I swallow it down.
“Fuck.” He shoves away from me.
I open my eyes and find him glaring toward the front of the van. My legs are still spread, my pants hanging open. Slowly, I draw my knees together, hissing at the pressure still mounting between them. My fingers shake as they redo my zipper, but the tight confines of the denim aggravate the reckless heat he already started.
Cock-hungry. Cock-hungry. That phrase circles the inside of my skull incessantly. I can’t escape it. I can’t escapehim.
My only refuge is found when I close my eyes and focus on my shallow breathing. Only now do I dip into the one arsenal I have against Mischa. I think of Robert. His face. His mocking, lethal smile. His brown, soulless eyes.
I remember the words he told me nightly, smothered against my hair.
“You belong to me, Elle. You belong to me…”