Page 72 of Mexico Can Choke On It
This—this obsession with Petra—is something else. It’s ravenous and unhinged and frightens me even as I chase it.
What is it about Pip that dismantles me? Is it because she’s forbidden fruit? Because she’s Gavin’s little sister? Is it her rebellion? Or is it simpler than that?
She’s real in a way no one in my world has ever been.
Or perhaps it’s because she called memissionaryandboring, making me want to pin her to a wall andproveher wrong?
My hand moves faster now, my breathing ragged.
I told her:“We’ll have to spend the night exploring what else youenjoy choking on.”
Christ.
Who the fuck was that man? Not Bryce Sterling, heir to a financial empire.
I’ve never uttered words like that to any woman.
Amanda would have fainted dead if I had suggested such a thing. Our bedroom talk consisted primarily of “Is this satisfactory?” and “Be sure to let me know when you’re approaching completion.”
But with Petra? Some dormant beast clawed its way to the surface the moment she challenged me, awakening desires I wasn’t aware I had. Urges that involve holding those small wrists above her head while I make her beg.
With her, it doesn’t feel dangerous to be known. Like peeling back my layers wouldn’t scare her off.
My cock strains against my palm, the head swollen and sensitive, pre-cum mixing with water as I stroke from base to tip with increasing need.
The fantasy takes hold again, darker this time. My strokes turn rougher, faster. My hips jerk forward. I’m chasing it now—chasing her.
Would she want it this way?
Fast. Dirty. Rough.
Would she taunt me? Push me to go harder?
Beg me not to stop?
“Petra…” Her name escapes on a ragged exhale.
What would she say if she saw me like this? The great Bryce Sterling, reduced to jacking off in the shower? Would those red lips curl in her knowing smirk? Would she let out her smoky laugh that makes my cock twitch?
Or would she press that spectacular body against mine, rise up on her toes, and whisper, “Need some help with that, Moneybags?”
I’d have an aneurysm and die smiling. But last night, the mood snapped like a rubber band. I still don’t understand what happened.
Did I go too far?
Was it the ring?
Echo?
The moment he declared her his “muse,” her expression shifted. One second she was teasing me, pushing me, daring me to cross the line, and the next, she was ice.
No smile. No jokes. No comebacks.
She didn’t say another word to me the rest of the night.
I wanted to go to her room. Ask. Demand. Hell,pleadfor an explanation.
But I didn’t.
