“I think you do,” he says.
“I don’t want to.”
“Then why?”
A few moments of silence slip away before a curtain of tears veils my eyes.
“I don’t have an answer,” I say in a strangled voice.
He studies me for a second before finally moving the blade away.
I breathe out a sigh of relief.
“Is that good enough for you?” he asks.
I nod fast.
A couple of times.
“Does it turn you on?”
I shake my head from side to side.
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t know where you stop.”
“Or if I stop,” he mutters.
“Yes...”
My voice trails off.
He slides the knife back onto the nightstand, dismounts me, and lets his jeans fall to the floor. My gaze roams over his groin as he wraps his fist around his hard-on.
He climbs on the bed and straddles my chest again, his upwardly curved cock jutting into the air, inches away from my mouth.
He pushes a pillow under my head.
“You’re fucked up,” I mumble, shifting under him.
“And it seemingly works,” he says, a faint smile creeping up his face.
I search his eyes for a moment.
“You haven’t seen anything yet, baby,” he adds.
“Don’t you fucking ‘baby me’,” I retort, regaining my composure. “I don’t need to suck your dick after you fucked someone else.”
His smile drops from his lips in a split second, so fast I don’t even have time to regret my words, before his hand wraps around my neck again, and he leans closer to me.
His jaw tenses, his eyes turning dark.
“Let me make something clear to you. You don’t get to tell me what to do,” he rumbles, pissed, and I have no idea whether he’s acting or not.
He pulls upright and strokes his cock while tightening his grip on my neck.
The more he does it, the more heat swirls between my legs.