“Yes, please.”
“Don’t act cute,” he snipped. He was totally and breathtakingly in his element telling me what to do. It ruffled the staunch rebel in me but thrilled my masochistic demons, the clashing concoction an elixir more potent than sex itself.
“How do you want me to act, Agent Reyes?”
The token of submission I delivered to him with my breathy plea swirled in his eyes, rough fingers drawing my mouth to his.
“I want you to be a good fucking girl and put two fingers inside your cunt and tell me how tight she is.”
A wave of heat smashed through my body, excited air sputtering out as his dirty fucking words slammed into my chest. Well then.
My agent had a sharp tongue as filthy as they came. Filthy like me. Like us.
And that was just one order.
Impatient eyes waited for me to comply, my hand fumbling beneath the bubbles to pry past the band of my underwear. I managed, fingers brushing over my smooth pussy, the entire thing swollen and puckered from so much teasing. A messy breath tumbled from my lips as the tips of my fingers grazed the slit, arousal slicking up my fingers even in the water.
“Put them inside.”
How James knew I hadn’t pushed my fingers inside yet was downright scary, but the torrid look he was giving me said I had a right to be scared of him.
So I did it, pried two fingers inside myself to be that good fucking girl he wanted me to be. It was a tight fit no matter how horny I was, my voice catching on a whimper as I shoved them in up to the knuckles.
Approval blazed up James’ face, his thumb tendering soft strokes against my jawline again.
“How tight are you, Scarlett?”
“Tight enough that you wouldn’t last sixty seconds,” I huffed.
He didn’t like that, chastising me with a severe glower.
“You’re mistaking me for the incompetent boys you’ve fucked who have no idea what they’re doing.”
My free hand curled around the back of his neck, folding the dampened hair at his nape between my fingers and grinning down at his brutal beauty.
“Jealousy’s a good color on you, Reyes.”
His expressive eyes gave a flash of relief I don’t think he was aware of, the emotion filing away in place of proud ownership.
“I am a jealous man, and I’m unapologetic about it. I know that makes me red flag central, but I can’t help it. If something’s mine, it belongs to me. I don’t want anyone else to even entertain the idea that they can have it.”
My nipples itched beneath the fabric of my bra, tightening the more he spoke.
“As some loud-mouthed brat once put it so eloquently,” a darkened amusement graced his stare, “I go ‘full caveman’ when someone puts their hands or mouth on places I want reserved for me.”
My walls clenched around my two moving fingers, aching for him and his brazen tongue and hungry cock.
Every inch of me, inside and out, actually hurt for him, a pulsing wound that needed healing and bandages and proclamations of protection or else the infection would go too deep.
My body was a festering scar that the fire refused to let scab over, but James was the hurricane that could set me free. With a kiss. With a slight. With a fist collared around my throat.
“I did worry you were going to gouge Demitri’s tongue out with one of the forks at our table,” I huffed, breathing turning untamed.
“I thought about it. Fuck, did I think about it.” His voice wavered in control, pushed off balance by his hatred for Demitri. Yet, he was quick to correct it. “But I’m not talking about that idiot when you’ve got your fingers crammed inside your pussy for me. Right now, you are mine. Your cunt, your cum, your orgasm, it’s all fucking mine. Say it.”
“Yours.” My throat dried out I was panting so hard. “All yours.”
“What’s all mine?” His possessive tone whipped in correction.