intimate than anything else she has given me tonight. I kiss her. My hand continues between her legs until she is trembling, until her nails score my shoulders and her body begins to tighten.

Then I withdraw. She makes an outraged sound. “Mikhail.”

I stand and remove the rest of my clothes. Her gaze moves over me. I see desire there. Anger too. Good. I do not want forgiveness purchased by pleasure. I want her angry and honest and still choosing me.

She reaches for me before I can settle over her, wrapping her hand around my cock. My eyes close. Her touch is uncertain only for a moment. Then she strokes me deliberately, watching my face.

Before I understand her intention, she pushes herself upright and presses her mouth to the head of my cock.

“Taylor.”

She looks up at me. There is something almost challenging in her expression, as though she expects me to stop her. Instead, she opens her mouth and takes me farther. My hand closes around the edge of the mattress.

Her inexperience still shows in the hesitation of her movements, the way she experiments with pressure and watches me carefully for every reaction. Somehow that makes it worse. She is learning me deliberately.

Her tongue moves over me and my hips tense. “Blyad.” Fuck. Her eyes brighten immediately. Apparently she likes that answer. She does it again. I thread my fingers into her hair but make myself keep my hand loose. She is choosing this. I will not turn her choice into another thing I control.

Taylor takes me deeper, then pulls back with a small cough and an irritated expression. I almost laugh. “Do not.”

“I said nothing.”

“You were going to.”

“I would never.”

She narrows her eyes and wraps her hand around the part of me she cannot comfortably take into her mouth. The combination wipes every trace of amusement from my face. Her mouth curves around me. Vindictive little thing.

She watches me as she moves, clearly pleased each time my breathing changes. When her tongue flicks beneath the head again, my hand tightens involuntarily in her hair.

She stops. I release her immediately. “Sorry.”