“No, you idiot. You are not fuckedup. You are just fucked by your own guilt. And you’ve gone so far down this road of self-hate that you don’t even see reality anymore.” She hisses as she leans closer, “You’re the only one who hates yourself.” She inches toward me even more. “Your obsession with letting others cut you is your fucking guilt talking, and I hate that.”
“That’s my fuckin’ kink, Leila. You wanted to know, and now you’re shaming me. How fuckin’ hypocritical.”
The death stare that follows is aimed to kill. “You think I’m shaming your kink?” When I don’t respond—the answer is obvious—she continues, her voice rising, “You can be a masochist as much as you want.” She throws her hands in the air. “Hell, I love pain. I like my hair pulled to the point my eyes sting.”
My dick deflates even more. The idea of her finding this out at the hand of some dickhead, pulling her hair behind her back, makes me cringe.
“But that,” she points at my chest, “is not masochism, Archie.” She called me fuckin’Archie, and my nostrils flare in anger. “It’s punishment you’re inflicting on yourself. Deep here,” she taps her temple, “you only let yourself go when you bleed because guilt doesn’t let you go otherwise.”
“Oh yeah.” I push away from the couch, getting into her face. “And you got me all figured out after the five seconds you’ve known me?”
“Yep,” her face is so close, “that’s all it took because you’re not as complex and bad as you think.”
“Then,” I breathe into her face, my nostrils flared, my heartbeat crazy, “you’re dead fuckin’ wrong.”
With that, I grab her waist and try to move her away from me just so I don’t do something stupid—again—and make a move to stand up, but she presses my shoulders and pushes me back.
“Sit the fuck down.” Her voice takes a tone I’ve never heard from her before, and for some reason, I freeze on the spot.
Then she saddles me. “Sit the fuck down, and don’t you dare move while I’m fucking some sense into you,” she orders.
My heart rate instantly doubles when it’s already at its limit, and I drop my hands by my side, not touching her. My dick returns to full mast in a matter of two speedy heartbeats. I didn’t even know it was possible to beat that fast—my heart is putting in some serious work. I rest my head back on the couch and watch this beautiful piece of pure fury unravel on top of me.
Fuck common sense. Fuck logic. Fuck the consequences. For once in this lifetime, I’m letting myself just be, because she ordered me to.
Chapter Sixteen
LEILA
I’m so mad at him right now, I just want to deliver a few hefty punches into his too-handsome face. I hate the disdain he has for himself. I can’t stand him at this moment. I don’t know how to show him that he’s wrong.
I’m so pissed that I almost miss the moment his eyes flash when I command him to sit down. Just like the moment I told him to wait for me in the kitchen. And I almost miss how his hands drop to his sides without touching me. I decide that I can fume later, and in the meantime, I can explore this new revelation and maybe prove him wrong and invoke a few orgasms while I’m at it. Sounds like a total win to me.
“Don’t talk, Stephan.” I lean in close, calling him his real name—I noticed how his face contorted in anger when I called him Archie, the nameeveryone elseuses. “Not until I’m done. You got it?”
He nods, and I feel another pang of excitement in the pit of my stomach.
“You can’t touch me; only I can touch you.”
Another nod.
His cock twitches under my ass, and I feel a very unfamiliar tingle of power. A very new sort of power for me, as this strong alpha man is at my mercy. Stephan is as alpha as they come. And he chooses to be this way with me.
It’s overwhelming.
It’s empowering.
I start exploring his face with my fingers, tracing the sharp line of his cheekbones, and the edge of his jaw, his stubble tickling my skin. I trace his heavy eyebrows before moving onto his straight nose and ending on his lips. I push my finger inside, and he starts sucking. I feel every pull from his mouth deep in my core, and my inner muscles clench in thirst.
I pull my finger out and lick his saliva from it as he watches my every move, his pupils dilated.
My hand goes to his chest, my nails grazing his pierced nipples. I give one ring a tug, and his breath catches. I pull on it again, and his mouth falls open. I lean to give him a quick, wet, open-mouthed kiss and suddenly pull away. Right when he’s ready to dive deeper. His chest rises in a deep inhale, and I lick my lips, still tasting him on me.
“Fuckin’ witch,” he murmurs with that British accent of his, dropping his head back in anguish, and I shush him.
“I told you to be quiet.”
“You didn’t—”
