Page 102 of House of Cards

I want to argue. I want to fight. But it’ll just take longer to get my hands on that cake. And my stomach is literally growling for it.

“Fine. Whatever.” Should be comfier there, anyway. No one enjoys bruised knees.

I go sit on the edge of the bed, Smith following leisurely behind me. But he must have sped up the last foot or two, because as I’m turning to face him, he grabs the back of my neck and shoves me face first into the mattress.

“Hey! What—” I cut off with a surprised yell as he flips me over and drags me to the side of the bed.

I grab his arms, trying to slap him off me, and get a hand on my throat for my efforts.

He pinches my cheeks, forcing my mouth open and rendering further discussion impossible.

My heart hammers as his grip tightens on my throat. I try to squirm away, to claw his fingers off my throat, but he’s too strong. He maneuvers me like I’m a rag doll, pulling me further over the edge until my head hangs over the side.

Blood rushes to my head, pulsing loudly in my ears.

“Let go!” I yell, the words garbled through my bent neck.

His fingers dig into my cheeks, keeping my mouth open wide. I can’t bite him, can’t do anything but glare up at him with hatred.

I give myself willingly to him, and this is how he repays me?

He looks down at me, his expression calm, almost clinical. It’s like he’s studying me, analyzing my reactions. I want to spit in his face, to claw at his eyes, but all I can do is hang there, helpless.

“Bite me, and I’ll wire those pretty jaws shut for a month.”

He adjusts his glasses with his free hand, the bulge in his pants growing. Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it down. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me get sick.

I won’t give himanythingafter this.

“Fuck you,” I choke out, but there’s a tremor in my voice that betrays me. I hate what he’s doing, but a dark part of me is already switching on at the thought that he’s going to force me to suck his cock.

“I’m going to fuck that sass right out of your throat until you’re begging for air,” he says, his voice infuriatingly calm.

He releases my throat and unzips his fly, hand wrapping around his thick cock to pull it free.

I brace myself, close my eyes, and try to disassociate.

But when the head of his smooth, warm cock touches my lips, my insides clench.

“Open.”

If I hadn’t brought this on myself with my fatal desire for chocolate cake, I’d have fought him. But I want to taste him as badly as I want to taste that cake.

Maybe even a little more.

My jaw relaxes, and he takes his fingers out of my cheeks.

“Lick.”

My eyes flicker open, staring at the hard length of his cock an inch above my face. Smith has his head tilted to the side, watching me with a frightening intensity in his dark eyes.

Gathering saliva in my mouth, I use my tongue to coat his cock.

I expect a moan or two, but he’s silent. Dark, demanding eyes locked to mine, jaw clenching, but motherfucking mute.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmurs.

My only warning is the tightening of his fingers around his cock before he spears the tip past my lips and deep inside my mouth. And he just keeps going, feeding inch after inch of hard dick into my mouth like I’m a fucking boa constrictor.

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