Page 84 of Cursed
Landon’s jaw tightens, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. He places both hands on the arms of my chair, caging me in as he leans down until our faces are mere inches apart.
“Nothing about you is separate from me now,” he says. “Not your body, not your mind, not your work.”
I roll my eyes and turn back to the screen. “Whatever,” I mutter, deliberately dismissive as I resume typing.
The code is still flowing through my mind, and I can track down more details about how this breach was implemented. My fingers move swiftly across the keyboard, already forgetting Landon’s presence as I lose myself in the familiar comfort of algorithms and network paths.
But my dismissal clearly strikes a nerve. I feel Landon’s energy change behind me. His hand slams down on the desk, making me jump.
“Work time is over,” he announces.
I don’t look up. “I’m not stopping working.”
He reaches over and closes the laptop, nearly catching my fingers. “I said, we’re done.”
“I found your leak,” I argue. “Don’t you want me to?—”
Landon’s hand wraps around my throat, not squeezing but resting there like a threat. “What I want,” he says, leaning down so his face is inches from mine, “is for you to remember your place.”
My heart accelerates, and I hate myself for the heat that pools between my thighs. This is our toxic dance—his domination, my resistance, both of us knowing where it leads.
“Let go of me,” I demand.
“Make me,” he challenges, and there it is—the invitation to our familiar struggle.
A shameful thrill races through me—the dark, twisted part that craves this. The part that wants him to overpower me, to take choice away so I don’t have to admit how much I want this.
God, I’m so messed up. This dynamic is poison, but I’m addicted to the way he forces me to surrender.
“Let go of me,” I growl, slapping his hand away from my throat. Anger wars inside me as I shove hard against his chest.
Landon’s eyes darken. “Wrong move, little butterfly.”
I lunge from my chair, trying to dart past him, but he anticipates my movement. His arm catches me around the waist, slamming me back against the wall. I claw at his face, connecting with enough force to make him hiss.
“You want to play rough?” he snarls, capturing both my wrists in one strong hand and pinning them above my head.
I knee him in the thigh, missing my intended target. He responds by pressing his body flush against mine, immobilizing me.
“Get off,” I pant, struggling uselessly against his superior strength.
His mouth crashes down on mine, consuming my protest. I bite his lip hard enough to taste blood. Landon pulls back, a crimson smear across his mouth, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “Fight me.”
In one swift motion, he spins me around and bends me over the desk. My laptop skids across the surface. I twist beneath him, but his weight pins me down, one hand gripping my hair.
“Still fighting?” His free hand tears at my leggings, ripping the fabric down my thighs.
“Fuck you,” I hiss over my shoulder.
“No, Sadie,” Landon growls, his fingers confirming my arousal. “I’m fucking you.”
The sound of his zipper is like a gunshot. I make one last attempt to crawl forward across the desk, but his grip tightens in my hair.
He enters me in a single brutal thrust that knocks the breath from my lungs. The stretch burns exquisitely.
“Still want me to stop?” he pants, pulling back only to slam forward again.
