I blinked. “Why isn’t it?”
“If I get pregnant, someone will have to see it then.”
Despite myself, despite the ache in my body for her, I had to laugh. “I’ll rethink the situation if I have to.”
My thumb swiped down her parted folds, and she released a whimper that hit me in ways I knew she wouldn’t understand. Her head flopped back, and I flicked her clit with the edge of my thumb, watching her body as she responded to my touch.
“Have you touched your clit before, Inessa?” I growled. I guessed she had, and I wasn’t happy about it, but it was leading to the bigger question.
She shivered, either at my touch or the query, and muttered, “Of course. I have needs too, you know?” That her snark came with another shudder had my lips quirking, and when she glowered at me, managing to force her head upright to do so, I smirked at her.
“Did someone else touch you?”
She blinked, unease slipping into her, making her tense. “No.”
I narrowed my eyes at that. “Are you lying to me?” Even as rage filtered through me at the notion of someone having touched her, she gulped.
“I-I used to—”
At her pause, I slipped a finger into her pussy, then arced it up and raked down her front wall, which had her eyes flaring wide. “Used to what?”
She took a deep breath. “There was a guard I liked.” Her mouth trembled, and her eyes turned dazed. “It was stupid.”
“What was?” That I managed to control the level of anger bubbling away inside me was a miracle. “What was, Inessa?” I commanded, wanting her to get used to this.
Wanting her to learn that I’d use pleasure as a weapon to get what I wanted.
“It’s embarrassing,” she moaned, and her elbows came out from under her as she flopped on her back. Her legs reared up, cupping my shoulders.
“You can tell me anything,” I soothed, knowing that, with time, she’d tell me everything I wanted with little to no issue. Including information she’d gleaned about her father’s operation.
Her hand moved to cover her face. “I used to—” She sucked in a breath when I slipped another finger inside her. “Oh God, I can’t think when you do that!” she cried hoarsely, her legs tightening around me.
“Think, Inessa,” I crooned. “What did you do?”
“H-He used to sit at a desk just off my father’s office.” A moan escaped her as I began to rub her clit with my free hand. “I’d go in there, and I’d—well, I’d hitch myself onto the desk.”
I frowned.
What the hell was she talking about?
“Why did you do that?”
“If I put pressure on my clit, it feels good.”
Understanding washed through me. “You humped the desk in front of him?”
Despite myself, despite the fact I was annoyed, I was also amused at the thought.
“Y-Yes.”
“Did he touch you?”
“No. Never. But I did it a few times,” she whispered, her shame clear. “The last time, he almost did, but my father nearly caught us. I knew he’d hurt him, so I never did it again.”
That had probably saved his life from me.
“Did you come?”