Page 111 of Sugar

I didn’t speak. Not because I was afraid to answer, but because I couldn’t make my mouth work.

Not that it mattered. Easton must’ve decided that he would rather confirm his theory himself.

Releasing my neck, he put his palm to the wall above my head to prop himself up as he reached his other hand lower. His fingertips skimmed up my leg. He didn’t even need to touch my core to encounter the arousal that was coating my inner thighs—and reminding me that I hadn’t located my stupid panties. He skimmed along the slit with barely-there pressure before pausing. “Spread your legs for me.”

When I did so without hesitation, I thought I would be rewarded with more.

It was the opposite.

“Move my hand away,” he ordered.

My chest tightened, and I wanted to disobey. To press myself into him. To clutch him to me.

But there was a challenge in his dark eyes that I couldn’t resist, so I made myself grip his wrist and push his hand from my body.

Grudgingly.

“Is this what you were looking for?” He lowered his face until it was all I could see. “For someone to tell you what to do?”

Oh hell.

He finally cupped my sex. “To submit to them so fucking beautifully?”

Oh fucking hell.

His thick finger speared into me, and his harsh curse mixed with my choked whimper. He finger fucked me as he ground his palmagainst my clit until the obscene sound of my slick arousal mixed with my heavy pants.

My thighs trembled as the edge approached at breakneck speed. I could hardly fill my lungs.

What little breath I managed to get in whooshed out in a distressed cry when he callously stole his touch away.

I didn’t have the chance to decide whether to beg or wait patiently. His hand returned immediately, and his skilled fingers quickly brought me back to the edge.

And when I was just about to fall, I was violently yanked from the precipice when he stopped.

Again.

His voice was a rough rumble as he started the torment anew. “Am I right, Madeline?”

“No. Yes.”

“Which is it?”

“Both.” A whimpered plea followed when he curved his finger. “Please.”

“How can it be both?” He started to slide out of me, and desperation overcame ego.

The words spewed out in a rush as I spoke the truth out loud for the first time. “You’re right that I wanted to submit to someone, but you’re also wrong that it wasn’t about the money. It was. Or rather what it stood for. I wanted to be bought. To be desired and used and at someone’s mercy.”

I’d hoped that flaying myself open and sharing with a brutal honesty—one that I would likely regret—would be enough to earn the orgasm he held just out of reach.

But I was wrong.

Devastatinglywrong.

Instead of giving me more of the touch I craved, he took it away. His finger left me achingly empty as he stood upright. His gaze was sharp as he stared down at me, and I braced for rejection.

Scorn.

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