Page 99 of Auctioned

She flinches. Her lips pinch.

A moment later, she presses her hot body closer to mine and rearranges her features. Her lips curve into a smile.

“No one can tell you what to do. Fully aware.” A chuckle escapes her, then her hand slaps on her mouth. “Can I brush my teeth before we continue this conversation, owner?”

I don’t tell her that I couldn’t care less that I brushed mine and she hasn’t. That her morning breath is as sweet as the rest of her.

That I’m a sick bastard who has a sick addiction.

Her.

I don’t say a damn thing.

I pull her closer to me. Remove her hand from her mouth.

Goddamn it. That brush of her lips against mine. Her huge pupils. How her first instinct is to move her head back in an attempt to resist me.

I kiss her harder for that. Coax her lips open, groan when I rub my tongue against hers.

When she melts into me, I can’t help but feel a growl reverberating in my chest. I bite her lips. I dig my fingers into the soft flesh of her waist. I hurt her.

Ophelia should punch me. Bite back. Kick me until I let go.

A monster like me has no business kissing a sweet, beautiful woman like her. Or keeping her.

Instead of slapping me, her hand finds my neck. She follows my lead, leaning into the kiss. Moans for me with each swipe of my thumb along her cheek.

Huffs when I pull her off me.

“There are new toothbrushes in the bathroom.” Her eyes go wider than before. “You’ve proven you can be out of the cell without trying to escape. So. Go, brush your teeth. We can do this thing after that. This talking.”

Her mouth forms an O shape.

“Don’t give me that look.” Nothing makes me as uncomfortable as her craving for intimacy.

“You’re not a good man, I get it.” She nods, a smile curving on her lips. “Could you be nice enough to get me coffee, though? Please?”

This woman. The best course of action would be to sling her over my shoulder. Throw her back in the cell where she can’t pull at my nonexistent heartstrings.

“Peanut butter sandwich too?”

“You’re pushing it,” I warn her, and she laughs.

Then, while she’s in the bathroom, I put on my sweatpants and go to make her coffee. That and her damn sandwich. She can have a real meal this afternoon.

What am I going to do with her until then?

Talk to her. Fuck her. Lock her up.

The water from the shower turns off as soon as I step back inside the room.

This isn’t who I am, this man who places the plate and mug on the bedside table, then enters the bathroom.

Can’t be me, this man who wants to do everything for her.

No.

“Let me.” I stand behind her, whipping a clean towel off a shelf on the wall.

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