“Lovely.”
The word stabs. I smile automatically, but my chest aches. I don’t want to be lovely. I want to be craved. Wanted so bad it hurts him.
Before I can sink deeper into my own head, he peels off his shirt.
And my heart forgets how to beat.
The dim lighting makes the lines of his body faintly glow, every muscle highlighted. The bruises along his side fade into the shadows, giving him a rugged look that makes me literally clench. He endured that for me. Wanted to protect me... of all people.
He rubs the back of his neck, his muscles flexing. The motion is almost boyish, but when he speaks, there’s nothing soft left.
“I’m gonna show you who I am.”
He pauses, jaw tight. “When you want to stop, say so. I’ll stop.”
I nod, my throat too dry to answer out loud.
“Good,” he mutters.
Then, his mouth curves into something wicked and cruel.
“Now, get on your hands and knees,” he orders, voice sharp enough to cut. “And crawl over here, like the clueless little pig you are.”
The words hit like a slap.
I suck in a breath, blinking, but he just stands there, waiting, the command hanging heavy in the air between us.
I don’t want to be like those fantasy girls he talked about. The ones who drooled over him, humiliated themselves for him.
But I also do. God, I do. If this is what it takes to have him... all of him... then I’ll do it.
So I swallow my pride. I drop to my hands and knees.
The floor is hard under my palms. The latex outfit squeaks as I move.
Every inch forward is a battle between shame and desire.
His eyes follow every movement, searing, dark, starved. Like he’s already imagining what he’s going to do once I reach him.
I’m shaking. Humiliated. But also, weirdly proud.
Because I’m doing it.
For him.
For us.
Chapter 18
Charlotte
When I reach Grayson, I grab his hand and slip two of his fingers into my mouth. I suck, swirling my tongue slow and wet, bobbing my head like I’m already begging for his cock.
I glance up through my lashes.
His chest rises harder now, mouth slightly parted, but his eyes stay sharp, predatory.
His fingers press deeper against my tongue, testing me. My throat braces instinctively.
