Page 91 of House of Cards

Not sure why I thought he won’t notice me touching him. This man noticeseverything. Not sure why I thought it wouldn’t lead to nasty consequences.

Touching him without his permission is apparently a punishable offense.

Smith drops his eyes, blatantly working his way up my body. Where his heavy gaze lands, goosebumps break out. My legs are squeezed together, which seems to annoy him.

His jaw tightens, dark eyes pinning me. “Open.”

God. No.

My legs quiver as I fight to keep them closed despite how badly I want to splay myself wide just because, why, hetoldme to?

He runs a hand through his hair, dark shadows in his hooded eyes. “If you think modesty has any place in my world, you’re sorely mistaken.” His voice is smooth as silk, but there’s a razor’s edge to it.

My already confused mind chooses violence.

“Like I give a shit. I’m a prisoner here, not a fucking tourist.” I say this through a scowl, just in case he thinks I’m joking.

The side of his mouth twitches up. “Every time you scowl at me, all I see is a brat begging to be broken again.”

The hell doesthatmean?

Guess I look as confused as I feel, because Smith is kind enough to spell it out for me as he starts stroking the edge of the tub’s rim with his thumb.

“Every hole of yours belongs to me. Time you learned to open them on command.” When I just sit there, frozen, he tilts his head, lifting his hand between us and snapping his fingers.

I flinch at the sound, even though I knew it was coming.

Jesus. My ass is already aching at the thought of more punishment. What’s the harm in giving him what he wants?

Because it’s a slippery fucking slope, Zoey. Yesterday, you were humping his leg like a horny dog while he used your tits to get off. What the fuck do you think he’s going to make you do today?

Biting down on my lower lip, I ignore the way my face heats and slowly inch open my thighs. I don’t know if it would have been better if he looked down, but somehow the fact that he keeps his eyes glued to mine makes my shame flare up a million times worse.

This isn’t about staring at my pussy.

This is about control.

Dominance.

About him reminding me that he truly is a monster.

I should get it, but fuck, I really, really don’t. It all feels so alien to me. So complex I’d need a massive chalkboard and Good Will Hunting levels of smart to figure it out.

My only comfort is that this fight of ours is starting to feel familiar. It leaves me with the tiniest sliver of hope that, maybe one day, I’ll figure out how to beat him at his own game.

“Show me how you rub that greedy pussy when you’re alone.”

I gape at him a beat before blurting out, “What? No! That’s…private.”

“I’m not asking permission. I decide if you come, when you come, andhowyou come. Starting with that slit between your legs.” He lifts a finger, pointing lazily at my pussy.

My thighs tremble as I fight not to slap them closed again.

The sooner I do what he wants, the sooner this will be over, right?

After watching him undress, I kinda have unfinished business down there, anyway. Something about this fucked up situation is turning me on.

I slide my hand down my stomach, and reluctantly start massaging my clit. The pain radiating up from my ass cheeks bleeds into a sullen throb.

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