“The reason I didn’t fuck you is because I needed to get you ready, but since you want it so bad…”
“I don’t.” I meant for my voice to be firm, but it’s similar to a moan.
What the hell is wrong with me? Do I…want this?
Before I can figure out an answer, Jonathan yanks the cover away. Now I have no defence line. Without his tailored clothes that somehow tame his raw self, he appears like the roguish predator he actually is. The slight stubble on his jaw gains a dark shadow within seconds.
He crawls atop me and undoes the buttons of my blouse, as slowly as he did his and with the same level of confidence.
It falls from my shoulder, exposing my black satin bra. Jonathan’s fingers trail over the material, eliciting a shudder at the base of my spine.
“Next time, I want red. Like that lipstick.” He snaps it open, pulls it off me, and throws it beside us.
I’m breathing so harshly, I’m surprised he doesn’t notice. Every inch of my skin is attuned to his touch, and my entire body is homed in on his presence.
I take in his woodsy scent with every inhale and purge some of my inhibition with every exhale.
Somewhere in my mind, I recognise this is wrong, but I can’t think of the reasons why right now. They’re trapped, unreachable. Almost invisible.
He unbuttons my trousers and slides them down my legs, then throws them on top of the pile of clothes.
We sit opposite each other, completely naked. Or more like I’m sitting while he hovers over me like a dark promise in the middle of a moonless night.
“You’re now the property of Jonathan King, wild one.”
“I’m no one’s property.”
He narrows one of his eyes. “If you have nothing useful to say, shut that mouth.”
“I mean it. I might have agreed to this deal, but you don’t own me, Jonathan. No one does and no one ever will.”
He grabs me by the hips and flips me over. I yelp as my front hits the mattress and he lifts my arse up in the air.
“I was going to give you what you crave and fuck you, but I changed my mind.”
“W-what?”
His hand slaps my arse. Hard. I moan into the pillow, my voice wanton, even to my own ears.
“You’ll beg for it.”
“Screw you, Jonathan.”
He spanks me again, this time circling a finger on my slick folds until a whimper escapes my throat. “Add a please and I might.”
Ugh. Damn him.
His length slides up and down my wetness, slow and unhurried. The sheer confidence he exudes with his movements turn me into a puddle. My nails dig into the sheets, trying to find refuge in Jonathan, and failing miserably.
His assault continues, getting more ruthless by the second. The crown of his cock aligns with my entrance and I tense with anticipation, but he removes it all too soon.
He thumbs my clit just to back off.
He spanks me just to push me into the highest throes of lust.
The small bursts of excitement, arousal, and then disappointment hit me over and over again. I’ve never been this turned on in my entire life. It’s torture in its deadliest form and all I want is more.
“I hate you,” I mutter.